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

After all of that foreplay, I shoot out a short sigh as I'm left looking at the ultimate cockblock of just staring at a glove. Right before now, I was hyping myself up to finally get into this mage war business properly.

But then, as fate has it, I have a very good idea that wouldn't come to those without my mental know-how.

I disregard his explicit advice and just try to yank his fancy glove right off.

What's he gonna do, make a diss painting of me?

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Misdirection and trickery. Lancer would have expected nothing less.

She turned to face Caster properly now, maintaining her stance: feet staggered, abdomen taut, arms held close in front of her and hands clenched into fists. She kept her expression neutral as she watched him. Her aviators hid the narrowing of her eyes as he aired his guesses at her class, but could not conceal the brief furrowing of her brow.

This one was sharp. Caster wasn't half as foolish as he acted before.

Or now. She was not blind to the fog now rolling in. Whether it had been conjured by Caster or his unseen Master was irrelevant. He was stalling for time, hoping that it would conceal his escape or give him an edge.

Master. The girl’s "uncle" is a Caster. I am about to engage. Your orders?

Sedryk—McDonald's

"Hey!" He pulled away from Zorana with a frown, clapping his left hand protectively over the right. "Do you mind? This glove has been in my family for generations."

He directed an indignant glance at ‘Mengde’. "Honestly, what kind of society are we living in where one person can take off another person’s clothes against that person’s will, and in public no less? There ought to be a law against this sort of thing if there isn’t already."

Master.

He couldn’t help but glance to the right as Lancer's message came in.

The girl's "uncle" is a Caster. I am about to engage. Your orders?

Fight if you must, but don't reveal your Noble Phantasm. If it comes down to a choice between revealing it and retreating, retreat.

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Understood.

Lancer relaxed her stance slightly.

"I think you have a talent for declamation," she said. "As a mortal man that talent probably served you well. But as a Servant—"

The ground shattered beneath her feet as she lunged. She crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, driving a punch toward his solar plexus with enough force to pulverize the concrete façade behind him.

"—you talk too much."

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

"Ah, so you live up to the reputation of the more martial classes, Lady of Strength. Excellent! I, however, would have been glad if you hadn't done something so rude—" Caster said, still managing to stand upright after the punch, somehow, despite one-half of his face seemingly being cratered from the rather forceful punch that Shaka had thrown. His mouth curved upwards in a smile that threatened to show all his teeth. "—Lancer."

Cracks then began to spread across Caster's whole body, and his image shattered, as if what was talking was merely a mirror—and as shards tumbled to the floor, it was all but confirmed. Caster, now some ways away from Lancer and in another alley directly across from the mirror he'd been using to talk to her, said no more, and launched a fierce volley of sharp-edged throwing cards from his hands.

Alicia, watching the ensuing fracas from her catwalk, took a deep breath and forcefully whispered "Cumulonimbus!" as she gripped her staff tight with both hands. Fog coalesced around her Weather Rod into a miniature thunder cloud, sparking with lightning, which shot off—as fast as it could, anyways—into the alleyway where Lancer and Caster were fighting. As Alicia channeled more of her mana into the spell, at least two more thunder clouds were born. They were what amounted to the attackers behind Lancer. When they had gotten into position, they started to charge blasts of thunder within themselves, and would fire when they were ready.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 15th 2020 at 1:10:00 AM

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Lancer glared down at the shards of Caster’s projection. Then she smirked.

"Rude? Ha!" The laugh was short and sharp, less the sound of a human being and more the snarl of a leopard. "My orders were just to follow you, Caster. I would have let the two of you go, but you chose to strike at me…"

Hot, dry wind roared down the alleyway from both ends. It coalesced around Lancer, enveloping her in a crackling vortex like a tornado in miniature. When the wind passed, the boots, fatigues and aviators were gone. In their place were the wraps and furs, the belt of skulls, the horned mask with its jingling beads.

"...and that cannot go unpunished."

She spun toward the keening whistle of projectiles in flight. Her assegai materialized with a flash and a roar, smoking faintly from its manifestation. She took it in both hands and twirled it at speed: to the eyes of an onlooker, it ceased to be a crimson shaft with a gunmetal head and became a flickering circle, gunmetal-edged with a crimson core. Playing cards met the whistling haft and were struck from the air to litter the ground at her feet, while those that met the blade’s sharp edge landed in pieces.

The rumble of thunder and the tingle of imminent discharge drew her gaze upward. Storm clouds hovered low overhead, far smaller and closer than was natural. Their presence was telling, however. The last cloud had still been in motion when she had looked up, and she had seen where it came from.

There was the Master, crouched on a catwalk, staff in hand and incantations on her lips.

The mask’s eye slits flared with red light. "Unwise, girl."

Lancer tensed and sprang. Another crater gouged itself into the pavement as she left the ground. She landed on the far side of the catwalk from Alicia’s position, skulls clacking, beads jangling. Then she lunged at the girl, her spear keening as she swung it through a diagonal slash.

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

After making that comment, Lancer had leapt straight for Alicia's throat, getting onto the catwalk in almost no time at all. Caster's eyes widened under his unruly mop of hair as he froze—well, in comparison to Lancer's speed, anyways—and could not disappear into the fog in that frame of time for a rescue in the nick of time. As time slowed due to the adrenaline pumping through every participant's veins, Alicia instinctively pointed her Weather Rod at her assailant, and said one small incantation: "Nimbus!"

Indeed, the well-muscled feminine form of Shaka Zulu could very well be comparable to the rapidly approaching ground after one had leapt from a high precipice in order to shave a few seconds off of one's delivery time. The Nimbus spell was useful in catching oneself just as one was about to become nothing but a red splatter on the sidewalk—that is, if the cloud was not accidentally summoned around oneself instead of below.

As Alicia remembered this hard lesson, a cloud burst forth from her Weather Rod and attempted to wrap itself around Lancer, acting very much like a massive pillow which puffed out in all directions to block her blows and hinder her movement. As the lightning clouds finished charging up below, they fired their payloads right as Alicia leapt off the catwalk with her skateboard to rejoin Caster below, but not before whispering "Glacies Major!" to aid in the superconducting of electricity, or at least slow Lancer down somewhat.

"I didn't know you had that in you, Master," Caster commented, wiping sweat off his forehead. "That's a relief!"

"Don't look away!" Alicia warned. "She's fast, and can probably rip her way out of my Nimbus any moment now; I don't even know if my ice blasts or lightning bolts can hurt her even if they might delay her!"

She waved a hand for them to back down an adjacent alleyway, looking periodically over her shoulder at Lancer and whatever happened to her enemy.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 25th 2020 at 4:48:21 AM

I had immediately deigned this woman uncouth and uneducated, but it is now apparent that my Master is also incompetent. Terribly so.

Oh, the pleasantness of having men to hand off executions to...

What internally rose up as anger, I coil towards outwards shock. That my "friend" had suddenly acted so strangely, I have no answer towards! I am merely her co-worker, how should I know that she would act like a deaf-mute, grasping at whatever's in front of her eyes? To this man's question, be he enemy or not, I have this to say: "It is a crumbling society, my friend. One where I am bedfellows with a shameless person like this..."

She responds with a half-barked "I don't know what you're talking about, I just wanted to see what it's—" which I end with a forceful grasp. My hand wraps around her arm, and I know that whatever magecraft she has tainted her body with isn't enough to get past the pain I put into it. Her dim eyes turn towards me, and I give my own glare back.

And, with nothing more than that, you've ruined our chances at not being suspected.

Shut the FUCK up. I'm...I'm being proactive. I'm trying to do something with this opportunity, isn't that something in that Sun Tzu book?

You are ruining us, my so-called Master. And you are speaking to one of the distinguished commentators upon it, so you shut it.

I groan.

I stop staring at Sedryk.

I want this to be over with.

Telling him verbally is merely a formality at this point. You're free to do so..

I cup my hands in front of my face, and I spend a couple seconds pondering how to put this. I have my bet firmly placed on him being a master...especially with his own distracted glances and the like, that I'm not sure Cow Cow picked up on...but I have no idea how to elegantly start this conversation.

"...So."

"I'm gonna ask you a question, and I'd like a little honesty to save me the headache."

"Did a lady come to you in a dream last night and start saying...cryptic shit?"

Edited by wikkit on Nov 26th 2020 at 8:23:45 AM

Sedryk—McDonald's

This just kept getting more and more surreal.

Here he was, sitting at a table with someone who’d gone from being a chance encounter to a potential enemy and a man who was, in all likelihood, an enemy Servant. He was spewing complete and utter bullshit to the quite-possibly-a-Servant, and the Servant was actually taking his side of things over hers.

Had the great Grail Wars of the distant past played out like this? Did rival Masters just sit down and eat casual meals in a public restaurant this close to each other, in full apparent knowledge of each other’s identities?

It made for quite an odd thought.

But Zorana had calmed down by then, and asked him straight out.

He didn't answer right away. Which, he supposed, was answer enough. Instead he sliced off another piece of his McBrine and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it for a few seconds and swallowed, expression neutral.

"An interesting question," he said slowly. "Suppose that I did have a dream along those lines. What would you do if this were the case?"

He could have lied. But somehow, he suspected that wouldn’t have fooled either of them.

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

The girl brandished her staff and spoke a single word of power.

Lancer barely had time to shout “What—" before she was enveloped in something soft and smothering. Then came the rumble of thunder, and the actinic tang of electrical discharge. The assegai’s iron head was a beacon for the lightning, drawing every bolt straight to the grey head, down the crimson haft and into her arms. The cold washed over her and enveloped her in its biting embrace, adding to the current.

To a normal person, the voltage would surely have been fatal. To be struck not once, but thrice, was something few could hope to survive.

But Lancer was not normal. She never had been—not in life, and certainly not now.

A low snarl tore itself from the smothering cloud. Then its spongy, clinging material was torn asunder by the iron blade of a spear. Lancer swept her right arm out, casting aside wisps of cloud and tendrils of acrid smoke. And smoke there was aplenty: the shocks had blackened the haft of the assegai, charred the wraps on that arm, and turned the ice into steaming meltwater which dripped to the catwalk like slush.

She was unharmed. But that was beside the point.

Now she was angry.

She saw Caster and the girl backing into another alleyway.

Her eye slits flared again. "You will not escape."

She sprang upward and landed feetfirst against the alley wall. Before gravity could take hold of her she kicked off into the air again, and again, and once more to bring herself up onto the rooftops. Then she was running along the edge of the roof, cape flying in her wake.

The hunt was on.

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

By the time Lancer had broken out of her cloudy prison, Alicia had already hopped onto her souped-up skateboard and was dragging Caster along with her, who, finding it tiring to run, summoned a pair of rollerblade skates onto his feet.

"My, you sure are a cool-headed, hot-heeled youngster, aren't you?" Caster remarked. "Where to next, my personal GPS navigator?"

Alicia silently swore, and then said, "Lancer's taking the high ground, just as I did, on the rooftops. I don't know how she's not stumbling, but this just makes her all the more exposed to my magic..."

"Don't boast, dear, that's my wheelhouse," Caster singsonged lightly. "I asked you where we were going."

"Down," Alicia hissed simply. Indeed, signs were already whizzing by the duo as they made their escape, warning them of the old maintenace district that they were quickly approaching. Not that Alicia was paying them any mind.

"Oh. Oh no. We're not jumping into the sewers," Caster gagged, disgusted. "Are we?"

"We're using the decommissioned sewers in this area. They're clean. I've passed this way many times," Alicia explained tersely as they rounded a corner.

"You're insane. But I can swing this anyhow," Caster sighed, hooking onto a telephone pole with his cane and letting that swing him around the corner. "Once we get into the sewer, I can pull a disappearance act."

Alicia was not listening, or if she was, she gave no indication of it. Muttering spells under her breath, she caused moisture to coalesce on the ceiling of Shelter and begin to rain down onto the rooftops below, raising her Weather Rod in supplication to the heavens. Caster actually had to hold her steady for this, pushing her forward as they made their great escape.

