Omake: IKEAmillennia
The Out Of World
Lichte's Brain
- Location
- -
⌈Omake: IKEAmillennia⌋
Two figures strolled through the spacious halls of Castle Yggdmillennia, one clad in black and the other in white.
"And what, pray tell, have you distracted me from my strategic analysis of the Red Faction's capabilities for, Master?" He dryly emphasized the last word in a feeble attempt to remind the head of the Yggdmillennia of his own duties in the ongoing war between magi and Heroic Spirits.
"It's something of the utmost importance, voivode." Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia addressed Lancer of Black in his usual manner. It was an odd if not respectful relationship wherein Lancer recognized Darnic's authority as a Master, and he would in turn defer to him as the Black Faction's military commander. The pair reached a massive set of iron double doors at the end of the stone-laden hallway. The blue-haired former ally of the Third Reich pulled open the pair of doors with a flourish and posed dramatically as he revealed the grand spectacle behind him.
A radiant glow bathed the hallway, exposing to Lancer's sight a grand room unlike anything he had ever seen. A vast assortment of luxurious furniture lined the room; chairs of every shape and size. As they passed through the room of furniture, many familiar faces were seen. Saber silently waved to the pair from the embrace of an enormous La-Z-Boy, Rider was fooling around on a swivel chair in the distance and Berserker had been chained to an odd vibrating contraption set to "Shiatsu," whatever that meant. He dismissed it as one of Celenike's usual deviant fixations and moved on to the center of the furniture labyrinth, where Darnic gestured to a ring of chairs and couches.
"I've been thinking of getting a new for the piece meeting room, so I had Gordes go down to the nearest IKEA and get a few things for me." Darnic briefly wondered whether using a fellow Master as a pack mule was the best of decisions, but that was honestly all Gordes was good for. "Sit down in each of these and tell me what you think."
Lancer reluctantly obliged, approaching a wood-crafted armchair with a footstool. "This is a waste of time and resources, Master. Why did you buy so many of these if youuuurrrrgh-" His complaints were soon replaced with a groan of relief as he sank into the armchair's wondrously soft cushions. "This...this is absolutely heavenly! Astounding craftsmanship for a product of the modern age...but my point remains. Why did you buy so much furniture?" Lancer waved at the sea of wood, steel and upholstery that engulfed the room.
"I couldn't quite make up my mind, so I figured I might as well get everything and refurbish as many rooms as we can. The excess will be used for target practice and ammunition for those trebuchets Caster has been dead-set on building to fortify our defenses. Besides, Gordes needed the exercise. I mean, just look at him with that pudgy face, beady eyes, vile mustache...and the smell, dear God, the smell!"
Lancer merely nodded in agreement. One could only wonder if the heir to the Musik family had ever been introduced to deodorant. "This is chair is an excellent piece. Perhaps I'll claim it for my own." He lazily removed his boots from the stool. "What do you call this footrest, though?"
"Hm? Oh, that. I believe it's called an Ottoman-"
SHINKSHINKSHINKSHINKSHINKSHINK
A cluster of jagged spikes erupted from the floor, brutally ripping the Ottoman to splinters. Lancer wordlessly glared at the offending article from his chair, his fists crushing the handrests to a pulp.
"Right." Darnic coughed. "Let's move on to the next one, shall we?"
Two figures strolled through the spacious halls of Castle Yggdmillennia, one clad in black and the other in white.
"And what, pray tell, have you distracted me from my strategic analysis of the Red Faction's capabilities for, Master?" He dryly emphasized the last word in a feeble attempt to remind the head of the Yggdmillennia of his own duties in the ongoing war between magi and Heroic Spirits.
"It's something of the utmost importance, voivode." Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia addressed Lancer of Black in his usual manner. It was an odd if not respectful relationship wherein Lancer recognized Darnic's authority as a Master, and he would in turn defer to him as the Black Faction's military commander. The pair reached a massive set of iron double doors at the end of the stone-laden hallway. The blue-haired former ally of the Third Reich pulled open the pair of doors with a flourish and posed dramatically as he revealed the grand spectacle behind him.
A radiant glow bathed the hallway, exposing to Lancer's sight a grand room unlike anything he had ever seen. A vast assortment of luxurious furniture lined the room; chairs of every shape and size. As they passed through the room of furniture, many familiar faces were seen. Saber silently waved to the pair from the embrace of an enormous La-Z-Boy, Rider was fooling around on a swivel chair in the distance and Berserker had been chained to an odd vibrating contraption set to "Shiatsu," whatever that meant. He dismissed it as one of Celenike's usual deviant fixations and moved on to the center of the furniture labyrinth, where Darnic gestured to a ring of chairs and couches.
"I've been thinking of getting a new for the piece meeting room, so I had Gordes go down to the nearest IKEA and get a few things for me." Darnic briefly wondered whether using a fellow Master as a pack mule was the best of decisions, but that was honestly all Gordes was good for. "Sit down in each of these and tell me what you think."
Lancer reluctantly obliged, approaching a wood-crafted armchair with a footstool. "This is a waste of time and resources, Master. Why did you buy so many of these if youuuurrrrgh-" His complaints were soon replaced with a groan of relief as he sank into the armchair's wondrously soft cushions. "This...this is absolutely heavenly! Astounding craftsmanship for a product of the modern age...but my point remains. Why did you buy so much furniture?" Lancer waved at the sea of wood, steel and upholstery that engulfed the room.
"I couldn't quite make up my mind, so I figured I might as well get everything and refurbish as many rooms as we can. The excess will be used for target practice and ammunition for those trebuchets Caster has been dead-set on building to fortify our defenses. Besides, Gordes needed the exercise. I mean, just look at him with that pudgy face, beady eyes, vile mustache...and the smell, dear God, the smell!"
Lancer merely nodded in agreement. One could only wonder if the heir to the Musik family had ever been introduced to deodorant. "This is chair is an excellent piece. Perhaps I'll claim it for my own." He lazily removed his boots from the stool. "What do you call this footrest, though?"
"Hm? Oh, that. I believe it's called an Ottoman-"
SHINKSHINKSHINKSHINKSHINKSHINK
A cluster of jagged spikes erupted from the floor, brutally ripping the Ottoman to splinters. Lancer wordlessly glared at the offending article from his chair, his fists crushing the handrests to a pulp.
"Right." Darnic coughed. "Let's move on to the next one, shall we?"
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