- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Alright, let's call it for Plan Circe.
La Chanson de France - Fate/Broken Europa
- Thread starter Omicron
- Start date
-
- Tags
- fate/stay night (fate series) urban fantasy (fantasy) canon what canon female protagonist a living records of your shames brexit france hubris is a coward's word i put on my suit and guillotine impending saberface ishtar is totally useless mistakes may have been made mommy issues (mom) those wacky cultists
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I'm quite happy with Circe (that's why I voted for it), but the other fun set-up I'd thought of was:
[ ] Blurt out "You look great!" unprompted.
[ ] Mention that you are single.
[ ] Ask Lola if she is single.
these three. Never mind Saber, we're too busy hitting on Lola to even think about her.
[ ] Blurt out "You look great!" unprompted.
[ ] Mention that you are single.
[ ] Ask Lola if she is single.
these three. Never mind Saber, we're too busy hitting on Lola to even think about her.
Random Member
Gardener of Human Happiness
- Location
- Behind You
My ideal plan would've combined those 4 options, but alas!
- Pronouns
- They/Them/Their
The War To End War or The War To End All Wars either refers to a 1914 novel by H. G. Wells or to the entirety of the First World War. Assuming you are referring to the latter... What do you think it would actually manifest as in terms of being a Servant?
I imagine at as constantly changing monster based off the different aspects of WW1 that will modify itself based off what it'd doing like sometimes it's a being of fire and with artillery weapons on it. Other times it looks like a giant golem that's a lot faster than it looks made of corpses with a miasma of gas and disease around it with barbed wire and bayonets inside it to kill anything close. Another form it can sometimes take is a giant leviathan of steel with treads and guns all over. It never stays the same and will sometimes swap out aspects of itself since it's based off WW1 a war that was fought from all over the world from the trenches of Verdun,the depths of the Atlantic and with so many different people. Though thanks to history focusing on Europe and it being in France it'll prefer forms reminiscent of battles in France.
- Pronouns
- They/Them/Their
Okay, let me rephrase the question in two parts.
First: What aspect of the First World War's legend are you envisioning? The soldiers on the ground, the commanders, the machinery of war, all of the lives brutalized by it?
Second: What Class Container are you imagining that aspect of the legend summoned in, and since the Class Container is usually linked to the Noble Phantasm in some way, what would the Noble Phantasm be?
It's definitely Beserker though as I said above thanks to WW1 being absolutely MASSIVE it can kinda shift depending on where it is and who ir is facing given that we're fighting in france it'll probably use forms whose themes have to do with stuff like the war's broken promises and the brutality though it can and will shift to better fight/torment whoever it's facing
XIV. Nouvelle Vague
- Location
- Brittany, France
- Pronouns
- He/Him
XIV. Nouvelle Vague
"Wonderful," Lola says, smiling sweetly and taking a sip of her sweet white wine. "I knew you wouldn't refuse me."
She says it so matter-of-factly, with such confidence, you almost want to walk it back and refuse her invitation out of scorn. But you don't.
"So, how have things been between you and Saber?" she asks, turning her eyes between the two of you. "Are you settling well into your, hah, relationship as Master and Servant?"
Why does she have to make it sound like… Like what? Never mind.
There's something that bothers you about the way she says it. She doesn't say Maître or Serviteur; she uses the English words, Master and Servant, the way you've heard some Mage's Association members do it in other languages. Clocktower influence, you suppose. It bugs you, though. "Master and Servant;" something you're trying to remember…
"It's been great," you say, looking at Saber for approval; your companion inclines her head in return. "We've tried to spend time getting to know each other. I've been showing her the sights."
"There was much for me to discover," Saber says, "and more yet to enjoy. The people of this land have built a beautiful city."
Her tone is cautious, slow. You understand that she's likely trying to keep revealing information about her background to a minimum, talking in generalities only.
Lola notices, of course. "You don't have to be so guarded, you know. I'm asking out of sincere interest, not as some sneaky tactical assessment."
Her face puts the lie to this. The intensity with which she stares at Saber, resting her delicate chin on the back of her hand, lips artfully curved into a smile, two green gems burning with whatever secret thoughts hide under that flame-red hair. It makes you feel oddly annoyed, to see her look at Saber like this. Like an object to covet.
Saber is yours.
You want to break that spell, to draw that look away, and so you reach for something to distract Lola - and the first thing that comes to mind, which escapes your lips before you have time to consider whether it's a good idea to ask, is:
"So, anyone in your life?"
You realize what you just said the moment the words leave your mouth, and freeze up inside. You very carefully measure your breath and your every gesture to look every bit like you meant to ask what you just asked. The intense stare breaks; Lola's eyes slowly turn on you, faint amusement in them. She seems so relaxed. So at ease here. So in control.
'Master and Servant.' It was… a tune? Something like it. You can almost hear it.
"Why?" Lola asks. "What makes you ask?"
"Just… curious," you say. "We didn't talk about our personal lives in our emails much, did we? For… understandable reasons."
