Fate/Final Deluge: The Past Is Lost Beneath The Waves

09/07/2993
Twelve O'Clock, Midnight

The day passes, as all days do, in a flurry of distraction. You return to your domiciles, plans made or discarded, friends made or not, acquaintances interacted with or, as things happen to be, not interacted with.

Contact details are quite possibly exchanged, because some of you consider it your duty to fight apathy.

You might not be in the habit of sleeping at midnight, but this time fatigue slides its fingers into your eyes, shutting them by force. You are asleep on the stroke of twelve like a princess in a fairytale, or a tardy prince.

And then, the dream.

You feel as if you're underwater, but the air is clear and the sun is bright. You are standing on a blanket of green sward, graced with flowers, the air like treacle in your lungs -

and the sun is black
and the air is red
and the sward is black and red-

But then you're floating, adrift on a sea of rose petals, and right above you floats a woman, close enough to kiss.

She is garbed all in white like a dove, but her eyes are also black as doves', and you begin to realize that this is something more than a dream when she reaches out and touches you on the forehead, her hand clammy and smooth and very real.

"What is it you seek?"

Her voice is melodious and deep, a dark contralto with the texture of ground bone. Her fair hair splays out atop her like a bobbing corpse's.

"What is it you seek, O love of mine?"

She caresses your cheek, and deep inside your skull you feel the ringing of death, its sacred and putrid beauty -

and the sky is dark
and the moon is dimmed
and the nails are black and red-

"Come to the Ark of the Ways. Receive your mandate for the world's mending. I name you Master; fight, therefore for the cup of Christ."

She smiles, revealing a mouth of perfect black teeth, and kisses you on the forehead. Something like a fishhook goes deep into your heart, and your mana reserves pop like pustules, vanishing in almost no time at all. The sensation is deeply and utterly revolting.

"Seek the Sangreal," she whispers.

When you wake up, you are no longer alone.

Someone is there with you.

Edited by troydenite on Jul 1st 2020 at 10:50:58 PM

Alicia Blackwood—Do You Believe in Magic in a Young Girl's Heart?

"Heed my words—my will creates your body,"

"And your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail's call,"

"And obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning!"

"I hereby swear, that I shall be all the good in the world,"

"That I shall defeat all the evil in the world!"

"Seventh heaven clad, and the great words of power,"

"Come forth from the circle of bindings, Guardian of Scales!"

Thus Alicia chanted as the strange woman in white posed her questions and gentle exhortations from on high, pouring her lifeblood and mana into the summoning circle inscribed in the rose petals. The useless, raggedy patch of skin on her back had told her of this. Indeed, it had—so Alicia had been ready for a long time.

While others cared not for magic and battling for the fate of the human race, Alicia had been paranoid enough (or vain enough, if one wanted to see it that way) to prepare just in case she received a "dream" like this, to mark the start of another Holy Grail War. So when she saw the woman in white, she was immediately jolted into lucidity, and started the ritual by forcing the petals into the shape of a summoning circle.

Perhaps her will would be enough to force the manifestation of a strong Servant. Perhaps all her preparations would not be for naught. After all, why should all the other ignoramuses of the world get all the advantages, while she, scion of the esteemed Blackwood family, fail to summon a strong Servant with so much planning and work beforehand?

It wouldn't make sense if she failed.

It wouldn't make sense.

It wouldn't...

The summoning circle grew blindingly white just as the woman kissed Alicia on the forehead. Her heart (and her stomach) lurched at the feeling. And then the light blotted out all else, and the petals gave way into an inky blackness, and Alicia was suddenly—

—Falling down into the void below!

Alicia opened her mouth for a wordless scream as the woman looked on with impossibly kind eyes, still smiling gently upon her.

Alicia Blackwood—Wake Me Up Inside (Can't Wake Up)

Alicia awoke, gasping in fear, and was suddenly glad that her parents weren't home after all. The walls of the apartment complex she lived in were thickly insulated so nobody would be disturbed by the "things" the tenants decided to do, but Alicia still remembered the thin walls of the homes of Electric Hades, and thus remembered shame as she considered her ominous-seeming chanting and furthermore, screaming while in the dream.

But she was not alone in bed. Far from it.

"Ah, my Assistant, you have awakened! How fortuitous!" said the somewhat androgynous man who was lying beside her in a frilly nightshirt and rather comical-looking nightcap that Alicia might have attributed to the Victorian era had she not been having a minor conniption at the sight and implications of the situation. "Saaal—uuu—tations!" he fairly sang as he shamelessly turned to face her.

What the fuck was in that drink that Radek gave her!?

"Who the Hell are you?" Alicia said as she moved to grab the machete under her pillow. Many of her friends said that she was a fool for keeping it in her bed, but tonight, she was the sane person and they were the fools. "And what are you doing here?"

"A Servant, Caster, of course!" Caster screeched jubilantly, throwing the covers off as he put both his hands into the air. "True Name, Harry Houdini! I have come to aid you in putting together a grand finale for the world! And what an encore it will be, my dear Assistant!" Caster slipped out of Alicia's bed and started pacing around Alicia's room, still in his nightshirt.

"So I swear, it will be a spectacle for the ages! This is a dream come true! And you've summoned the slipperiest, cunningest, most dramatic-est Servant of all! Isn't it exciting!?" Caster asked, turning on his heel to face Alicia.

"So you mean..." Alicia began, barely believing her eyes. "That I have summoned the weakest class in terms of direct combat ability, not even being able to kill as efficiently as an Assassin-class Servant, and he's a fucking dandy and a fop? IS THAT WHAT YOU MEAN?"

"Dandy and fop mean the exact same thing," Caster deadpanned. "And I prefer to rely on audacity, skill and cunning, instead of brute force. Some may prefer all four, but those folks can hang! You want to know why?" Caster pulled out his silver cane from mid-air and pointed it at Alicia.

"...Why?" Alicia asked, holding both her hands up as if she were in a stick-up. She didn't know what that cane could do, or if Caster were sane enough not to attack his Master right off the bat—a fact which, right now, was very doubtful.

"Even in this future marred by an imminent ending shaped like a whimper rather than a good and proper BANG—" Caster said, putting the end of his cane onto the floor and striking a valiant pose (the effect was somewhat ruined by his choice of sleepwear). "They remember me. They remember—"

"What are you going to do, spy on them using your posters?" Alicia asked, still not buying Caster's deal.

"That is actually one of my powers," Caster deadpanned again. "And if you'll stop interrupting me, I would've gone on to explain that it seems like the only merit us Heroic Spirits have nowadays is being remembered. Everything else—our conquests, opponents, triumphs, etc. by 'mere' brute force—they don't matter unless they provide a good story. And thus, everyone else is weaker in that context, as compared to me. I am very popular because of my genius, so my legend is strong."

"...Okaaay. We'll talk about this in the morning. For now, you sleep on the couch," Alicia gestured to her bedroom door. "Now, get out of my room."

Caster gaped at Alicia, but followed her command. Alicia was just getting back to sleep when Caster's whiny voice called out to her from the living room: "Assistant, get me a blanket!"

"Conjure your own blanket! You're a Caster, aren't you?" Alicia shouted back. "And a magician to boot! Pull it out of your hat!"

"Spoilsport!" was the appropriate response from the living room with an accompanying rustle of cloth which indicated the blanket being summoned. "Is it really a sin to want the attention of a girl? Especially after being dead for so long? Honestly, where are my fans? They'd never treat me like this!" he muttered to himself.

Alicia heard him, but pretended that she didn't and tried to get back to sleep.

And just like that, the night was quiet again.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Aug 5th 2020 at 4:15:18 AM

Sedryk, Daedalus Heights
08/07/2993

Smoke and smooth jazz filled the air of Apartment 903.

The dulcet tones of a tenor saxophone faded out as a skillful piano solo started up, accompanied by soft drumming and cymbal work. Beneath it all lay the constant pitter-patter of heavy rain, fat drops dashing themselves to oblivion against the broad windows. The view was splendid, the black blocks and curves of a city skyline silhouetted in watery neon against the blacker heavens. It was as lovely a night as he had ever seen.

And all of it was fake.

“Pause the rain,” he said absently. Obediently the raindrops froze mid-fall, mid-run. Now there was only the music, a trio of trumpets playing along in accompaniment to the piano. He listened a moment, taking a long drag of his cig. Frowned, then shook his head. “No, bring it back. Reduce intensity by point-five.” The pitter-patter resumed, softer now. “Better. Now switch to another view. Old Seattle, or something.”

The neon blocks shuffled and reshaped themselves, giving pride of place to a brilliant needle. It stabbed upward into the sky like an accusing finger, or maybe a lance.

Satisfied with the ambience, he shifted his focus back to his work. The figurines lay scattered across an oak table, along with the instructions for the paint scheme. Yet he wasn’t working on any of the ones Ms. Rosenkreuz had entrusted to him. He’d printed up a test model, crude and less detailed than any of her creations, but close enough to serve as a suitable substitute for practice.

With his right hand he turned the figurine this way and that, holding it by the base. With his left he dipped one of his smallest, finest brushes into an open can of red paint. So primed, he carefully brought literal brush to metaphorical canvas and began to dab ever-so-gently at the eyepieces of the figurine’s helmet.

The colour scheme called for red lenses on the skull-shaped helmets. These warriors certainly weren’t a friendly bunch—

“Ah, merde.” His aim had been off just a hair on the last dab. Now there was a red streak running along the side of the head. He set the paintbrush down and quickly wiped the excess paint away with a damp cloth.

It wasn’t the first mistake he’d made tonight, and definitely not the biggest. The many splotches of wet and semi-dried paint dotting the rag—and the three others preceding it—were mute testament to that. Yet they were happening more and more frequently, and…

He paused, stifling a yawn.

…they’d probably continue at this point.

“Long day,” he muttered to himself. “Should probably get some rest soon…”

But the figurine stared up at him with its angry frown of a face. Its expression almost seemed accusatory, like it was blaming him for the incomplete job he’d done. The right arm and shoulder pad were still bare plastic grey.

He furrowed his brows. “D’accord. I’ll finish you first, little man.”

Yet all too soon he was yawning again, and slumping forward, his focus blurring as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier…

09/07/2993

He awoke with a start and a yelp. His head snapped up and swiveled left and right, wide eyes raking in his surroundings.

An oak table in the middle of a spacious room. Three large rectangular windows dominating the opposite wall, still displaying a rainy Seattle skyline. A small spiral staircase leading to a walled-off upper level above a kitchen/dining area. Easels, canvases and painting supplies, scattered all over the place.

Not a grassy field under an open sky. An apartment. His apartment.

Home.

The tension bled out of him in a sigh of relief. “A dream,” he breathed. “Just some fucked up dream, that’s all it was…”

It was the paint, surely. He’d fallen asleep on the job, and he must have inhaled the paint fumes all night. They probably mixed with the faux-bacco of the cig, too. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened, though the nightmares had never been that vivid.

He sat up, groaned as a dull ache shot through his skull. Yep, definitely the paint and the faux-bacco. The cig had fallen out of his mouth at some point and burned all the way down to the nub, leaving a little black mark on the tabletop. His brush rolled off onto the floor, the clatter of its landing like a spike to the brain.

The music and the rain were still going. Must’ve left it on all night. “End program,” he rasped, and as blessed silence descended he brought a hand up to cover his face. He was dimly aware of a tingling sensation on the back of that hand, less severe than this headache but no less difficult to ignore. Probably slept on it or something.

Yes, that all made sense. The hand was tingling because he’d slept on it, the nightmare was caused by the paint and the smoke, and he’d dreamed of a creepy woman that asked him what he wanted to do… well, because he’d met a creepy woman just yesterday. And those questions weren’t anything he hadn’t already asked himself.

“Just a dream,” he sighed again.

“No, it wasn’t.”

His eyes sprang open. That deep contralto voice had come from behind him. He swiveled around—

And came face-to-chiseled-abs with the tallest woman he’d ever seen.

One brow rose, the other lowered. His mouth slowly opened even as his eyes narrowed.

He craned his head back, gaze traveling up a mahogany torso, past a bright tribal-patterned chest wrap and a cape of white fur, to a face hidden behind a horned mask. It too was brightly coloured, yellows and greens trimmed with red on a field of bone white, the patterns forming a face like a cow or an antelope. A matching skull sat upon the mask’s forehead, and it was from this that the horns sprouted, horizontal like handlebars and curling upward at the tips, heavy metal beads dangling from them on chains. Framing the mask was a full head of shockingly white hair, done up in high ponytail.

His gaze panned downward. Wiry arms akimbo, covered from elbow to wrist in white wraps. Hands perched on hips, just above a miniskirt of the same white fur as the cape. A colourful beaded belt with two skulls that held it in place. Matching wraps from the knees down to the ankle. Bare feet, long and muscular, with tendons perfectly visible. Runner’s feet, if he had to guess.

He looked up again, meeting the gaze of that mask. For a long moment, neither said anything.

His brows drew together. “I’m sorry, but who are you and how the hell did you get in here?”

No response. She just stood there silently; feet planted wide in an authoritative stance—like she was asking him what he was doing in here. Like he was the intruder in this place and not the other way around.

Irritation set in, made him scowl. “Are you going to answer me, or will I have to call the police?”

That got a reaction. Her hands fell to her sides and her arms spread ever so slightly. For a second he wondered what she was doing.

Then he felt it—something that he’d only ever felt as a trickle within himself, but from her was like the sudden bursting of a dam, a flash-flood. There was a flash, and a pop of outrushing air, and suddenly her hands were no longer empty.

His brows rose and his eyes went wide.

In her left hand was a shield, white, elliptical, almost as tall as she was. In her right hand was a spear, red-hafted with a gleaming steel blade. Both gave off wisps of steam, and crackled with an energy that made his teeth tingle.

He’d been wondering if he was still dreaming. Up until now, the sight of this woman standing in his apartment had seemed too strange to be real. Now he was wide awake, especially as she stretched out her arm and brought the tip of that spear uncomfortably close to his jugular.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. That blade had to be at least a foot long. It looked incredibly sharp, too.

“I am Lancer.” She spoke the words imperiously. “And I am here because you called me.”

He looked up and mouthed, “What?”

Then his hand throbbed again, and suddenly he got a sinking feeling. “Oh.”

He looked down. There, on the back of his hand, was a red mark in the shape of a cattle skull. The horns weren’t connected to the rest of the skull, so that the whole design was divided up into three distinct parts.

Sedryk had never seen one of these marks before, but he knew exactly what it was. Any magus worth his salt did.

“That’s a Command Spell.” His other hand came up unbidden to comb through his hair. “Which means—”

“That a Holy Grail War shall soon begin.” Lancer pulled her spear away and planted it on the floor. “I am your Servant, Sedryk de Saint-Paulin. Are you worthy to be my Master?”