With a second word of "Glacies Major!" she shot a blast of concentrated cold up into the clouds above, which would freeze the rain and cause it to turn to slippery sleet mid-fall into Shelter's carefully-controlled artificial warmth. Meanwhile, the three thunderclouds pursuing Lancer shrank in size, weakening their blasting power, but continued in their appointed task. However, after firing off one shot each—at the rooftops that Lancer was on, since sleet was an excellent conductor—they would disappear in a puff of water vapor.

The goal of this entire exercise was to delay Lancer, as the duo now knew that they couldn't beat her in a head-on fight. Whether the imcumbent weather could even affect Lancer, with her Thorn-Calloused Soles, remained to be seen. Even if it couldn't, it still had the effect of limiting their visibility.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 29th 2020 at 10:08:54 AM

...And here I was, thinking that he was gonna try some shit and I'd have to run him down.

For a few seconds I think I show my own version of Sedryk's surprise, though Cao Cao remains as bland as a rock like the good little servant he is. I lean back a little in my chair, looking him in the face for a moment...

"Well. If we're going to talk possibilities." I clasped my hands in front of my face. "I would've supposedly been instructed in a few things that'd make fighting in the open like this very stupid. This dream we shared is supposed to be a secret, right? Alongside everything we're doing in response to the dream. And even if we forgot that, any special person who might be helping you could be waiting right behind me."

I resist the urge to look behind me, but there's no denying that his Servant must be around here somewhere.

"And, third...my own friend, Cao Cao, has told me he isn't into just attacking people out of the blue like that."

Cao nods, and smiles. "You have my word that I will not strike you down in here," he says.

"So, what would you say if you supposed all of that is true?"

One Million Eyes

Claire somehow managed to get another few hours of sleep. Helped partially by Assassin being surprisingly agreeable. Upon going over his abilities with him (technically 'it', but Claire found it more comforting to think of the ancient curse upon man as a mortal being that could be killed), she'd laid ground rules for him.

Never infect anything without her explicit approval. Never kill anyone without her explicit approval. Avoid drawing attention. Keep his familiars hidden. Never allow them to be traced back to her.

The one upshot of Assassin's horrifying nature was that Claire could sit at home and have him remotely scout the entirety of Djerba. If not all of Shelter; she didn't know how far Assassin could spread himself, but it was far.

So that had been the plan, until Assassin's many eyes stumbled upon a Magus. A Magus that Claire recognized. By itself, probably a coincedence. But when she saw the other familiar face...

Master ordered it to be quiet. To make no one sick, at least for now. This was wise.

It understood that if it was discovered, humans would fight it. It knew of the medicines of this era. It knew that Man had almost killed it. It knew that Man was himself dying.

Man could not be allowed to die. It needed Man. A mosquito needed blood. A carnivore needed flesh. A parasite needed enemies to feed upon.

Death was the end of life. Death died when there was no more life to die.

Man must be saved. Master must win.

So for now, it would be quiet.

McDonald's

Why am I doing this? Claire thought to herself. Sure, McDonald's was delicious, but she normally got it delivered. Going out in person was too retro for her tastes. And too dangerous, in the context of the Grail War.

Assassin was very hard to kill. Claire was not. It made sense to let him do the exploring, sacrificing his mosquitoes and rats if need be. It did not make sense for her to be doing this. Yet here she was.

   Master is doing this to make allies.    Assassin helpfully reminded her.

Thanks, Assassin. She thought back dryly. Not that he'd understand sarcasm.

In the stomach pocket of her sweater, one of Assassin's rat-bodies nuzzled against her belly. She'd resolved to keep part of Assassin near her at all times, for safety. And a rat could be passed off as a pet, unlike a cloud of insects. Though it was technically a sick rat, rats always looked sick anyway, so those without veterinary experience wouldn't be able to immediately tell anything was wrong with it.

Not that she intended to show it to anyone, but one always had to have backup plans. Already she was planning escape routes as she entered the restaurant and picked up her order. Why there was an actual line befuddled her. Had these people never heard of online ordering?

Keeping a placid smile on her face, despite her internal anxieties, Claire turned towards a table and pretended to do a double take at Sedryk and Debra. Her acting was surprisingly on point, and she appeared casual and pleasant as she approached them.

"Hello Sedryk, Debra." She greeted. "I didn't expect to see you two here. Mind if I sit with you?"

As she nervously scratched at the 'M' on her shoulder, the two of them would probably notice the fingerless gloves she definitely hadn't been wearing yesterday.

Sedryk, MacDonald's

Another moment of silence as Sedryk took all of this in. He blinked, slowly looking from Zorana to Mengde—or 'Cow Cow', he supposed—and back again. His gaze finally settled on the Servant, and he hazarded a smile.

"Well, I would say that that is reassuring." An awkward half-laugh. "It would be rather a shame to die without having breakfast first. Or rather, finishing it, as the case may be."

Even as he blathered, he couldn’t help but wonder: why? Why tell me the Servant's true name? Weren't you supposed to keep that a secret? What was to stop him from looking up this man—beyond the fact that he wasn’t sure how you spelt 'Cow Cow', as he had honestly never heard of the man—and learning as much as he could about him?

Cow Cow wasn’t rebuking Zorana for giving his name away, either. That had to mean something. There had to be a reason why they'd both be confident enough to give away something this vital so freely. But what? Were they just overconfident? Were they looking for allies? Or was it something else…?

A familiar voice promptly derailed that train of thought. He turned in his seat, and could not keep the surprise off his face. "Miss Rosenkreuz! What a coincidence…"

He trailed off, his relieved smile dying stillborn as he noticed the gloves on her hands—gloves not unlike the Manus Monado, which she could clearly see on his left hand.

"…Then again, perhaps not." He linked his fingers together and adopted a neutral expression. “I don’t mind personally, though I can’t speak for our friends here.”

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

The girl cast another spell, and soon rain began to fall upon the rooftops.

Behind her mask, Lancer grinned. “You think this drizzle will slow me down?”