"Ah, want me to catch you up on my long string of conquests?" she asks, reclining back into her seat, her posture languid, her tone scandalous, like some vision of a fin de siècle demi-mondaine brought forth across the mists of history - and then that's gone, just as easily as it appeared, though the vision remains seared into the back of your eyes. She talks casually, straightening up. "The truth is I've had a few flings, but nothing serious. Last couple years have been so busy. It's like every magical creepy-crawly is coming out of the woodwork lately."
"Oh," you say, and an edge of bitterness slips into your voice, "so now you're 'too consumed with your work to entertain a real relationship'?"
If the comments rouse any negative reaction in her, she hides it well. She shrugs, still smiling.
"I at least allow myself some fun. You should try it sometimes."
Master and Servant, Master and Servant…
It's coming back to you now, the tune worming its way into your ear. Maybe trying to recall it wasn't such a good idea. It's gonna be in your head forever now - at least you don't have the lyrics running in the back of your head, just the tune…
Nope, wait, here they are.
Let's play 'Master and Servant'
Let's play 'Master and Servant'
It's a lot like life, this play within the sheets
With you on top and me underneath
Forget all about equality…
Fuck.
"I'm still single," you blurt out in the middle of the silence, a sudden heat in your chest.
Why did you say that? Why did you even think that?
Lola looks at you, raising her eyebrow one fraction of an inch, in a way nobody would know to notice but you. She lets the embarrassing silence drag on for several interminable seconds, then says, so casually:
"Of course you are."
It's like a slap to the face. "What's that supposed to mean?" you say, frowning.
She shrugs, drinking her golden wine, and sighs theatrically. "You said it yourself, didn't you? You're still on track to marry your job. Doesn't leave much more room for someone else than it did last time we met."
"I've-" You don't know what to answer to that, so again you default to the first thing that comes to mind: "I haven't been single this whole time. I happen to not be seeing anyone. At the moment. That's changed before. It could change again."
It lasted a week. You don't remember the boy's name, or the details of his face. What you do remember are his shoulders - they were beautiful in a way that reminded you of Lola's. That was how that fling had started, and that was why it had ended.
Lola raises both eyebrows this time, smiling a falsely bemused smile, and leans forward to whisper:
"I didn't ask."
"I know you didn't," you say, which doesn't make much sense as a retort but at that point you're grasping at straws.
You remember it now. It's not just some song. It runs through your head alongside memories of dancing to it, half-drunk, with Lola. Champagne bottle in hand, foam running down as you celebrated some victory and your dancing grew more heated and the singer went on,
In bed or in life, they're both just the same
Except in one you're fulfilled at the end of the day…
You'd almost forgotten Saber was there again, and almost start up when she speaks. Her tone is thoughtful, her eyes narrowed in thinking, but suddenly she says, bluntly:
"You two are the same."
There's a silence. A brief gust of figurative cold wind. Lola's smile turns bland as she looks at Saber.
"I have no idea what you mean."
"Both of you are without lovers," Saber says, "and both of you claim this is because your duties as warriors claim too much of your time and attention. But you, German Master, speak as if it revealed some great truth about Mademoiselle, while speaking nothing of yours. She cannot find love; you just aren't looking for it right now. That is curious."
Lola blinks.
"Well," she says blandly, "she's certainly insightful."
Reason bless this Gaul. You could just about kiss her right now. The feeling of victory you're experiencing right now is not unlike finally landing a blow on an opponent that has been eluding you the entire fight. Riding this high, you feel the most natural thing to do is to stress the point:
"She is quite insightful, indeed," you say, smiling smugly. "And not just that. You should see her in battle - it's a marvel to behold. I've never seen anyone this strong and skilled." Yes, this is good. And you should push the point, make it clear how much you don't need her or her ostentatious flirtations. "To say nothing of her looks. She's certainly no one I would mind being in the company of. I mean, have you looked at her?"
There's a pregnant pause.
You blink. Wait. Was that too much?
Saber has turned her head to you, looking a little confused - perhaps even ever so slightly concerned.
And now the smile is back in Lola's eyes, the shade of amusement in her emerald greens. You feel your cheeks burning again.
"Well I can do naught but applaud your choice in Servants," Lola says, lazily twirling her empty cup in her hand.
The tune is back in your head. Not just your head, your body. Master and Servant, Master and Servant - wait. You force yourself to stop moving. Were you tapping your foot in rhythm just now?
Lola's eyes cross yours, and you see her full lips part without sound, shining white teeth within, silently mouthing:
It's a lot like life and that's what's appealing.
Your hand is clutching your trouser leg very tightly. It feels like you're a frog being slowly boiled, except it's not just that you don't feel the heat rising, it's that it's a twisted pleasure to you even as it burns.You can't even tell her to knock it off, because the way she's toying with you is almost hypnotizing. And you don't know why she's acting like this.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? She's not trying to seduce you to get you back. You never rejected her, or at least not in a way you thought you were rejecting her.
She broke up with you.
So you reach for something else, something past that bloody interplay of interrupted lusts, and you find it, the one weapon Lola could never think to resort to as an aristocrat and a traditional Magus, the one only the Cult of Reason could equip you with:
Sincerity.
"I really did mean to apologize," you say.
Lola is taken aback.