Edited by SullenFrog on Jul 3rd 2020 at 12:37:52 PM

I feel like I've gotten the best sleep in my life, for a moment. I would have never imagined that falling dead on the couch would have been so refreshing...

Slowly, my eyes crusty and bleary, I wake up. I'm planted face-first into the cushion on this old leather sofa, and I make enough effort to turn my neck to face the rest of the room. The man across the floor from me, in front of the entertainment screen in his robe and armor, stares directly into my eyes and stands as still as a fucking statue. I feel like waking up extremely quickly at that moment, but do not move more than a startled jostle.

The lights of passing vehicles outside briefly illuminate something long, gleaming and golden in his hand - a sword, short, encrusted with jewels like the most overcompensating thing imaginable. The promise of danger. He has the advantage, here...the nearest gun in this apartment is in a box of reconstituted corn-material in the kitchen. I have nothing to defend myself with.

I'm guessing that he manages to see how bewildered I am. His look changes from a neutral regard to a cold one...his broad nose turns upward a little. A short exhalation of breath. His hand tenses and grips his sword tighter...and as I'm prepared to bolt, to at least try to see if I can hold this guy off long enough to get to the revolver I keep in my shower, he speaks.

"Dress yourself. Now."

I don't answer but my confusion fills in enough blanks for him.

"I will not toil underneath someone who can't even muster an ounce of dignity, and sprawls herself out like a drunken lout in her visiting room." He sounds fucking pissed, let me tell ya.

Despite that, he takes the old iron chair I got next to the screen (because even I get visitors) and sits down on it, crossing his arms and looking away, letting me feel the disdain coming off of him. He doesn't speak past that...but he doesn't move either as I carefully slide off and up to my feet. He's just coldly staring at everything else besides me.

It doesn't take very long for me to get dressed, which is to say I got my pants on and got my revolver and I ran back into the room and immediately pulled off the quickest shot I could on the guy. I ain't sure if I missed or what, but aside from the sparks in the air and smoke from my barrel telling me that I definitely had fired, that bullet sure didn't land anywhere near him. He looks at me like I just shot at him (I did), but he does not stand. The sword is in his hand again.

"You fool. You absolute fool! I come here to offer my fealty, and you try to kill me?" There's some spittle coming out with these words. "Me, a guest in your own house? I have fallen upon the greatest of misfortune, falling into your care."

"Can you stop talking like an asshole and fucking explain yourself, old man?!"

"Perhaps if you put your firearm down and act like a civlized person, you idiot. You haven't even got anything to cover your chest with," he waves the sword in my direction and I almost try to cap him again, "so fix that before I reconsider this."

I had to think a long moment between getting my jacket on, or finding out if whatever his fancy trick was could stop buckshot, but the former won out in the end.

He gets as much space away from me as I like. I'm talking from the kitchen doorway as I say, "I've got myself dressed for ye old lorde, so explain yourself and then leave my goddamned house, alright?"

Old Fart stands up, his armor clattering as its weight shifts. "I will not be brief, for you are now a part of matters far graver than you might have imagined. I will not concede my place, so that is why I forgive your drunken transgression."

He shifts his belt, and then bows deeply...with a huff added onto the end. "I am Cao Mengde, an able chancellor, and a Servant of the Saber class. You may call me Cao Cao."

He rises. "Would you accept my service, as a Servant to my Master, Dojinovac Zorana?"

"Your what?"

"...My Master."

"I got no idea what you're talking about. And how do you know my name?"

He takes a long pause as he looks at me in disbelief. "Look at your hand."

Sure enough, it looks like I got a tattoo last night. I didn't get that drunk, did I? "I got no idea what this means."

"It is hard to believe that a mage would simply become a Master by accident. Surely, you understand what you have gotten yourself into."

"I ain't a fuckin' mage."

"...What?"

Adeline - True Elysium, Castèth Viviani 09/07/2993

Adeline awoke, eyes wide.

She regretted that a moment later. The light streaming through her curtains worsened her headache. She buried her head in hands, trying to suppress the feelings of disgust.

That nightmare, that woman. Her touch, her kiss, it was all a violation.

Only marginally better were the words spoken. The Sangreal, the Sant Grasal, the Holy Grail. For mages, an ill omen. She knew what a Holy Grail War was. History taught that those rarely ended happily.

She remained there, sitting upright in bed for a few minutes more. Gradually, the feelings of revulsion and discomfort subsided. Her headache receded. She opened her eyes.

Any sense of normalcy the familiar sights of her room might have engendered were immediately shattered by the sight of the armoured man standing in the middle of it all.

Her eyes narrowed in dismay, a scowl forming on her face.

"You are to be my Servant, then?"

The armoured man smiled, and the room seemed all the brighter for it. "Indeed," said he. "I am Rider, and I have been summoned here by the Grail."

Part of her wondered if she should simply tell Rider to disappear from her sight. They had not formed a contract yet. A cursory examination of her own mana revealed as much. It was tempting, to slam the door on the Grail's request and steadfastly refuse any part in this idiocy. A Holy Grail War meant hardship, suffering. A best case scenario meant killing six other Heroic Spirits while somehow avoiding the deaths of their masters. Very unlikely, that. Worst case scenario, they all died, with no victor and no wish granted.

Then again, if she did participate, and somehow won despite the long odds, the rewards would be considerable. Victory provided a means out of this quite literal hole humanity had ended up in. Unless the Wandering Sea was still out there somewhere.

"Whether I lose or abstain, I will not have long to live..." she murmured.

She sighed in defeat, tempted despite herself. "I’m probably going to regret this, but very well.” Her expression twisted into a resigned smile.

“O spirit fair, O phantom bright,

Of glory wrought, of hope and light.”

She paused, then continued. “That’s all the verse I can concoct on a moment’s notice, alas. In any case, I Adeline, do hereby accept the Grail’s invitation, and I accept you, Rider, as my Servant for this Holy Grail War, and to give every effort towards winning the Grail. Is this acceptable to you?”

“It is,” said Rider, his expression pleased. “I accept your pledge, Adeline, and consent to fight this war as your Servant.”

Edited by joergenjetsam on Jul 4th 2020 at 2:52:29 AM

Djerba Rediscovered, GAMEON - That Fateful Night

It was without pomp or circumstance that Claire went to bed that night.

It was with sweat and terror that she awoke. Not because of the dream - that had been strange, but strange did not mean frightening.

No, Claire was afraid because of the sensation of bugs crawling on her skin.

Bugs didn't exist, outside of Demophon.

She almost shrieked, but a voice whispered: "   Hushhhh.   "

Next to her in bed was a man who looked like a corpse. From he came the bugs, as he lifted a pale hand, pressing one bony finger to her lips. His skin twitched and shook like something was crawling under it, and on his body were mosquitoes, and rats.

One such rat crawled onto Claire's bare abdomen, nuzzling against her. Next to the bugs. Yet, strangely, none of the mosquitoes seemed to bite her. They wouldn't bite her. She knew this somehow, though she didn't know how she knew.

As quickly as they'd come, the bugs took wing from her, and began to form a picture in the air. A goblet of some kind. A grail.

   Fight, therefore, for the cup of Christ.    The woman had said, and Claire realized the corpse-man was repeating it. Then he said something else: "   Master. Win... the game.   "

On Claire's hand was the mark of a chess queen. Ideas and concepts came together in her mind, and called a memory of her father's ramblings. The Holy Grail. A war, and to the winner their heart's desire.

"You are... a Servant?" She asked.

"   Servant... Assassin.   " It whispered.

"Then..." Claire swallowed, rising to a sitting position. Her sweat began to evaporate in the cool night air. Suddenly, the corpse-man made of bugs didn't seem so scary. If she truly was this creature's master... "If this is that so-called Grail War, I will win it."

Assassin chittered happily.

"Though if you are a Servant, that should make you a hero of legend. Who are you, then?" Claire asked, and immediately regretted it. The answer Assassin gave reverberated in her bones.

"   The one who rides the pale horse. The one humans call death.   " Its voice grew stronger as it spoke. "   I am Alaya's oldest friend. The one who was with your people since before they imagined Gods.   "

The pale corpse grinned and dissolved to nothing, its very skin becoming a cloud of bugs, taking the form of a grinning face in a death shroud. When it spoke its name, it did so without speaking.

   I am Pestilence.   

So. I woke up with a Chinese guy in my house with a sword on his hip and apparently now I'm part of a war...of fucking mages. Not only was this a bit of a surprise, it came at an inopportune time because I sleep au naturalè or whatever it's called. Nobody speaks French outside of whatever's on fancy chocolate packages anyway.

The thing is, despite my initial hesitance and my immediate guess that this was some bullshit cast upon me by my Couhendove benefactors but I really couldn't substantiate it enough to go kill them.

And then, with old man at my side and my head full of questions, one important one came up:

"If you're supposedly an almost 3000-year old Chinese warlord that I've never heard of, how come I can understand what you're saying?"

To which he replied, with a measured tone,

"The Throne of Heroes provides knowledge of the modern world...and all that has transpired in it. I am shook by the fate that has befallen—"

And I interrupted him by saying:

"So you know about all our stuff and the food and all the movies that have come out?"

And he was really kind of pissed that I interruped him in the first place, so he huffed and said:

"Not all of it, you child. What we need to survive in the new world."

And he was about to turn his back on me but I managed to catch that and walked to face him and said:

"Then you wanna go get something good to eat?"

And then we took a taxi out of Electric Hades and we got up to Djerba and we decided to go try some food together. I got a lot of complaints initially, like "You're in a war, and you want to go fill your stomach? Are you a pig, being motivated by food like that?" but I got the guy to calm down. Apparently these guys run on magic stuff and food's a way to fill 'er up. I wonder what the other ways are.

The first place we visited, because I figure that he's Chinese so he doesn't really wanna go and have stuff he usually does like sushi or phad thai, is this place called Mc Donald's. Apparently this place (not the building itself but the chain you idiot) is ancient, and it's been around since before the turn of the millenium. Now there's only one, and the only people who go to it are people into retro shit and burgers. I can deal with a burger. It's meat and buns.

People really try to fuck with it sometimes, but I like them plain. No chocolate, no fish, none of that. We're gonna find out what this Tsao Tsao guy likes, that's what I decided.

Unfortunately, for how much I hyped up this place to him, we got met with a line. Gotta wait for a while. Cao Cao looks at me, narrows his eyes and he says "If this place is busy, we may go someplace else. You can waste your money, but not your time."

"Nah," I replied. "You said this all started last night, right? So everyone's still preparing. Consider this training in the material ways of the world or some shit. You're getting a burger and learning about the modern day experience - which means waiting in lines - first hand."

And so we waited.

Cao Cao wasn't causing much of a fuss considering that he can just change his clothes into an aloha-shirt and sunglasses out of nowhere, but I think he's still causing some hesitation from people in the way he's staring holes right through him.

Edited by wikkit on Sep 26th 2020 at 7:46:44 AM

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, McDonald's

The sound of a skateboard heralded Alicia's arrival, as she sought to rest from a day of running around with Caster setting up his poster familiars. Of course, he was in spirit form, as he didn't want to tip off any other Masters or Servants that were around. Alicia was just going to order something to-go, and then get out. That was going to be simple.

What was not going to be simple was running into Zorana. Ever since Alicia discovered that she was a mage, she had started acting oddly skittish and stiff around Zorana, knowing full well about her anti-mage proclivities. Not that Zorana knew the reason for her strange behavior. But now that Alicia had come face to face with her older acquaintance, decency demanded that she at least give a good greeting.

Fiddling with her courier's handkerchief, she nodded at Zorana and the oddly intense guy in an aloha-shirt and sunglasses standing next to her. "Hello, Miss Zorana..." She hesitated for a moment, not exactly sure if she and the stranger were together or not, then added a firm "Sir," to her greeting.

Alicia put her skateboard in her backpack and slung it over her back. Before she closed the zipper halfway on her backpack, some random lettering could be seen on the bottom of her skateboard, but they could easily be discerned as magical runes cleverly hidden in graffiti art if one had enough magical expertise.

"What—what brings you here, Miss Zorana?" Alicia asked a little awkwardly but hopefully in her usual manner. "I just went out for a bit of skateboarding, so I got hungry and decided to get something to eat..."

It was a little incongruous to meet a girl dressed like a punk (complete with edgy black fingerless gloves, no less) who was also polite as she was, but what did you expect? You found all kinds of people in Djerba.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Sep 26th 2020 at 9:01:25 AM

Sedryk & Lancer, the McDonald's

All in all, he was taking this in stride.

Sure, his life had just gotten flipped upside down in the middle of the night. Sure, the most pressing concerns on his mind had gone from fulfilling a commission in a timely fashion to the knowledge that he was now locked into a fight to the death with six other mages and their Servants, any one of whom could probably pop his head like a pimple. Sure, he was hopelessly out of practice with what little magic his father had tried to teach him before their falling out. But, Sedryk supposed, it could probably be worse.

Admittedly he wasn’t sure how, but he was sure that it could be.

It had been a few hours since he’d woken up and found Lancer looming over him. He’d tried to sleep on it all, but Lancer had kicked him out of his bedroom—something about the highest point being hers by right, not that she'd bothered to explain what that meant—and the loft had no guestrooms, so he’d been forced to sleep down in the studio. Alas, there it had eluded him.

I really need to clean this place up. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought that. Hopefully it wouldn’t be the last, either.

Point is, it was a few hours later, "morning" had rolled around, and he was tired and hungry. So he’d decided to get up and take a walk. Maybe that would help take his mind off all of this and lead him to some food. Kill two birds with one bush, or so the saying went.

Of course, present circumstances were making that difficult.

"How can you live this way?"

He glanced to the left. There was nothing there—nothing that the eye could see, anyway—but that was where his Servant’s voice had seemed to come from. “Pardon?”

"Like this." He got the vague sense that Lancer was sweeping an arm, a gesture meant to take in the apartments and condos on either side of the road. "Crammed into these towers like termites in a mound. Dwelling under a false sky with no true sun. How do these conditions not bother you, Master?"

To that he shrugged. "It's been like this since long before I was born. It's all I've ever known. It's all anyone's ever known."

"Then that will have to change. I will not rule over a nation so confined."

Sedryk raised an eyebrow. "Rule, huh? You know, you never did tell me your name, Lancer."

"Nor shall I. You have not yet earned the privilege to know."

"I could order it, you know."

"If you would waste a Command Seal on something so trivial, then the War is already lost. Prove your worth and I shall give you my name."

He mulled that over, then shrugged. "Fair enough. I’ll hold you to that, though."

Sometime later Sedryk turned a corner, and his expression brightened as a pair of golden arches came into view. "Ahh, food at last."

Or not. There was a line waiting just beyond the doors. Looks like the food would remain out of his reach for a little longer. He sighed. Such was the price of worshipping at the Temple of McDonald's: one was never the only worshipper come in search of its bounty.

So he settled into the back of the line and began to wait. Hands in his pockets, sweater still paint-stained from yesterday, he glanced idly this way and that in the hopes that something might catch his eye and make the wait go faster.

It wasn’t long before something did, and he furrowed his brow. There, a few spaces ahead of him in the line… Wasn’t that Miss Petrovich…?

Oh, yeah. Right. That girl.

There's some bullshit in my past and I got no reason to explain it all at once, but I can at least give you this: I know Alicia because I play video games. And other games. I can do whatever I want as a badass mage-killing psychofreak or whatever I'm calling myself today, I don't need to justify it to anyone.

Anyway, of all the people remaining in this world, she's both a little infuriating in how she doesn't have an ounce of edge to her personality, but I still couldn't bring myself to flip her off and tell her to find someone else to bother. There was a bit of a pause (and I probably looked like an idiot with my jaw agape) as I looked at her for a moment, wondering if I should just...act like my good ol' buddy Mr. Crotchety Beard wasn't here.

...At that moment? Yeah. I just decided to act like I didn't have any relation to the old man who was standing next to me in line. She had called him 'sir', and I was taking the gamble that she was being polite while talking to some random lady next to him. I did take a glance at him mid-conversation and I'm pretty sure he had the same idea, looking all cool and collected past those shades of his...

It probably was a little incongruous, seeing my rotten ass at some old-people restaurant in Djerba, but what did you expect? "Some people have to eat," I replied. "Don't go here often, but I try to every once in a while. Their fries are pretty good, you know, when they do a fresh batch."

Small talk mode: active.

"Not when they've been sitting there for a few hours." Seriously, disgusting. "You know, they're probably gonna try to throw your ass out if you keep the skateboard around, right? They're kind of anal about those things, especially riding them inside."

Right then, I had fucked up a little bit, though. Here I was, completely oblivious that the artist guy from yesterday was elsewhere in line, and was listening in as Alicia just...blew my cover. Not to mention that, right then, I forgot that these magic guys can just disappear, be invisible and all that shit. My short term memory's awful.

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, McDonald's

"Throw my...ass out...?" Alicia repeated incredulously, subconsciously tugging at the straps of her backpack. "It's all right. I'll be more responsible with it in the future. Though, to be honest, I don't think anyone around here cares about it that much. If people really do want to take my skateboard, they'll have to catch me first." This was not a boast, but a simple statement of fact. Here, a determined and wily glint entered Alicia's eye, but it was soon extinguished as she made an effort to attune herself to the atmosphere of the establishment, becoming once more an ordinary citizen of Shelter.

"I'm...sorry," she said at length, as if to apologize for being assertive at all. "Well, I mean, it's the last thing I got from my parents before they left for the pods. Anyways, I'm happy to see that you're doing well, Miss Zorana. It's good to know that some things don't change. Heh."

That guy is staring at me. I don't like it.

Seriously, who the fuck can make an aloha shirt intimidating?

Stop staring at me.

"Have you met...any interesting people lately, Miss Zorana?" Alicia asked earnestly, seeming genuinely interested in the topic, wiping some sweat off of her own forehead. "...That happens often in your line of work, right?"

Edited by JumpingFruit on Oct 1st 2020 at 2:53:18 AM

Sedryk & Lancer, McDonald’s (Ba Da Ba, Ba Bah)

That was definitely Miss Petrovich. There was no mistaking that ghoulish visage and drab grey attire, or that voice. What an odd coincidence to run into her two days in a row.

She wasn’t alone. She was talking to a young girl whose fashion sense and skateboard made a brief but bold statement, and that statement was “urban youth”. Unconsciously, Sedryk slipped into The Pose. The contrast between the ghoul and this other girl wasn’t quite as striking as it had been with Miss Rosenkreuz the day before, but it was still there.

He cocked his head to one side, mentally framing the two of them. Miss Petrovich to one side, with her tattered greys and pale visage, and the younger, more vivacious skateboarder on the other. A theme of solidarity between the lower classes of ancient history, perhaps? Or maybe…

Wait. What had the other girl just called Miss Petrovich?

He furrowed his brow. “I thought she said her name was Debra…”

Then he shrugged. Maybe it was a nickname, or a handle.

Master. There is a Servant nearby.

Those five words turned his blood to ice water. He glanced to the left and mouthed, “Where?”

I am not sure. Stay on your guard.

It didn’t occur to him that if a Servant was here, its Master might also be here. Nor did it occur to him that he should have thought his question, and that someone might have noticed him talking to thin air…

Edited by SullenFrog on Oct 3rd 2020 at 10:13:41 AM

Imagine having parents.

I immediately responded to her with a "Not as often as you think, but—"

I had looked behind myself as I asked that, partially because Alicia was looking that way herself and partially because someone decided to speak up, but that was when I discovered just how badly I had blown my cover. I looked straight into that mage's eyes for a solid three seconds before I looked back.

"...yeah, I have," I responded. Cool as a fucking cucumber.

Internally I wondered just what Sedryk could do about this, knowing that I lied for some random reason. Similarly, I also decided that this was going to be a really shitty McDonald's trip.

Before I could explain it myself, my buddy had turned around to look at Alicia through his shades, and after a few seconds of him doing that and me thinking 'oh fuck he's about to kill her or something', he gave her a short bow. Not too formal. The fact that he had bowed to her before he ever did to me was something I took a while to realize.

"You can call me Mengde. A good friend from work," he said, with a smile on his face.

"Yeah, Mengde, meet Alicia. We play games sometimes. Once in a while." He was at least able to put on a good, cloying look, so he earned his meal. "I didn't figure I'd run into him now, but I guess it's just my luck."

He added, "Zorana is a very hard women to get to know, hmm? More stubborn than an ox, and just as crude," to which I elbowed him with a firm "Hey."

You strike me for speaking the truth. My heart aches for our sorry state of affairs.

"You're the last person I want shit from," I immediately replied, probably more verbally than mentally.

Edited by wikkit on Oct 7th 2020 at 5:40:37 AM

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, McDonald's

"Oh—nice to meet you, sir," Alicia said, hurriedly removing her baseball cap and bowing cordially in return to Mengde once she realized what he was doing. She bowed lower then he did on account of her being his apparent junior, because that was the custom that some historical re-enactors liked to follow, and she might as well play along with it. A question occurred to Alicia about why this fellow was choosing to follow antiquated customs even when he wasn't re-enacting anything, but she supposed that what he did in his spare time wasn't her business anyways. "Fortunately, once you do get to know Miss Zorana, she's more driven than an ox, and just as dependable, too."

The duty of subtly defending her friend from insults and asserting her "friendship seniority" (if such a thing even existed) complete, she gave Mengde one of her rare unfiltered smiles. Alicia thought that she knew what was going on between him and Zorana, though that was, again, entirely their business.

"You know, sir, your name kinda reminds me of a character in one of the games Zorana and I played once," she remarked to Mengde. "It was, like, a strategy game based on historical events. I liked it very much, but Miss Zorana wanted to switch over to the action-fighting mode. Then we fairly fought over the modes we wanted to play for a while, heh. It's a warlord's name, that one! I'm sure it means a good future for you."

"I wonder in what circumstances you two met," Alicia then sighed, looking at the happy couple. "I sure wish to be able to be as happy as you two someday. Take care of each other for me, okay?"

By then, Alicia's order had been prepared, and Caster had turned up outside the burger place tapping his non-existent wristwatch impatiently as if to ask what was taking so long. He had ditched the flamboyant top hat and outer coat, leaving him in only his shirt, pants, and suspenders in terms of clothing items for the purposes of disguise. He had also tied his tie around his head, refusing to ditch all the flamboyant aspects of his outfit.

"Jeez. What's taking you so long, Alicia?" Caster asked, walking into the burger shop. "Ran into some old friends?"

"Yeah," Alicia nodded, and decided to lie through her teeth. "Guys, meet my long-lost uncle, Harry."

There was a pregnant pause, before Alicia added "...I said, meet my long-lost uncle, Harry," more forcefully.

"Oh! Oh, I get it! Yes, I'm Alicia's long-lost uncle, Harry," Caster agreed, holding out his hand to shake.

"He's been at the weed again," Alicia explained, as if that was a good enough excuse for everything. She also picked up the paper bag with her order inside. There was no good reason to leave her food behind if they had to escape in a hurry.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Oct 18th 2020 at 12:29:06 PM

Sedryk & Lancer, McDonald's

For a few seconds, he locked eyes with Miss Petrovich, or whoever she actually was. What sort of emotions that shared gaze was meant to convey eluded him, and he might have pondered the deeper significance of it all if not for the more pressing and immediate concern that there was a Servant somewhere nearby.

Where was it? Who was it?

He tried not to move, so as not to draw attention to himself, but his gaze could not help shifting here, there and everywhere. It could be right outside. It could be in this very room. It could be anyone in this line! It could be that old woman a few spaces ahead, or the Chinese man in the Hawaiian shirt! It could be that little girl at the head of the line, demanding an ice cream! It could even be—

Calm down.

He flinched at those flinty words.

You’ll give yourself away if you keep acting like a man possessed. Master your fear before it masters you.

The tension slowly bled out of him as the rebuke sank in. It wasn’t completely gone, but there was far less of it than there had been moments ago.

She was right, of course. Panicking wouldn’t do him any good: it would just make him a target. And if the Servant was here, he had to try and figure out who it was, and to get as much information about it as possible.

He never thought that he’d be using his powers of observation for self-preservation, but there was a first time for everything. And today was nothing if not a day of many firsts.

So, he slipped back into the Pose and observed.

He observed as a red-headed man with a tied wrapped around his head like a bandana came in and approached Miss Petrovich and her apparent friend. He observed as that friend—apparently named Alicia—introduced the newcomer to Miss Petrovich and that Asian man—whose name Sedryk had missed in the panic—as her Uncle Harry… a statement that seemed to take a few seconds to sink in before “Harry” reacted.

Sedryk wasn't the best judge of people's character. He'd be the first to admit that. But he knew a bad lie when he heard one, and that was one of the worst he’d heard in recent memory.

Do you think it’s him? He made sure to think the question this time.

Quite possibly. But it could also be the bearded man in the colourful shirt.

Sedryk shifted his gaze to the man in question. Certainly a distinguished-looking old fellow, with the sort of beard and mustache that Sedryk could only dream of growing, shot through with streaks of grey. He also had a very intense stare which the sunglasses and the Hawaiian shirt did nothing to undercut. A portrait of that man’s face might turn out well, especially if he was directing that stare right at the viewer…

He furrowed his brow and hummed. You might be right, Lancer.

Then he looked away. Hopefully he hadn’t been staring overlong...

Edited by SullenFrog on Oct 11th 2020 at 11:54:25 AM

And that would be my fate, at the end of the world? Nothing more than the guise children can pick in their games?

Whatever warm regards I could feel for being remembered so far past my time, and whatever amusement I could feel that they still try to recreate the wars of my time...stiffled, at that very moment, by the pause I felt at the state of my name.

The girl meant nothing by it. It still served my purposes.

"I just thought those games were based on some movie," I said...entirely truthfully. Last night had been a crash course on some war fought by a bunch of old Chinese guys I had never heard of and whose names I couldn't be assed to remember. Big Beard was sitting behind me and apparently didn't have anything to add, yet. "Still, you gotta agree. The fighting game part's better."

At that point, of course, someone else had to barge their way in on what was just an educational visit to a fast food restaurant. Alicia's...well...he honestly looked really young, but uncles can be that young, I guess? She's never mentioned him at any point in her life and I'm at the very least smart enough to realize when someone's half-assing a cover story. Like I did. Fucking...

"Yo, Harry. Nice to meet ya...but it's a little weird that we never met before. You're probably in a worse spot than she is, if you couldn't give her a place to stay," I say, leaning hard into it.

Mengde put a hand on my shoulder and said "You should be respectful to your elders," a bit more firmly than before. "Treat the uncle of another woman as though he were your own."

I don't trust this one in the slightest.

"Yeah, fine," I agreed, shaking my head. "Sorry for butting in."

I don't either. Do you figure he's in on this?

We shall see shortly. First...

He had turned and looked Sedryk straight in the face, purposefully this time. I immediately tried to tug him back here by the front of his gaudy-ass shirt, but he was...fuck, I don't think he budged a single inch.

"Do you know that man?"

"...Yes...I met him pretty recently. Some artist."

"An acquaintance, then?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Would you mind joining us, sir?" he said like he wanted the whole restaurant to hear. "It'd be rude of us to not offer. A friend of Zorana's is a friend of mine, and I wouldn't be hospitable if I didn't try to include a friend of hers...who looks very eager to join in the conversation."

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, McDonald's

"That's not really the case," Alicia said confidently. "Apparently, someone living in my apartment noticed that I was living alone and without parents, and then they somehow dredged up the will to report it to the proper authorities. They found the nearest family member who was willing to take care of me—for a certain amount of recompense—and then notified the both of us about the other's existence."

"I was required to live with Alicia in order to be eligible to collect my child support payments from the Shelter Child Welfare Department, but what can you do?" Caster shrugged, trying to look as much like a low-key stoned-out-of-his-mind asshole as possible—an unfortunately typical breed of adult in Shelter. "I'm trying to wean myself off of weed and other drugs, too. It's a really shitty process."

"You needn't worry about me, Miss Zorana. I can still brawl like the rest of the gangbangers we used to know," Alicia shrugged, before noticing that the conversation had taken another turn. "Oh. It's good that you're meeting a lot of new people, then, Miss Zorana."

Caster, feeling the tension rise in the room, idly drew out a packet of what looked like playing cards from his trouser pockets, discreetly shuffled them—indeed, this was what amounted to the "incantation" for the divination spell he was about to use—and flipped over the top four cards to get a good view of the immediate situation.

As he turned the cards, their gilt faces changed for a split second to show stylized images from the Tarot before reverting. Anyone else with a quick eye could just as easily spot the images. The first card showed the King of Swords, whose scowling face bore much resemblance to Saber's own. The second card showed the Strength card, but the woman's face was shrouded in shadow and the lion appeared more afraid than was usually shown on the card. The third card was the Magician, but the card was reversed. Most notably, the card was changed in that the Magician had carrot-red hair and bore a resemblance to Caster himself, except for the lack of confident smile. The fourth card was the Hanged Man, which bore the same figure depicted in the Magician card, but suspended over a pit of water in a chained straitjacket and glancing to the right, at the exit of the establishment. This was a menacing spread of cards, to be sure.

Caster swallowed nervously. "Darn. Guessed wrong again," he commented, before sticking the pack of cards back into his trouser pocket, where the cards seemed to disappear. Caster clenched a hand, as it was shaking in fear.

The King of Swords and Strength, both of which I feel like are pointing to people rather than concepts, somehow! The Magician, my card, is doggone reversed! And the Hanged Man, my other card, is saying we need to get out of here, right now! Master, this isn't good!

What?

Master, please trust me, it's dangerous here! We need to get away!

Aren't you supposed to be the one to plan escapes?

Okay. Okay! Just...act casual. We have our order. We're going to calmly exit the establishment now. And I need my withdrawal medicine.

"I've told you before, it's impossible to count cards," Alicia said dismissively. "Just because you're trying to quit your weed addiction doesn't mean you have to develop another one towards gambling. Also, it looks like you forgot to take your withdrawal medicine this morning. You're getting the shakes again."

"Fuck off," Caster muttered, starting to look feverish, to make him seem more like some dickish druggie. "Don't need your...don't need your mothering."

Alicia pretended to check her paper bag to make sure that her order had everything she ordered in it, and then nodded at Zorana. "Familial duties call. It was nice to talk to you, Miss Zorana. It was nice to get to know you, sir, and I hope I get more opportunities to talk to you in the future. Unfortunately, my uncle seems to be determined to make a fuss in public. I hope we haven't disturbed your outing, or...anyone else for that matter, I guess," she said, scratching at her head in an imitation of awkwardness. She was hoping to remind any prospective attackers in the vicinity that this was a public location, and thus, had many, many witnesses.

Alicia took "Harry" by the arm and then fairly frog-marched him out of the McDonald's establishment, hoping to God or any other divinity that nobody had caught onto their act.

The crowd! We can disappear safely ahead.

That was terribly risky.

...I might be in over my head.

I told you so from the beginning!

They were just out of the establishment, but anyone else could just as easily step out after them and give chase.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Oct 23rd 2020 at 11:06:02 AM

Sedryk & Lancer, McDonald's

Esti de calice de ciboire de simonaque de tabarnak.

Sedryk had no idea what any of those words meant. They were relics from the pre-Shelter times, spoken only by a dwindling number of people over the centuries. His dear old grandmother had been one of them, and she'd let them—and many others like them—fly fast and furious whenever her mood was foul enough.

He was tempted to let them fly as well when the Chinese man locked eyes with him and called out to him. But that just would have made things worse than they already were.

So he put on a tight smile and projected an outward calm he certainly didn’t feel. "Well…" He coughed awkwardly into his hand. "I don’t know if 'friend' is the right word. But if you insist…"

Even as he approached the two of them, he noticed Alicia's "uncle" consulting a deck of cards. Whatever the redheaded man saw seemed to disturb him, and Harry and the punk took their leave soon afterward. Sedryk watched them go for a moment, trying to make his interest seem more casual than it actually was.

Can you follow them, Lancer?

And leave you alone? her voice seemed more doubtful than concerned.

I don't think he'll attack me here. Too many witnesses.

There was a pregnant pause.

Very well. But I cannot follow them too far. Call if you need me. And with that, her presence seemed to vanish from his awareness.

Sedryk turned to face the other two and shrugged. "Bit of an odd fellow, that one, but then who am I to judge?" An awkward smile. "Forgive me, I should introduce myself. I am Sedryk de Saint-Paulin. Miss Zorana I already know, or I thought I did." Just a hint of a frown, quickly quashed. "And who might you be, sir?"

As Alicia and Harry left the restaurant, they might have noticed the tall, white-haired woman in army fatigues leaning against the wall just outside the entrance. She certainly seemed to notice them: the aviators she wore couldn't hide the way her gaze locked onto them the instant they stepped outside and tracked them as they tried to blend into the crowd.

Lancer took a moment to crack her neck. Then she started to follow them at a slow and unhurried pace.

A pity she hadn't been summoned as an Archer. Then this little hunt might actually lead somewhere…

Edited by SullenFrog on Oct 23rd 2020 at 3:18:31 PM

"..."

"..."

For a moment, I actually felt some kind of connection between me and the old man. We both had no fucking idea why he was acting like a spastic (beyond an inkling of a doubt that we'd later catch up on), and we just kind of stood there until Alicia and her "uncle" had left.

Which left us with Sedryk.

This guy...

"Yeah. Zorana. I've got reasons to be less-than-honest," I replied to him, leaving the more-or-less kind tone I put on for him yesterday in the trash bin where it belongs. "City of millions, and I run into you in some obscure restaurant."

"I am Mengde...as I am certain that you've already heard," he says, not even bothering with the bow. "Though, I figure it's--"

"MA'AM PLEASE STOP HOLDING UP THE LINE."

We both turn around. Oh, right. We were waiting for McDonald's. I step up to the counter, resting an arm on it as I quickly rattle off "One McDouble, one McZap!, and a small fry. And..."

I look at Cao Cao and he's mostly got his attention on the artist still.

"Yeah, two McDoubles. And if you don't plan on running away yourself, Sedryk, I'll pay for whatever you want."

Edited by wikkit on Oct 27th 2020 at 6:45:24 AM

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

We're being followed.

How can you tell?

I've got the willies~

Can your instincts be trusted?

About 90% of the time, yes. I am a Caster, after all.

So what should we do?

Go someplace with a lot of people and lose them there, hopefully.

There's a plaza some distance from here.

And I thought you didn't run missions here often?

Shut up, Caster.

Joking, I was joking...

I'm a courier. I know all the secret nooks and crannies.

Ooh, clever girl.

Don't patronize me. Now, into this alley—

Don't pull my arm like that, assistant!

I'm going to save us both, you idiot.

With that silent exchange, the duo stepped neatly sideways into a little-used alleyway, which would segue into an adjacent street leading to a plaza filled with people. However, it only took a good, sharp eye to spot the pair and where they had disappeared (in)to...

Edited by JumpingFruit on Oct 27th 2020 at 11:08:39 AM

Sedryk, McDonald’s

Naked hostility in the ghoul's words now. For a moment he had to wonder why she'd even come to the Canvaserai the day before, and why she'd bothered with a fake name and a façade of politeness. Of course, it was somewhat academic now, especially with the two of them boring holes into him with their eyes.

The shouting of an annoyed cashier took their attention off him. Sedryk suppressed the urge to let out a sigh of relief. His earlier guess had been right on the money: a painting of that man’s penetrating stare would definitely sell well, if he could capture it just right. Of course, if his suspicions about these two were right, that probably wasn’t going to happen.

At the ghoul's words, he gave a shrug. “Well, food is why I’m here. I'll have the McBrine, if you’re offering.” He slipped back into The Pose^TM and raised an eyebrow, stroking his chin in the process. “Forgive me, Mr. Mengde, but you have a very striking face. I'd offer to sculpt your likeness if I had any skill at sculpting, which I regrettably do not. But I do happen to know a few people who do, and I'm sure they’d make it worth your while.”

The name itself didn't mean anything to him, but then again, he wasn’t a student of history. Maybe it was the man's actual name, or maybe it was an alias. It would certainly fit with the company he kept. Either way, Sedryk wasn't about to open a terminal and search for the name right in front of them.

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

They knew they were being watched. Good. Lancer would have been insulted otherwise.

She picked up the pace ever so slightly, still making no effort to hide herself, and turned into the same alleyway that her quarry had entered. It was narrow and secluded from the streets on either side.

A perfect place to spring an ambush, if they were up to it…

Lancer stepped into the shadows without hesitation, her booted footfalls echoing off the close walls.

Let them try.

Edited by SullenFrog on Oct 30th 2020 at 2:51:53 PM

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Are you honestly sure she's going to fall for this—

Assistant! Don't you trust my skills?

...No.

Now you're just being unfair!

Then prove yourself in this confrontation.

As Lancer reached a sharp turn in the somewhat narrow and crooked alleyway, she would see a playing card impaled by a throwing knife into the walls of the alley. If she chose to examine it, the lettering under the card read I THE MAGICIAN in gilt but neat block writing. The figure on the card—a ginger-haired man in a top hat and suit, holding a cane—was standing on a stage, eyes shut, but spreading his arms wide, as if accepting the attention and adulation of the people who were undoubtedly sitting below him in the audience.

Suddenly, the figure opened its eyes, and gave a showman's bow to Lancer as it thrust its cane forward. A burst of light would then erupt forth from the card, which would then turn to ashes, its duty performed. This burst of light was not meant to wound, but it was meant to disorient and confuse, a necessary step for what came next.

The reason why nobody ever used this shortcut in this area of Djerba Rediscovered were rumors that its length and construction would muffle any cries for help if someone were attacked within its walls. These rumors were partly due to how often Alicia—a suspected gang member and courier—used it. Now, Alicia had remembered the urban legend she had helped create, and grasped the coattails of her own story to pull her side to victory, or so she hoped.

An inexplicable spotlight fell upon Lancer as, with the sudden sound of grinding wheels, Caster leapt off a maintenance catwalk crammed into the alley, riding Alicia's magic skateboard and having the time of his life. He aimed to fall right onto Lancer's head and ollie off of it with a magical burst, thus making a dramatic entrance while also launching an appreciatively creative opening attack. Most notably, the skateboard's magic would use the kinetic energy of the fall to protect the rider from the fall itself, as well as attacks launched against the rider, to a certain extent.

Alicia, having been handed her gliding cloak and weather rod out of nowhere by Caster before he decided to execute his sick move, fastened the cloak around herself and started muttering spells to activate her weather rod in case she needed to use it, perched on another catwalk above.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 1st 2020 at 12:54:39 PM

Something rare issued from my mouth, which seemed to have left me entirely in my elder days: A genuine peal of laughter. I replied to the artist, saying to him "That's very flattering, friend. Maybe, if you're so charitable, a painting will suffice."

Though it was not to be, if only my own master had an interest in the arts...what great fortune that would be.

Suffice to say, McDonalds has fast service. If I remember what I read in a book once^* yes I can read you fucking ingrate I'm not a retard at some point in the past, stored and preserved food managed to bridge the gap with fast food a while ago, so most of the shit on this tray was probably just unfrozen and put into a paper wrapper. Or maybe they manufacture these things with the paper on...

Anyway, back to what I was talking about: I guide Sedryk over to one of the tables comfortably distant from the door, and I sit him down after passing him his McBrine.

"So." I bite into my food and take a good chunk off. "Lodda shight's been happeneeng araud here laghtely, Sedryk." I swallow. "Lotta shit I don't know how to deal with."

I gotta be honest, the thought only came to me now and it was a fucking glorious one. I bet none of those fucking mages even thought about this tactic.

"...You could help me with something pretty simple. You mind letting me look at your hands, real quick?"

Edited by wikkit on Nov 2nd 2020 at 7:44:08 AM

Sedryk, McDonald's

Well. That broke the ice better than expected or intended. It was good to see that ‘Mengde’ had a sense of humour.

"Well, my schedule is unfortunately booked but I might be able to pencil you in for next week." He shrugged apologetically.

Soon enough he was seated at a table with Zorana and her quite-possible Servant. He unwrapped the foil and inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the salty tang of the sea, or so he'd heard, but the smell of a McBrine fresh out of the… well, brine… supposedly came close. Whatever the case, it was a powerful odor that really cleared out the nostrils.

He sliced a piece out of it with his utensils and popped it into his mouth. Its bitter, salty texture flooded his taste buds. There was nothing quite like chewing on a mouthful of kelp and pseudoprotein, was there?

He paused in the middle of chewing as Zorana asked her question. Then he finished, swallowed, and smiled. "Certainly, Miss Zorana." With that he put down his knife and fork and held up his hands, turning them this way and that. "You can look, but don’t touch. These are the tools of my trade, after all."

Thank whatever powers existed that he’d had the foresight to put on the Manus Monado this morning. Its coppery form covered his left hand in its entirety, minus the fingers of course, keeping his Command Spells safely out of sight.

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

No sign of them yet. They couldn’t have doubled back: in a cramped space like this she would have seen or heard them, even if they were using the catwalks overhead. Which meant they were still on the move… or lying in wait.

Lancer rounded a corner and saw the card immediately. She could smell the rock dust in the air from where the knife had been driven into the wall to pin it in place. This had been done recently, maybe just moments ago.

Blatant bait. But she would bite.

She approached and stopped a few feet away. The figure on the card was unmistakable: the clothes may have been different, but there was no mistaking that red hair. And there was no mistaking the significance of the figure's attire, of the word written across the bottom edge.

Then the figure moved.

She turned away and shielded her face with her elbow, just in time to avoid being blinded by the flash. She lowered her arm, spread her legs wide, made her hands into fists. Her eyes swept back and forth, waiting for the attack that was sure to come. The wall was behind her now, so that left only the flanks, or…

Light from above, and an unfamiliar sound. Her head snapped up. A shadow was plummeting toward her, backlit by the light: a man, perched on something that her implanted knowledge of the modern world told her was a "skateboard".

She raised a snow-white eyebrow.

A normal human would have had no time to react. But she was a Servant. To her eyes, the man might as well have been falling toward her in slow motion.

She swayed to the left, letting the skateboard sail through the spot where her head had been a moment ago. Its passage ruffled her hair, and she felt a tingle wash over her skin from its magical energies. Whether this resulted in her attacker landing with some dignity or crashing into the alley wall, she turned to face him. "Bold, Caster. But now you’ve lost the element of surprise."

Her tone was mild, and she had yet to summon her weapons. Both facts were completely at odds with her posture. She stood in a fighting stance, taut, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Edited by SullenFrog on Nov 3rd 2020 at 2:04:46 PM

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Lancer turned to face Caster...only to find that he was no longer there. There was no impact of the skateboard on concrete, either, as it simply seemed to disappear. Meanwhile, Alicia hurriedly caught it as it appeared out of thin air next to where she was, and put it down before it could give away her position.

He was behind her, yanking the throwing knife out of the wall, though he had to try multiple times to do it, swearing with a quiet "Damn it!" Eventually he managed to wriggle the knife out of where it was impaled, and shrugged, going "Ta-da..." as if he hadn't struggled with the task at all.

"Hey, lady, this is your card, right? The Strength card!" Caster held up said card with Lancer featured on it, face no longer obscured in shadow and holding open the mouth of a lion. "Lucky for you, fighting is your strong suit, so you must be one of the more martial classes. I think I already met the King of Swords earlier, so you must be Rider or Lancer."

He was watching Lancer's face very closely to see whether she reacted to what he said, whether with surprise, recognition, or some other emotion. This was a technique that was commonly practice among "fortune tellers"—cold reading.

"Did I make a bold entrance? I don't know. I've done bolder, certainly. I want to make a good impression before I'm snapped in half like a particularly ginger toothpick," Caster yammered on, while watching Lancer like a hawk. "But the audience favors an underdog, so I might hang on for a little while yet."

"What do you think, Lady of Strength?" Caster asked, cocking his head at Lancer. "Do you care to give your opinions on the matter?" His hands twitched and they filled up with more cards, though their function would not be evident until he threw them.

The alleyway was starting to fill up with fog, now, due to Alicia working her magic. This would give Caster more visual cover as well as more places to hide—a perfect environment for a grand debut of a disappearance act.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 6th 2020 at 9:38:22 AM