The roof grew slick with precipitation. The edge on which she ran was barely wide enough for both feet. A moment’s inattention would have led to a slip and a fall—fatal for a mortal human, a painful distraction for a Servant. And when the rain suddenly grew cold and clumps of wet snow began to weigh down Lancer’s cape, that treacherous terrain grew even more so.

A cautious soul would have checked their pace, would have taken their eyes off their quarry to watch the ground beneath their feet.

Lancer did neither.

Her bare feet slapped against the wet, slushy rooftop. They had trod upon thorns and baking clay, on ground that had turned to mud from summer rains, and they had forced the feet of thousands more to do the same by example. Her calloused soles did not even register the cold, and nor did they slip. She might as well have been running down a sidewalk on a sunny day.

Alicia's clouds still followed her, keeping pace. They shot their final payloads before breaking up.

But this time, Lancer was ready. This time, there was no cloud to blind and restrain her.

This time, she was moving toward prey.

Right as the clouds spat their lightning at her, she leapt forward. The bolts struck the rooftop and electrified the water coating them, but she was no longer in contact with it. And though the rain was intensifying and impeding her visibility, she could still see a vague outline of Caster and his Master.

Lancer drew back her arm mid-leap while extending the other arm. Then she hurled her assegai, the spear streaking through the air like a red-and-grey thunderbolt of her own.

Djerba Rediscovered, Cabaret de L’Enfer

"Heard a joke once," she said casually, rocking back and forth on the stool, "Man goes to a doctor. Says-"

"I'm depressed," he completed, "Life seems harsh and cruel. I feel all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is certain and final. Doctor says-

"Ja, treatment is simple! The great clown Pagliacci eez in town tonight! Go and see him! Zat should pick you up! Man bursts into tears. Says-"

"But doctor, I am Pagliacci!"

"Ah, but Great Pagliacci, don't you see? You spread joy and laughter wherever you perform! Your very existence is a wondrous thing!"

"But doc, I don't know if I can do it anymore. All I've ever done is make people laugh, but I've never even had a dream of my own before..."

"Dreams start by believing. If you don't, even wishes that can be granted won't be. So don't believe in the you who believes in me, or the me who believes in you - believe in the you who believes in yourself!" She cocked back a fist, grinning hugely. "You ready, Cass?"

"Euphie, sister dearest, I was born ready!" he replied, bringing up his own balled fingers.

"Let's do this thang!" They bumped fists solidly, them mimed simultaneous explosions. "BOOM-shakalaka!"

She hopped on her unicyle and pedaled to the center of the stage while he readied his violin. The curtain rose.

"Gooooooood evening, Cabaret de L’Enfer! Are you ready for a night of music, movement, and magic...?!"

"What is it you seek?"

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

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

"Seek the Sangreal..."

The Preston Abode, Djerba Rediscovered

"Murgle..." the woman who went by the stage name Euphie Presto murgled, flopping out of her bed and directly into the beam of artificial dawn streaming in through her room's window. Something white and fuzzy flopped onto the carpet beside her.

"Euphrasia Chrysanthe Elpis Preston," a dignified British voice enunciated, disapproval plain to hear, "If you aren't going to leap out of your bed with your usual morning vigor, could you at least do me the courtesy of not flinging me off the sheets while you flop about and murgle?"

"...Oh..." she answered slowly and groggily, then yawned hugely. "Sorry, Gad... Man, I'm really out of it... Must not have slept well..."

"I should think so, and nor did I, given how you were tossing and turning and sweating in your slumber!"

"Sorry, Gad..." she repeated, genuinely sounding apologetic, then dragged herself to her feet and stumbled, clad in bright smiley-face pajamas, into the adjoining bathroom, where she began to brush her teeth. As she was swishing and leaning down to spit in the sink, something caught her eye: a strange marking on her right hand. Huh... She blinked and stared at it for a long moment, then shrugged.

"Hey Gad, did I get totally wasted last night and go get a new tattoo? I have a werid thingy on my hand. Looks pretty neat, though!"

"Let me see it," he demanded imperiously, whereupon she obligingly crouched down and offered the limb up for inspection.

"Hum... Harummmmm..." he harummed, squinting his beady rabbit eyes at it, "Do you remember anything about it at all?"

"Nope!" she admitted with cheer, "By the way, I think I remember why I didn't sleep so good! I had this crazy dream! Hey, Gad, what's a 'Sangreal'?"

"Oh," said Gad in a very small voice, "Oh dear..."

"What? What is it?!" she implored eagerly, "Do you think it'll give us a lead on what happened to Mother?!"

"Quiet, you!" he snapped, suddenly quite vexed, "I... I need to think..."

"Well, perhaps you'll think better with a full stomach!" she suggested, rising, and striding for the door to the hall, which opened with a satisfying swish! and closed in much the same way after Gad had hopped after her.

Euphie paced down the hall to the apartment's kitchen, and in short order had the small but homely table set for three: two steaming bowls of oatmeal for the siblings, and a platefull of carrots for Gad. "Caaaaaass~!" she cupped her hands and called down the hall to her brother's room, "Breakfast's ready~!"

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

"Master, she's gaining on us," Caster observed. "And I told you not to boast earlier. You tempted fate and now she's actually gaining on us!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Alicia half-stated, half-yelped. "I'm doing the best I can! I didn't ask to be dragged into this!"

"Oh, you sweet, sweet summer child..." Caster sighed. "Give me your coat." As he said that, he shucked off his rather over-sized overcoat, and extended a hand for Alicia to do the same.

"What?" Alicia asked, barely avoiding a disastrous crash into an errant lamp-post. "What do you mean—"

"Thank you, Assistant," Caster said delightedly as he suddenly procured Alicia's hoodie from out of nowhere. Alicia merely glared at him, shivered, and kept skateboarding onward. "I'm merely saving our collective skins, of course. May I have a wind blast for these trying times?"

As Caster tossed the coats upwards, Alicia suddenly understood what he was trying to do and spoke the incantation "Ventus Minor!" As a blast of wind issued forth from her staff, weakening as it spread over a wide area, it made the coats hang in the air for a moment, which was all Caster really needed as a distraction.

Lancer certainly couldn't discern them clearly through the torrential downpour of sleet, and Alicia was too distracted casting her spell to protest when he wrapped his arms around her waist and stepped backwards.

Alicia wasn't sure what happened after that. The world lurched around her and she was pulled into a tunnel filled with suffocating black cloth. Only Caster's arms around her kept her grounded, but she was distantly aware that she was either screaming or whining through her teeth. Suddenly the black cloth pulled back a little and she could see a world filled with saws—guns—traps—coffins—chains and gears and cabinets and—

—The black cloth pulled around them once more, and they were finally at home.

Alicia immediately ran for the bathroom and vomited forth what little she had in her stomach. Caster shouted "You're welcome!" after her.

When she finally rejoined him in the living room, she found that he was munching on one of the burgers that she had ordered. "Seriously? You can still think of eating at a time like this?" she scolded, then sighed, blanching. "That was certainly...a close call, though..."

"I know! I'm brilliant!" Caster crowed. "And I have to admit, you're not the worst Assistant I've ever had. You're pretty good for a pipsqueak! By the way, turn on the heater, won't you? I'm absolutely soaked thanks to you!"

Alicia shivered some more and turned on the heater. Then she reluctantly sat next to Caster, pulled out a burger of her own, and tucked in. Both were thinking the same thing: If Lancer is what amounts to the rest of the competition, then we're both doomed.

Lancer's assegai, hurled at her two targets, struck true, or even better, seemed to have impaled both the Master and the Servant. The girl's suddenly cut-off scream certainly attested to that. But, if that was the case, why didn't Caster also shout out in pain? Why were there briefly four figures fleeing in the downpour, then two again?

The rain and sleet slowly stopped falling as the false sky cleared up, and the counterfeit sun came out again to melt the remaining slush.

And impaled in a brick wall by the assegai were two coats: one a teal overcoat from days gone by, and the other a hoodie favored by youthful troublemakers. They hung and flapped desolately in the wind, as if to say "Tough luck, pal."

Also stuck on the tip of the assegai was a Tarot card—the Lady of Strength, Lancer's card. There was a message written in scrawled penmanship on the back:

That was good fight. You didn't get your aiming quite right. However, you gave us quite a fright. I look forward to facing your future might. Love, Caster.

P.S. You actually tried to punch me first.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Dec 20th 2020 at 2:58:51 AM

Cao Cao returns his smile, replying with his own stiffled laugh and "I suppose that's as worthy of a response as any other. These are strange times we live in, Sedryk de Saint-Paulin. With the world about to..."

I'm sure that he was gonna get into some neat philosophical shit right then and there, but no. Guess who comes along? The third wheel, that other girl from the art show. C-something. I had put my face down and hoped that she was just walking in this general direction and wasn't coming over here because she recognized us, but there she is, standing there all innocent-like.

For fuck's sake, I wanted to talk to someone! I was trying to actually be social for once in my fucking life, even if it was about wizard battles and my newfound old-ass cohort. Sure, it's even with a mage, but at least I wasn't getting interrupted by mages now! If it weren't for more pressing business there'd be a lot more than a brick coming through her window tonight...a shame there's no other reason to murk her.

I'm still holding my head low but I manage a quiet "nah, no problem," as she probably sits down there.

"I am fine with it, and welcome," Cao Cao says, gracious as ever. "We were just about to discuss the state of things...how strange it is, that life on Earth is about to end, and no one seems to mind. If you were to look at everyone, it's just as if there wasn't a sense of urgency amongst any of them, hm?"

McDonald's

"Thank you." Claire said, keeping a smile on her face even as she noted the glove on Sedryk's hand. That all but confirmed her suspicions. That, and the Asian man sitting with Miss Petrovich. Assassin had writhed invisibly and all but begged to swarm him when they'd entered. It was only the threat of a Command Seal that kept Assassin from acting impulsively.

Two other Masters in one place was potentially a godsend, if she played her cards right.

Sitting down and taking out her food, Claire took in Cao Cao's words. "Yes, it is strange. My father suspected mind control on the Mayor's part. He's... distrustful of authority. But I believe it's more simple than that. I think it's just despair. No one wants to do anything because no one thinks anything can be done."

She smiled again, lifting her right hand. "Until a little while ago, I was consigned to that same fate. But now, there's something that can be done." Claire lifted her glove for a few moments, exposing the mark on her hand. A chess queen's symbol, divided into three sections. "Which is why I'll be blunt. I'm assuming you're both involved in this, and I'm assuming you both have the same terminal goal as myself, i.e. preventing the end of life on Earth. That being the case, it is to our mutual benefit to form an alliance."

Claire slipped her glove back on and lowered her hands. "Three Servants combined almost guarantees us victory, barring the other four allying against us, or other such extremely unlikely events. And as our goals should be the same, it should be irrelevant as to which of us actually gets the wish." She put a finger to her lip in thought. "Though honestly, I'd assume most - if not all - of the people in this War have the same goal. Which makes me wonder why the War at all. I suppose it's less a War to save the world, and more a War to determine what 'saving the world' looks like."

She exhaled. "Sorry. Ranting. Point is, I'd like us all to work together."

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Lancer landed on the rooftop’s edge. Mere moments later the rain dwindled to a trickle, and soon after the skies were clear.

She could tell immediately that something wasn't right.

She had driven enough spears into people in her time that she could recognize the distinctive sound a person made when skewered by an assegai or iklwa. People struck by such weapons screamed in pain, when they had the strength and the breath to scream at all.

That had not been a scream of pain just now. Surprise, and perhaps fear, but not pain.

She straightened up, then stepped off the edge and dropped to the alleyway below. Her landing gouged imprints of both feet and one hand into the pavement. She straightened again, strode briskly toward the wall where her assegai had buried itself, and pulled it free with a light tug.

Another of Caster's calling cards. She tore it from the weapon's head, read its contents. A low, carnivore growl issued from beneath the mask. She clenched her fist, crumpling the card.

They escaped, Master. The words were hard and bitter. I failed.

Sedryk, McDonald's

He glanced briefly at Zorana as Miss Rosenkreuz sat down. The ghoul's reaction was hard to overlook. Was that her apparent distaste for mages rearing its head, or had she not come to the same conclusion that he had yet?

Whatever the truth might have been, the question quickly became moot. Miss Rosenkreuz came right out and confirmed his suspicions before making a most unexpected pitch. When she finished speaking, he took a moment to mull things over.

"Well, you're not wrong in your assumptions." He slipped off the Manus Monado as he said this, letting the three of them see the red cattle skull emblazoned on the back of his hand. No point hiding it now, after all. Then he slipped the Mystic Code back on. "And yes, I'd certainly like the world to go on turning."

He trailed off, glancing to the left as he received Lancer's telepathic message. We'll discuss it later. For now, return to my side, Lancer. The situation has gotten more complicated.

Djerba Rediscovered, Streets

Understood.

The roaring winds enveloped her once again. They picked up the coats and set them spinning around her.

A glint of red and a flash of steel.

The vortex vanished, taking with it the assegai, the furs, the wraps, the belt, and the mask. Behind her aviators, Lancer watched dispassionately as the teal overcoat fell to the ground in two neat pieces.

“Next time, Caster. Next time…"

With that she turned and walked away. The footfalls of her combat boots echoed off the alley walls until she dematerialized, and then silence—or as close to silence as could be had in a bustling city—returned.

"Usually, I'd agree with your dad," I say to Claire in response to her weirdass fucking conspiracy theory. "Fuck authority, whatever. But what I don't get is how someone who isn't even a mage can just brainwash people like that...sounds half-baked to me."

But then, after the others had presented their own evidence, I decide to cement that my Servant isn't just some old guy I picked up from off the street. I pull of my glove, fingerless naturally, showing the red spiraling design burnt into it to them. "We can discuss the whole wish thing later. I'd prefer to live a lot longer than I got on me now, and I doubt that I'll fix that if I'm the only one left."

"But, that's irrelevant. No matter how much we agree, we're still here to kill each other...and the tools we have...well, before I start making alliances and all of that shit...I'd like to make a request." She holds out her arms, and says "I believe we here represent six total fighters in this war, here. Yet, I only see the four of us."

"Show me your dudes. You know, your famous historical figures. I don't think they'd like to be roped into this without being present for the discussion."

Edited by wikkit on Dec 17th 2020 at 11:01:20 AM

McDonald's

The request was not unexpected, but Claire nonetheless silently cursed. Assassin was not the most subtle of Servants. Were he to manifest in full, it was likely that all the people eating here would run screaming. Or perhaps, knowing what the denizens of Shelter were like, they'd be intrigued at the novelty of seeing actual bugs and start snapping photos of Assassin.

The mental image almost made her snort with laughter, but she suppressed it. "Very well," She said, and reached into her sweater pocket. Claire shifter her body to as to make sure no one else in the restaurant would see, and a moment later she withdrew a rat. "I should warn you, my Servant is... unorthodox, for a Heroic Spirit."

In fact, Claire almost thought that it might not be a Heroic Spirit at all. Given the abnormal circumstances of this Grail War, it wouldn't surprise her. Nonetheless, she knew they probably wouldn't believe her word alone, so she sent Assassin a mental command.

The rat's eyes seemed to lock on to Cao Cao, and in a hoarse voice it whispered: "   Servant Assassin.   "

Keeping Assassin close to her stomach, Claire scratched it between its ears. "Is this to your satisfaction, Miss Petrovich?"

Sedryk, McDonalds

So Zorana wanted to see their Servants. Understandable, considering that hers was the only one currently visible. Sedryk just hoped that Lancer had the sense not to walk in here in the same getup that she'd worn when she introduced herself to him last night. Not because it would raise any eyebrows from the other patrons—there were plenty of folks in Shelter who dressed far more outlandishly than that—but because it might give away some hint of her identity.

After all, it would be rather inconvenient if his… allies? Enemies? Other parties figured that out before he did…

Such thoughts trailed off as Miss Rosenkranz reached into a pocket and pulled out…

He stared.

And when the rat spoke, he stared even harder.

He blinked. Once, twice.

"…Huh. Doesn't that cut the cheese."

The clomping of heavy boots presaged a shadow falling over him. He looked up to find Lancer looking down at him through a pair of aviators. She was dressed in camouflaged fatigues with rolled-up sleeves and had her hands on her hips. Her face bore no discernible expression, though she raised a snow-white eyebrow as her gaze shifted from him to take in everyone—and everything—seated at the table.

It was the first time he’d actually seen her face, now that he thought about it. And hers was an eminently paintable one.

Focus, Master.

Right.

Their eyes met, or at least he thought they did. She gave him a nod.

He turned in his seat to face the rest of the group. "Well, then, if we're sharing this sort of information… let me introduce my Servant, Lancer." He gestured to her as he said this.

Lancer folded her arms and looked directly at Cow Cow, as if sizing him up. After a moment she nodded, but said nothing.

Archer, The Preston Abode

The door to Cassander's room opened, of course, and there was the tread of slow footsteps. There Cassander stood, as usual, only this morning he was different. The yellow tunic with a black tree pattern, some kind of armored skirt, and a furred belt-y sort of thing wrapping around at the waist - all that, mashed up with the clothes he had worn at last night's performance, could be excused by a particularly bizarre attempt at dressing. Strangely dressed people were hardly uncommon in Shelter, after all. Somewhat less explainable was the empty quiver hanging from the belt and the bow slung across his back.

"This vessel seems to be rather fond of you, owing to the familial relation. However, do not mistake its feelings for mine." Cassander - or, perhaps, whatever just referred to him as a "vessel" - sighs in irritation, and there is the distinct sense that he wishes an end to the current conversation as soon as possible. "I never imagined I would be commanded by a girl who thinks smiley-face pajamas appropriate attire for a Holy Grail War, but such are the whims of fate. I am Archer, your Servant. Euphrasia Chrysanthe Elpis Preston, my Master, do you accept my pledge of service?"

The Preston Abode

"Oh dear..." gasped Gad, sitting atop the table and nervously nibbling his carrots, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..."

"Ahahaha! You look ridiculous, Cass! Where did you even get that stuff?" Euphie laughed, then cheerily beckoned for him to sit, "Come on, your oatmeal's getting cold!"

"Euphrasia..." the rabbit ventured as his master and student blew on a spoonful of her cereal to cool it, popped it into her mouth, and made satisfied noises as he explained, "That's not Cassander! Or rather, it is, but at the same time, it isn't! You see, my girl, I'm afraid... your brother has been possessed by a Pseudo-Servant!"

"Mmmmmm! Man, I dunno what they put in this stuff, but it's always so good!" the violette exclaimed, then expertly twirled her spoon to point first at her ordinary familiar, and then at the Servant. "So... What's a Pseudo-Servant?"

"You see, it has to do with the Sangreal you mentioned dreaming about earlier. Sangreal is another name for the Holy Grail, a cup said to have been used by Jesus Christ prior to his crucifixion, making it a sacred relic. In the context of mages, 'Holy Grail' is used to refer to any number of man-made artifacts and rituals designed to reach the Swirl of the Root."

"Oooooh, right, I think I remember Mom mentioning that once. But what's Cass being possessed have to do with that?" Euphie asked, still not exactly panicked, since it seemed her brother's possessor wasn't aggressive.

"Patience, girl; I'm getting to that! Now, where was I...?"

"Swirl of the Root!"

"Ah, yes! And in order to reach the Root, the Holy Grail typically functions by enabling the one who claims its power to make a wish."

"What, like a genie?"

"Something like that, indeed. Now, in one of the more common variants of the Holy Grail ritual, the Grail selects a number of champions, known as Masters, to compete for its custody. Those Masters then summon what are known as Servants, Heroic Spirits recorded in the Throne of Heroes within the Root, who subsequently fight until only one among them remains. Such battles are known as Holy Grail Wars. Each Master can only summon one Servant, and is granted three Command Seals, which allow them to enforce up to three absolute commands upon their Servant. Those would be the new tattoo you found on the back of your hand."

Rather than oatmeal, Euhpie began to feel a pit of dread fill her stomach. "And a Pseudo-Servant?"

"Sometimes certain exceptionally powerful Spirits, such as Gods, require vessels in order to manifest in the world as Servants. Those types of Servants, when manifested, are known as Pseudo-Servants."

"But then, what happens to Cass?!" Euphie demanded, abruptly rising and looking wildly between her famil(y)iars.

"I'm afraid... Cassander's personality and memories are largely locked away while he is being possessed. It won't be possible for him to return until the War is over."

"Oh," said the magician, settling back down into her chair and beaming at the Servant, "So he'll be back once the fighting's done. Well, in that case, I guess I hereby accept your pledge of service, Archer! But I don't like this whole 'Master and Servant' stuff, so just call me Euphie. That's what everybody else does - except Gad, here. And I'll call you whatever your real name is. Unless your name really is Archer? Anyway, if you're possessing my brother's body, you better make sure he gets enough to eat, so sit down and eat your breakfast! Like I said, your oatmeal's getting cold!"

Archer, The Preston Abode

"You seem to have misplaced your sense of priorities," Archer remarks, but his bow and quiver glimmer in the false sunlight before disappearing, and he reluctantly sits in Cassander's chair and begins to eat the oatmeal. He polishes it off quickly, as if the act of eating was merely an irritating formality, and adopts a stern look, that of a teacher lecturing a student.

"Your rabbit seems aware of what has happened, at least, so it must also be aware that my Class Name shall suffice for the purposes of this War. Your informality, though admittedly well-intentioned, is misguided, and I would prefer to keep the boundaries of our relationship clear, especially with this vessel involved."

Archer sighs and gives Euphie a once-over, pajamas and all. "We must prepare, and I assume from your dress that you have not done so. There is a high probability that the other participants have begun and familiarized themselves with the situation, so we are at a disadvantage." He pushes the chair out further and stands up. "They did not, I assume, waste time asking their Servants to reveal their names - or to eat breakfast, for that matter."

The bow and quiver reappear, and Archer's gaze shifts. He meets Euphie's eyes with an intense gaze, the look of someone who is tense as a taut bowstring, who cannot wait to begin, to prove something - to move. To break with the complacency of the world, and in doing so, to shine in the greatness of their deeds. Perhaps the world had been reintroduced to that drive only last midnight, and only in a small number of beings, but a clash between those similar wills could give Shelter a true, shining, sun.

"So, Master, I am yours to command. What would you have me do?"

The Preston Abode

"Weeeeeeell, I guess the first step should be to meet up with the other Masters and Servants and-"

"Euphrasia, you can't just go meeting the enemy like that! It's a battle to the death!" Gad stressed.

".....What?! I thought it was an elimination tournament!"

"Yes, elimination by death! Why did you think it was called a War?"

"I thought it was a metaphor!" Euphie clutched her head as if she had a sudden migraine.

"....."

"....." She took a deep breath and slapped her cheeks, then looked up, smiling, and locked eyes with Archer. "Okay. First step will be scouting. Is there any way to tell someone is a Master without seeing their Command Seals or knowing they're in the vicinity of a Servant?"

"No..."

"Then nobody will be able to tell I'm a Master, since my normal outfit covers my hands. I don't have the Mayor's brand, so they won't even know I'm a magus. Pick whatever sector you want and we'll scout separately, and cover more ground that way. Cass's face and mine are fairly well-known in this sector, at least among people who frequent magic and variety shows, so make sure you think up an excuse for being in a particular area and don't reveal that you're a Servant. That means no fighting! Take some of our advertising flyers with you and hand them out to any mages you see or anyone you suspect of being a Servant or Master, and put some up in locations near where you think they may be." She pointed to where a stack was sitting neatly on the nearby counter. "I'll stay here and search in Djerba for now, since I know this place by heart and can easily lose pursuers if for some reason I do get detected. Sound good, Archer?"

