Day 6 - Into Mystery (aka: wow we're gay)

[lesgeois]

[A lot can happen in two days.

Diana's spent those days - well, her and Mordred have still gone out. Cautiously, not straying far from the mansion. Despite Mordred's protests, she still doesn't think they're in peak condition.

But they've still gone out. And true to her word, Diana's kept her ear to the ground. When they run across one of those cats this time, instead of killing it, they catch it. Tie a note to its ankle. When it scurries off - Diana can't believe that worked - they're met with a frog a few hours later. A frog? A frog.

Diana's beginning to think she might be losing her mind, especially when the frog croaks to them its terms.

1) Come to the De Leon mansion (Diana makes an aside to Mordred about the De Leons being a flamboyant, 'new blood' kind of family.) after sundown.

2) The servant has to be visible.

3) Show your command spell to the doorman.

Cautiously, Diana agreed. The frog then... hopped off.

They've spent the day before the allotted time preparing. