Remember
Chapter 12 Draft in progress
Waver Velvet was living in tissue hell.
This was not a metaphor. Beside him, an overflowing wastebasket of blood-stained facial tissues stood as the primary landmark of his room. Evidence of its failure to contain its charges was present in the series of similar tissues tossed around on the floor. A new member joined their ranks, casually disposed of by the gigantic bleeding man behind him, sitting on the bed.
Alexander the Great had a small cut on his face, and his blood-flow simply would not cease. Between the two emergency tissue runs, extra loads of garbage he had disposed of, and supreme care he had to take such that his gracious old hosts wouldn't notice, the young man was almost beside himself with frustration.
He almost wanted to ignore the directive to focus on Caster, simply so he could have Rider crush Lancer and make the bleeding stop.
But, that would be suicide. He was better than that. His alchemical sleuthing had borne fruit, and they were almost ready to go . . . if not for the bleeding. While Rider had no real problems with letting the wound flow free while he was in 'battle mode,' Waver was just a bit too pragmatic to want to be spilling his Servant's blood everywhere, after all.
He had been pacing around his room considering his options when his foot slipped on an errant Kleenex and he fell on his ass. Mumbling in pain, he caught Rider's eye.
"Show more respect, boy! That's the blood of a king you're trodding on! Ha!"
At last, his temper snapped.
Waver stood up, and silently picked up a few of the sanguine objects. He went over to his alchemy set and started to work.
Rider, curious as to his Master's lack of outraged mewling, raised an eyebrow and watched. The boy had proven himself as an alchemist with the river samples, so whatever he was doing was probably going to be interesting, at least.
Waver tore off some of the blood soaked fabric and dropped it into a flask. Muttering to himself, he fought off the urge to wince as he activated his Magic Circuits. He concentrated, and poured prana into the flask.
Rider, still waiting for a result, idly scratched an itch on his scalp with his free hand. This eventually escalated to scratching an arm, then his chest. Within a few more seconds he was itching all over his body and could not scratch fast enough.
Not a fool, he vocalized his feelings.
"Oy, brat, what is the meaning of this?! Do I have to give you another knock on th- oy!"
Waver had turned at the diatribe and glared for a moment before going back to his casting. Blood was streaming from his nose, and Rider could faintly detect the ever-unwelcome smell of seared flesh.
"Oy, boy, you've made your point!"
The itching stopped. Waver let out a breath, and shuddered in pain.
Rider reached out tentatively but drew back as Waver stood and whirled on him.
"Do you GET IT now? I am an AMATEUR! A few drops of blood, and I made you ITCH! If Caster got your blood he could probably make you explode! Lord El-Melloi . . . would probably make your dick rot off or something."
"Really?"
"Really. It's not difficult, it's just a matter of time, prana, and deftness with curses. Blood is the ultimate arcane link, after all. Only an ID-I-OT would leave it spattered around somewhere. Especially this phantasmal Ghost-Liner blood stuff. I don't even want to know what kind of extra ectoplasmic resonance once could achieve with the proper thaumaturgy . . ."
Rider shook his head ruefully as Waver ranted on. The boy was right; he was on a playing field with magi. That the boy felt it necessary to harm himself in making his point only hammered home how serious he was taking this whole War. His success in bypassing Rider's admittedly meager D rank in Magic Resistance was nothing to sneer at, either.
He tossed his current tissue aside and reached for a new one. Dabbing on his cheek, he considered their options with the full brunt of his tactical mind, and smiled.
***