Edited by darksidevoid on Dec 21st 2020 at 9:47:38 AM

The Preston Abode/Djerba Rediscovered/Old Athens

"As you wish." Archer bowed slightly, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. His posture shifted into a slight slouch, and then he stood in Cassander's regular performance clothes. He gathered up the flyers, expression betraying his displeasure with the menial nature of the task, and left through the front door.

The outside was quite a surprise. The sheer abundance of things which a person could distract oneself with was quite the contrast to the world Archer had once known - once, people were in constant danger from disaster, whether it be from monsters or the harvest failing. Here, everywhere you could look, there was a person trying to live someone else's life, throwing themselves into a recreation of the past in a rush to ignore the present. He tried his best to hand out the brightly colored flyers to anyone wearing the pewter 'M' or exceptionally strange clothes, some vestige of his vessel's memory stirring up a no-doubt-regurgitated spiel and a bright smile as an excuse for his twitchiness. He had to admit, Euphrasia sending him out here to scare him into obedience was quite the clever move. Having to use a well-known identity correctly in the middle of this place would shock anyone.

After an indeterminate amount of time and the disappearance of about half of the flyers, Archer had definitely lost his sense of direction, in no small part because of the false sky. Spotting a station that he somehow knew was for the Municipal Monorail, he walked to it, paused to scan for any enemy Servant or Master, then entered after fending off some passersby with flyers. The display said that the next monorail was for Old Athens - certainly, it couldn't be any more surprising than what he had just walked through, he reasoned, and decided to go there.

One monorail ride later, Archer was relieved to step off into a relatively quiet place. Spotting a particularly normal-seeming apartment complex, he made his way there and began to navigate up, stopping at almost every door. The people here were a mite more suspicious, asking what he was doing or what he wanted with an arched brow or watchful eye, but talking about a magic show happening in Djerba Rediscovered, come one and all, just take this flyer, lulled them into acceptance soon enough. Truth be told, he wasn't that alert either, and as he moved to another door-

Wait. There was a Servant nearby - here, of all places, among the quiet dwellings instead of Djerba's gaudy distractions. Archer silently cursed his foolishness for letting his guard down in his shock. He would have initiated a fight, of course, and would probably have done so in a heartbeat if his Master hadn't suddenly proven herself well-versed in strategy. As it was, he deferred to her judgment.

There is an enemy Servant here in Old Athens, Master. As per your orders, I will attempt to escape without revealing my identity.

Surreptitiously scanning the immediate area for escape routes - the stairs were slower but wouldn't attract as much attention if he could pretend for a bit longer, jumping to the ground was quicker but too dramatic to ignore - Archer knocked on the closed door and spoke loudly, hoping against hope to convince the unknown Servant that there would soon be normal humans involved as witnesses to whatever would unfold.

"My name is Cassander Preston, and I've come to announce a delightful magic show, presented courtesy of myself and my, er, sister, Euphrasia, this evening only in Djerba Rediscovered! Are you interested in attending one of the greatest displays of wonder to ever grace the world? The location is in the code on the flyer, just scan it and it'll give you directions to where we're performing!"

Alicia Blackwood & Caster—Old Athens, Home

There was a loud yawn from behind the door, and then a scruffy, scrawny ginger-haired man answered the door in his sleepwear, though it was questionably frilly and ancient in taste. "Hello? Hmm, hmm! I'm a person who likes magic, give that here," the man said, snatching the flyer from Archer and reading it. "I used to do some shows of my own back in the day, in a place far, far away. Ah, the nostalgia. I wonder if I'll ever be able to return to my former glory and do it all my way..." With that rhyming couplet, the presence of another Servant seemed to loom closer than ever.

"Uncle Harry, are we going out right now?" a girl's voice—not too young, not too old, either, just on the cusp of full bloom—shouted from inside the apartment. "I thought we were staying in!"

"Nope...nope...definitely staying put," the ginger-haired man called back, running a hand through the messy hair that covered his eyes. And what strangely-colored eyes they were too—one blue and one green—with their colors seeming to shift from one to the other like the twinkling of sunlight on the ever-mercurial oceans. "Go back to bed. Honestly, you caught us at a bad time, we were taking a siesta..." He said as a side-note to Archer.

"Ah, but it's rude to not return an invitation to a good show with a gift, right? I'm really rather sorry," the man said, smiling like a rather lazy cat. "Why don't you take this? It's from my performing days. You might even be able to get a good sum for a genuine vintage article." With that, he pushed a flyer of his own into Archer's hands, with a name—Harry Houdini—emblazoned across the top and large lettering advertising feats of daring escape in front of a flattering portrait. He winked flirtatiously at Archer and—Good Heavens!—had he been shuffling those cards all along?

"It's good to be forthright while advertising," the suddenly menacing-but-sleepy ginger commented. "You'll have nothing to lose from that. The bigger the show, the better. All showmen look forward to greatness. We're both not too different, I suppose...and I think this is your card. Take it. It's a gift."

A tarot card from the top of the deck in the "former" magician's hands was flipped onto the pile of posters that Archer was holding—the Sun. It showed a large, blazing sun in the middle, with a silhouetted figure pointing a bow at it. Before Archer's very eyes, the shadows lifted themselves from the figure, a moment of his history caught in a small laminated paper rectangle.

"Now, unless you plan on talking to me more, there's really no point in sticking around and disturbing the neighbors," the stranger said knowingly. "I've been waiting for a grand venue for my debut this entire time. Ask me one more question and I will answer to the best of my ability. After that, the debt between us is null and void, and we can either meet on the stage of battle, or I shall get back to bed and have a good, long nap. Either one is fine, but I'd prefer nobody to get hurt and oh my goodness I'm destroying all my threatening credibility and I'm so very sorry for that—"

"Anyways, choose!" the ginger panted, out of breath after that entire spiel. "Jesus Christ, what a long speech. I do seem to like listening to myself talk, do I? Never realized that before! Huh..."

It seemed that possessing a Luck Rank of B had its own merits after all...

...But what was the use of it when it gets you into trouble like this!?

Edited by JumpingFruit on Dec 22nd 2020 at 3:36:01 AM