"Apologize for?" she asks, seeming genuinely confused.
"The Einzbern situation," you say with a sigh. "I am sorry my actions caused you trouble and all I could do was a measly email with barely any explanation of what had gone down while you were probably being harassed by angry homunculi."
Surprise flows briefly across her face; her expression softens, and she leans back into the seat.
"I mean, it's not like I expected you to fly to Berlin to give me a personal account," she says, dismissively. "But I did risk my life out there. A flower bouquet with an apology card might have been nice."
She's saying it like a joke. She's trying to brush it off. You don't let her. You press further.
"That's not the real problem though, is it?" You keep your expression carefully soft, not contrite, not vulnerable, just sincere. "Or what I'm apologizing for. It's not about what the Einzbern got up to in Germany in a spat of anger, it's that I couldn't tell you the truth about what happened. And I respected you enough not to feed you blatant lies. So you just had to contend with 'sorry I can't tell you why you're knee-deep in trouble even though it's my fault, best of luck.' That sucked, it was my fault, and I am sorry."
Lola doesn't say anything for a moment. She's glaring at you, her smile gone, a shadow in her eyes. She looks like a woman hurt. Then, second by second, that shadow softens, and passes. She sighs, exaggeratedly, but there's truth to her expression of mixed weariness and relief.
"Friends keep secrets from each other all the time," she says, "and for good reasons much of the time. It's knowing a secret is being kept that hurts. Like it's being flaunted in your face."
"I know," you say, allowing yourself an apologetic smile.
She sighs again, for real this time, and gets up. She walks up to the liquor cabinet, pouring herself another glass of Muscat - not bothering to ask if you want another Martini; she knows here and now you'd say no.
"Honestly, Maddie, nobody gets at me quite like the way you do. You're dangerous to be around, you know that?"
"I'd rate you the higher threat out of me and you," you say.
She chuckles.
"Well, you'd be correct, of course. Just don't sell yourself short."
She turns around, and the playful expression is back, the shining eyes, the ever-present smile where each fraction of an inch of curve in the cherry-red lip means a different thing. Swaying hypnotically back to her seat, a serpent of emerald and flame.
You do enjoy the spectacle.
"I'm glad to see you're doing well," she says, leaning with her elbow on the back of the chair, slowly swirling her wine. "You looked so much more tired last time we saw each other. And you clearly weren't eating enough. You're obviously doing much better."
"The Swords and my new Dagger have been forcing me to get my sleep schedule and diet in order," you groan, "it's been awful."
"Can't imagine," she says with amusement.
"You look…" You sigh, rubbing your temples. Sincerity. "Exactly as gorgeous as you did last time I saw you."
"I know," she says with an easy shrug. And then, turning to your Servant who has been so quietly watching you: "Sorry you had to have a front row seat to all this drama you probably had no context for, Saber. But I believe now would be a good time to introduce you both to Germany's Servant?"
"At last," Saber says with visible relief.
At this moment, a bell chimes from above the door to the room.
"How fortuitous," Lola says, downing the rest of her glass in one gulp, "lunch is ready. Follow me."
The well of power you sensed earlier, you realize, has shifted position; it was in the top floors of the building earlier, but now it's on ground level. The Servant must have moved; now Lola is taking you downstairs towards it.
The dining room is a stunning 19th century design, with brasses and gold lining in ornamental patterns shining against white-painted walls and dark wooden floors. A long banquet table fills the center of the room, dressed with pale blue lace and adorned with flower bouquets.
A man is standing at the other end of the room, hands folded behind his back, staring out the tall window onto Parisian streets. As you approach, he slowly turns to you.
He is tall and broad-shouldered, with strong arms and legs - a meter ninety, perhaps; the kind of man who'd fill any room Saber wasn't also present in, and still doing relatively well in the comparison. He must be in his fifties or sixties - his hair and his thick beard are white as snow, but his face is only slightly wrinkled, still full of the vigor of a man in his prime. His blue eyes stare at you with stern resolve, studying you first, then your Servant. He's wearing a red pinstripe suit, perfectly tailored to his ambitious frame, red and white with the jacket worn like a cape over his shoulders and showing an elegant black vest over a white shirt, golden chain dangling out of a pocket. For a moment, you have the surreal feeling that you're staring at the Heroic Spirit of Santa Claus. There is a heavy signet ring on his right hand, and instead of a tie, he wears a golden cross on a chain around his neck, and a rose adorns his breast.
"Maddie, Saber," Lola says, with the obvious relish of someone who knows they're about to drop a bomb on you, "allow me to introduce you to Servant Ruler."
You are struck speechless. So, evidently, is Saber. The two of you stare, frozen, as Lola smiles wryly. The man bows in greetings.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you, Mademoiselle - and I am honored to meet with one of the esteemed Knight Classes." His voice is deep and resonant, full of calm confidence.
"I-" you start out, then recover your composure and staring back and forth between Lola and the Servant, "what the hell are you talking about?"
"For their repeated breaches of the holy purpose bequeathed upon them," Ruler says, and there a little rumble of genuine anger comes through in his words, "the Roman Church has had its role as mediator of this, the Holy Grail War, stripped from them in infamy. Instead, the Grail has seen fit to summon me, Ruler, to serve as the High Arbiter of the War. The responsibility - and the power - to uphold the terms of this sacred tourney have been entrusted in my care."
As he says these words, Ruler slowly raises his arms and pulls back the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing his muscular forearms - both of them adorned by long, winding crimson patterns, similar in style to the triskelion adorning the back of your hand.
The Command Seals gathered by the Church at the end of each Grail War, transmitted to the next overseer each time. The very same Seals Cardinal Beneventi lamented the loss of. This is undeniable proof that Ruler is telling you the truth - he is, in fact, a direct servant of the Grail.
Even so, you need to check. You turn to Saber, whose brow is furrowed in thought staring at the man.
"Does this check out?" you ask, and Saber gives it a moment's consideration before slowly nodding.
"That knowledge was kept hidden from me," she says, "but now that it has been spoken out loud, I can find it. The role of Ruler exists, and serves the purpose this man claims it to."
"But-" you say, and turn to Lola, who gives you a wink.
"I hope you'll forgive a little lie of omission of my own," she says. "I was chosen to represent Germany in this War as a Master - I just didn't end up getting the role. The Grail hijacked our summoning, and Ruler is the result. He is unbound; an autonomous Servant sustained directly by the Grail. And I, myself, am no Master - merely a Magus like any other."
"But then," you ask, "why did you come?"
"I've still been chosen to represent the interests of the German branch of the Mages' Association in this War," she says, "but it sadly won't be by winning the Grail."
"I must also express some level of guilt for snatching young Miss Dolores's opportunity from her grasp," Ruler says. "And so I have sworn to assist her in her endeavours to the extent that it does not impugn on my role as a neutral mediator of the War."
"That doesn't make sense," Saber interjects. She's guarded, her posture shifted slightly to put her in front of you. "You're a Servant. Won't you take part in the contest?"
"The role of Ruler is bestowed only upon those who lack a wish for the Grail," the man says. "My life's ambitions were fulfilled; I am at peace with my legacy."
"...now I know why you summoned us directly," you say. Saber turns to you, curious. "Without the Church, I was afraid there would be no one to enforce the terms of the War - the ones meant to keep the battles from harming the public of Paris or breaching the secrecy of the moonlit world. But that role instead falls to you."
Ruler nods.
"This is our dilemma," he says: "Though France serves as one of the contestants in this hallowed conflict, and therefore I cannot be partial to you, she is also the organizer of this War, and as such, I must discuss with you, her chosen champion, the rules that had been previously discussed with the Church."
As you consider your answer, another voice cuts in from across the room - a loud clearing of throat. You turn, and find the stiff man who opened the door for you standing, hands folded before him, his stern expression turned to an outright scowl.
"Lunch," he says, "is ready."
"Oh, Edgar," Lola says with faked contrition, "I'm so sorry we've kept you waiting. Of course, let's all take our seats and enjoy Elias's fine cooking."
The man lets out an audible scoff. "See that you do," he says, turning around and leaving the room.
This is a most fortunate break in the conversation. The four of you take seats, Saber and you on one side of the table facing Lola and Ruler; Saber lets out a whistle of appreciation at the sight of the silverware polished so finely it reflects her face, and the delicate china plates and crystal glasses.
It gives you time to think. The terms the Cult had agreed upon with the Church were set in a context of hostile negotiations, between two parties who cordially hated each other and expected to fight each other to the death in the War. Ruler is different… If he's honest about his neutrality. However, said neutrality presents a problem of its own; the Church could be relied on to be hostile to every other party in the War, which was its own form of safety. Ruler not so.
And there is the matter of Lola, who's right now chatting happily with Saber about movies, a fairly safe topic for your Servant to engage on. She's your friend, and she's a non-aligned Magus from a now neutral country who cannot hope to claim the Grail - but she's also a ruthless aristocrat whose job it is to advance the interests of the German branch of the Mages' Association as well as her own family. How much can you trust her? How much can you trust Ruler?
Sincerity worked for you because Truth is the blade of Reason. Perhaps by talking honestly about yourselves, you can discern whether they can be trusted.
As you discuss important Grail War business, you and Lola also share a personal story of your time together.
[ ] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
[ ] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
[ ] That time you fought a heretical Magus in Berlin, two people coming apart.
"Wonderful," Lola says, smiling sweetly and taking a sip of her sweet white wine. "I knew you wouldn't refuse me."
She says it so matter-of-factly, with such confidence, you almost want to walk it back and refuse her invitation out of scorn. But you don't.
"So, how have things been between you and Saber?" she asks, turning her eyes between the two of you. "Are you settling well into your, hah, relationship as Master and Servant?"
Why does she have to make it sound like… Like what? Never mind.
There's something that bothers you about the way she says it. She doesn't say Maître or Serviteur; she uses the English words, Master and Servant, the way you've heard some Mage's Association members do it in other languages. Clocktower influence, you suppose. It bugs you, though. "Master and Servant;" something you're trying to remember…
"It's been great," you say, looking at Saber for approval; your companion inclines her head in return. "We've tried to spend time getting to know each other. I've been showing her the sights."
"There was much for me to discover," Saber says, "and more yet to enjoy. The people of this land have built a beautiful city."
Her tone is cautious, slow. You understand that she's likely trying to keep revealing information about her background to a minimum, talking in generalities only.
Lola notices, of course. "You don't have to be so guarded, you know. I'm asking out of sincere interest, not as some sneaky tactical assessment."
Her face puts the lie to this. The intensity with which she stares at Saber, resting her delicate chin on the back of her hand, lips artfully curved into a smile, two green gems burning with whatever secret thoughts hide under that flame-red hair. It makes you feel oddly annoyed, to see her look at Saber like this. Like an object to covet.
Saber is yours.
You want to break that spell, to draw that look away, and so you reach for something to distract Lola - and the first thing that comes to mind, which escapes your lips before you have time to consider whether it's a good idea to ask, is:
"So, anyone in your life?"
You realize what you just said the moment the words leave your mouth, and freeze up inside. You very carefully measure your breath and your every gesture to look every bit like you meant to ask what you just asked. The intense stare breaks; Lola's eyes slowly turn on you, faint amusement in them. She seems so relaxed. So at ease here. So in control.
'Master and Servant.' It was… a tune? Something like it. You can almost hear it.
"Why?" Lola asks. "What makes you ask?"
"Just… curious," you say. "We didn't talk about our personal lives in our emails much, did we? For… understandable reasons."
"Ah, want me to catch you up on my long string of conquests?" she asks, reclining back into her seat, her posture languid, her tone scandalous, like some vision of a fin de siècle demi-mondaine brought forth across the mists of history - and then that's gone, just as easily as it appeared, though the vision remains seared into the back of your eyes. She talks casually, straightening up. "The truth is I've had a few flings, but nothing serious. Last couple years have been so busy. It's like every magical creepy-crawly is coming out of the woodwork lately."
"Oh," you say, and an edge of bitterness slips into your voice, "so now you're 'too consumed with your work to entertain a real relationship'?"
If the comments rouse any negative reaction in her, she hides it well. She shrugs, still smiling.
"I at least allow myself some fun. You should try it sometimes."
Master and Servant, Master and Servant…
It's coming back to you now, the tune worming its way into your ear. Maybe trying to recall it wasn't such a good idea. It's gonna be in your head forever now - at least you don't have the lyrics running in the back of your head, just the tune…
Nope, wait, here they are.
Let's play 'Master and Servant'
Let's play 'Master and Servant'
It's a lot like life, this play within the sheets
With you on top and me underneath
Forget all about equality…
Fuck.
"I'm still single," you blurt out in the middle of the silence, a sudden heat in your chest.
Why did you say that? Why did you even think that?
Lola looks at you, raising her eyebrow one fraction of an inch, in a way nobody would know to notice but you. She lets the embarrassing silence drag on for several interminable seconds, then says, so casually:
"Of course you are."
It's like a slap to the face. "What's that supposed to mean?" you say, frowning.
She shrugs, drinking her golden wine, and sighs theatrically. "You said it yourself, didn't you? You're still on track to marry your job. Doesn't leave much more room for someone else than it did last time we met."
"I've-" You don't know what to answer to that, so again you default to the first thing that comes to mind: "I haven't been single this whole time. I happen to not be seeing anyone. At the moment. That's changed before. It could change again."
It lasted a week. You don't remember the boy's name, or the details of his face. What you do remember are his shoulders - they were beautiful in a way that reminded you of Lola's. That was how that fling had started, and that was why it had ended.
Lola raises both eyebrows this time, smiling a falsely bemused smile, and leans forward to whisper:
"I didn't ask."
"I know you didn't," you say, which doesn't make much sense as a retort but at that point you're grasping at straws.
You remember it now. It's not just some song. It runs through your head alongside memories of dancing to it, half-drunk, with Lola. Champagne bottle in hand, foam running down as you celebrated some victory and your dancing grew more heated and the singer went on,
In bed or in life, they're both just the same
Except in one you're fulfilled at the end of the day…
You'd almost forgotten Saber was there again, and almost start up when she speaks. Her tone is thoughtful, her eyes narrowed in thinking, but suddenly she says, bluntly:
"You two are the same."
There's a silence. A brief gust of figurative cold wind. Lola's smile turns bland as she looks at Saber.
"I have no idea what you mean."
"Both of you are without lovers," Saber says, "and both of you claim this is because your duties as warriors claim too much of your time and attention. But you, German Master, speak as if it revealed some great truth about Mademoiselle, while speaking nothing of yours. She cannot find love; you just aren't looking for it right now. That is curious."
Lola blinks.
"Well," she says blandly, "she's certainly insightful."
Reason bless this Gaul. You could just about kiss her right now. The feeling of victory you're experiencing right now is not unlike finally landing a blow on an opponent that has been eluding you the entire fight. Riding this high, you feel the most natural thing to do is to stress the point:
"She is quite insightful, indeed," you say, smiling smugly. "And not just that. You should see her in battle - it's a marvel to behold. I've never seen anyone this strong and skilled." Yes, this is good. And you should push the point, make it clear how much you don't need her or her ostentatious flirtations. "To say nothing of her looks. She's certainly no one I would mind being in the company of. I mean, have you looked at her?"
There's a pregnant pause.
You blink. Wait. Was that too much?
Saber has turned her head to you, looking a little confused - perhaps even ever so slightly concerned.
And now the smile is back in Lola's eyes, the shade of amusement in her emerald greens. You feel your cheeks burning again.
"Well I can do naught but applaud your choice in Servants," Lola says, lazily twirling her empty cup in her hand.
The tune is back in your head. Not just your head, your body. Master and Servant, Master and Servant - wait. You force yourself to stop moving. Were you tapping your foot in rhythm just now?
Lola's eyes cross yours, and you see her full lips part without sound, shining white teeth within, silently mouthing:
It's a lot like life and that's what's appealing.
Your hand is clutching your trouser leg very tightly. It feels like you're a frog being slowly boiled, except it's not just that you don't feel the heat rising, it's that it's a twisted pleasure to you even as it burns.You can't even tell her to knock it off, because the way she's toying with you is almost hypnotizing. And you don't know why she's acting like this.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? She's not trying to seduce you to get you back. You never rejected her, or at least not in a way you thought you were rejecting her.
She broke up with you.
So you reach for something else, something past that bloody interplay of interrupted lusts, and you find it, the one weapon Lola could never think to resort to as an aristocrat and a traditional Magus, the one only the Cult of Reason could equip you with:
Sincerity.
"I really did mean to apologize," you say.
Lola is taken aback.
"Apologize for?" she asks, seeming genuinely confused.
"The Einzbern situation," you say with a sigh. "I am sorry my actions caused you trouble and all I could do was a measly email with barely any explanation of what had gone down while you were probably being harassed by angry homunculi."
Surprise flows briefly across her face; her expression softens, and she leans back into the seat.
"I mean, it's not like I expected you to fly to Berlin to give me a personal account," she says, dismissively. "But I did risk my life out there. A flower bouquet with an apology card might have been nice."
She's saying it like a joke. She's trying to brush it off. You don't let her. You press further.
"That's not the real problem though, is it?" You keep your expression carefully soft, not contrite, not vulnerable, just sincere. "Or what I'm apologizing for. It's not about what the Einzbern got up to in Germany in a spat of anger, it's that I couldn't tell you the truth about what happened. And I respected you enough not to feed you blatant lies. So you just had to contend with 'sorry I can't tell you why you're knee-deep in trouble even though it's my fault, best of luck.' That sucked, it was my fault, and I am sorry."
Lola doesn't say anything for a moment. She's glaring at you, her smile gone, a shadow in her eyes. She looks like a woman hurt. Then, second by second, that shadow softens, and passes. She sighs, exaggeratedly, but there's truth to her expression of mixed weariness and relief.
"Friends keep secrets from each other all the time," she says, "and for good reasons much of the time. It's knowing a secret is being kept that hurts. Like it's being flaunted in your face."
"I know," you say, allowing yourself an apologetic smile.
She sighs again, for real this time, and gets up. She walks up to the liquor cabinet, pouring herself another glass of Muscat - not bothering to ask if you want another Martini; she knows here and now you'd say no.
"Honestly, Maddie, nobody gets at me quite like the way you do. You're dangerous to be around, you know that?"
"I'd rate you the higher threat out of me and you," you say.
She chuckles.
"Well, you'd be correct, of course. Just don't sell yourself short."
She turns around, and the playful expression is back, the shining eyes, the ever-present smile where each fraction of an inch of curve in the cherry-red lip means a different thing. Swaying hypnotically back to her seat, a serpent of emerald and flame.
You do enjoy the spectacle.
"I'm glad to see you're doing well," she says, leaning with her elbow on the back of the chair, slowly swirling her wine. "You looked so much more tired last time we saw each other. And you clearly weren't eating enough. You're obviously doing much better."
"The Swords and my new Dagger have been forcing me to get my sleep schedule and diet in order," you groan, "it's been awful."
"Can't imagine," she says with amusement.
"You look…" You sigh, rubbing your temples. Sincerity. "Exactly as gorgeous as you did last time I saw you."
"I know," she says with an easy shrug. And then, turning to your Servant who has been so quietly watching you: "Sorry you had to have a front row seat to all this drama you probably had no context for, Saber. But I believe now would be a good time to introduce you both to Germany's Servant?"
"At last," Saber says with visible relief.
At this moment, a bell chimes from above the door to the room.
"How fortuitous," Lola says, downing the rest of her glass in one gulp, "lunch is ready. Follow me."
The well of power you sensed earlier, you realize, has shifted position; it was in the top floors of the building earlier, but now it's on ground level. The Servant must have moved; now Lola is taking you downstairs towards it.
The dining room is a stunning 19th century design, with brasses and gold lining in ornamental patterns shining against white-painted walls and dark wooden floors. A long banquet table fills the center of the room, dressed with pale blue lace and adorned with flower bouquets.
A man is standing at the other end of the room, hands folded behind his back, staring out the tall window onto Parisian streets. As you approach, he slowly turns to you.
He is tall and broad-shouldered, with strong arms and legs - a meter ninety, perhaps; the kind of man who'd fill any room Saber wasn't also present in, and still doing relatively well in the comparison. He must be in his fifties or sixties - his hair and his thick beard are white as snow, but his face is only slightly wrinkled, still full of the vigor of a man in his prime. His blue eyes stare at you with stern resolve, studying you first, then your Servant. He's wearing a red pinstripe suit, perfectly tailored to his ambitious frame, red and white with the jacket worn like a cape over his shoulders and showing an elegant black vest over a white shirt, golden chain dangling out of a pocket. For a moment, you have the surreal feeling that you're staring at the Heroic Spirit of Santa Claus. There is a heavy signet ring on his right hand, and instead of a tie, he wears a golden cross on a chain around his neck, and a rose adorns his breast.
"Maddie, Saber," Lola says, with the obvious relish of someone who knows they're about to drop a bomb on you, "allow me to introduce you to Servant Ruler."
You are struck speechless. So, evidently, is Saber. The two of you stare, frozen, as Lola smiles wryly. The man bows in greetings.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you, Mademoiselle - and I am honored to meet with one of the esteemed Knight Classes." His voice is deep and resonant, full of calm confidence.
"I-" you start out, then recover your composure and staring back and forth between Lola and the Servant, "what the hell are you talking about?"
"For their repeated breaches of the holy purpose bequeathed upon them," Ruler says, and there a little rumble of genuine anger comes through in his words, "the Roman Church has had its role as mediator of this, the Holy Grail War, stripped from them in infamy. Instead, the Grail has seen fit to summon me, Ruler, to serve as the High Arbiter of the War. The responsibility - and the power - to uphold the terms of this sacred tourney have been entrusted in my care."
As he says these words, Ruler slowly raises his arms and pulls back the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing his muscular forearms - both of them adorned by long, winding crimson patterns, similar in style to the triskelion adorning the back of your hand.
The Command Seals gathered by the Church at the end of each Grail War, transmitted to the next overseer each time. The very same Seals Cardinal Beneventi lamented the loss of. This is undeniable proof that Ruler is telling you the truth - he is, in fact, a direct servant of the Grail.
Even so, you need to check. You turn to Saber, whose brow is furrowed in thought staring at the man.
"Does this check out?" you ask, and Saber gives it a moment's consideration before slowly nodding.
"That knowledge was kept hidden from me," she says, "but now that it has been spoken out loud, I can find it. The role of Ruler exists, and serves the purpose this man claims it to."
"But-" you say, and turn to Lola, who gives you a wink.
"I hope you'll forgive a little lie of omission of my own," she says. "I was chosen to represent Germany in this War as a Master - I just didn't end up getting the role. The Grail hijacked our summoning, and Ruler is the result. He is unbound; an autonomous Servant sustained directly by the Grail. And I, myself, am no Master - merely a Magus like any other."
"But then," you ask, "why did you come?"
"I've still been chosen to represent the interests of the German branch of the Mages' Association in this War," she says, "but it sadly won't be by winning the Grail."
"I must also express some level of guilt for snatching young Miss Dolores's opportunity from her grasp," Ruler says. "And so I have sworn to assist her in her endeavours to the extent that it does not impugn on my role as a neutral mediator of the War."
"That doesn't make sense," Saber interjects. She's guarded, her posture shifted slightly to put her in front of you. "You're a Servant. Won't you take part in the contest?"
"The role of Ruler is bestowed only upon those who lack a wish for the Grail," the man says. "My life's ambitions were fulfilled; I am at peace with my legacy."
"...now I know why you summoned us directly," you say. Saber turns to you, curious. "Without the Church, I was afraid there would be no one to enforce the terms of the War - the ones meant to keep the battles from harming the public of Paris or breaching the secrecy of the moonlit world. But that role instead falls to you."
Ruler nods.
"This is our dilemma," he says: "Though France serves as one of the contestants in this hallowed conflict, and therefore I cannot be partial to you, she is also the organizer of this War, and as such, I must discuss with you, her chosen champion, the rules that had been previously discussed with the Church."
As you consider your answer, another voice cuts in from across the room - a loud clearing of throat. You turn, and find the stiff man who opened the door for you standing, hands folded before him, his stern expression turned to an outright scowl.
"Lunch," he says, "is ready."
"Oh, Edgar," Lola says with faked contrition, "I'm so sorry we've kept you waiting. Of course, let's all take our seats and enjoy Elias's fine cooking."
The man lets out an audible scoff. "See that you do," he says, turning around and leaving the room.
This is a most fortunate break in the conversation. The four of you take seats, Saber and you on one side of the table facing Lola and Ruler; Saber lets out a whistle of appreciation at the sight of the silverware polished so finely it reflects her face, and the delicate china plates and crystal glasses.
It gives you time to think. The terms the Cult had agreed upon with the Church were set in a context of hostile negotiations, between two parties who cordially hated each other and expected to fight each other to the death in the War. Ruler is different… If he's honest about his neutrality. However, said neutrality presents a problem of its own; the Church could be relied on to be hostile to every other party in the War, which was its own form of safety. Ruler not so.
And there is the matter of Lola, who's right now chatting happily with Saber about movies, a fairly safe topic for your Servant to engage on. She's your friend, and she's a non-aligned Magus from a now neutral country who cannot hope to claim the Grail - but she's also a ruthless aristocrat whose job it is to advance the interests of the German branch of the Mages' Association as well as her own family. How much can you trust her? How much can you trust Ruler?
Sincerity worked for you because Truth is the blade of Reason. Perhaps by talking honestly about yourselves, you can discern whether they can be trusted.
As you discuss important Grail War business, you and Lola also share a personal story of your time together.
[ ] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
[ ] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
[ ] That time you fought a heretical Magus in Berlin, two people coming apart.
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- Location
- Planet Earth
Of these the third is definitely the one I'm most curious about, but also probably the worst to bring up here so I'm thinking either the first or second, whichever acquires more votes.
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
[X] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
I'm real curious.
I'm real curious.
- Location
- France
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices
Dragontrapper
Homeless Draconis
- Location
- A Tower in the middle of nowhere
[X] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices
This sounds the most interesting to me, tbh.
This sounds the most interesting to me, tbh.
Random Member
Gardener of Human Happiness
- Location
- Behind You
Well drat, that means we remain without allies for the moment.
[X] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
Christian Rosenkreuz?
Damn, serving the Grail makes you really buff, eh?
Not really. We're put in a position to influence the arbiter of the conflict, who would also rely on us to at least some extent to define and enforce the rules of engagement. That's a pretty damn solid advantage. Also, now we don't need to worry about fighting Lola. Probably, unless there is another twist coming.
Of course, the presence of the Ruler probably means there is one more magus with a Servant running around than we anticipated. Most likely someone local, chosen at the last minute similar to Shirou and the killer guy from Zero.
Christian Rosenkreuz?
Damn, serving the Grail makes you really buff, eh?
Not really. We're put in a position to influence the arbiter of the conflict, who would also rely on us to at least some extent to define and enforce the rules of engagement. That's a pretty damn solid advantage. Also, now we don't need to worry about fighting Lola. Probably, unless there is another twist coming.
Of course, the presence of the Ruler probably means there is one more magus with a Servant running around than we anticipated. Most likely someone local, chosen at the last minute similar to Shirou and the killer guy from Zero.
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- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
AND IT'S MAD'S MOTHER COMING IN WITH A STEEL CHAIR-
- Location
- Texas
While I know very little about this setting, I refer you to earlier conversations:
If the expected German faction did not get a Master/Servant pair out of their summoning, the Einzbern faction is back in contention.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
OH MY REASON, IT'S A MURDERDATE!
[X] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
I love murderdates, more Quests should have them.
[X] That time you had to go on a cruise to kill a vampire, two women in love.
I love murderdates, more Quests should have them.
My money's still on the reclaimed Golem somehow attaining Master status, baseless though they it may be.
- Location
- Southern Virginia
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
I don't think, after sticking her foot firmly in her mouth so much earlier, that Mads wants to address in detail more about her relationship with Lola. So the most fitting option here I think is a story about how their earliest times meeting and how they were as novices to the Moonlit World, something both of them can reminisce about without creating any kind of tension.
I don't think, after sticking her foot firmly in her mouth so much earlier, that Mads wants to address in detail more about her relationship with Lola. So the most fitting option here I think is a story about how their earliest times meeting and how they were as novices to the Moonlit World, something both of them can reminisce about without creating any kind of tension.
all fictions
I hate you! (it's not against the rules!)
- Location
- Mons Regius
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Mads may have thought it was just a wrong guess, but Ruler is clearly Saint Nicholas, back to life to punch heretics once again!
(It is interesting that the Servant called it the Roman Church without the "Catholic", or universal, label..)
And as we say in French, "un malheur ne vient jamais seul", meaning one problem is usually followed by one or many others. And if there's one constant in Grail War stories, it's that one unexpected deviation to the ritual means there are other coming.
I have to agree with others, that Mads making a fool of herself means she most likely won't want to bring focus again on her past relationship with Lola (which she's clearly not over), especially not the last option if she wants to start their relationship with the neutral arbitrer on a good foot and keep it cordial instead of re-opening old wounds. Reminiscing over fighting some of the last vestiges of Mystery beneath the earth sounds like the safest way to do so.
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
(It is interesting that the Servant called it the Roman Church without the "Catholic", or universal, label..)
And as we say in French, "un malheur ne vient jamais seul", meaning one problem is usually followed by one or many others. And if there's one constant in Grail War stories, it's that one unexpected deviation to the ritual means there are other coming.
I have to agree with others, that Mads making a fool of herself means she most likely won't want to bring focus again on her past relationship with Lola (which she's clearly not over), especially not the last option if she wants to start their relationship with the neutral arbitrer on a good foot and keep it cordial instead of re-opening old wounds. Reminiscing over fighting some of the last vestiges of Mystery beneath the earth sounds like the safest way to do so.
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
- Location
- Most likely California
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
[X] That time you went wyvern-hunting in the Catacombs of Paris, two inexperienced novices.
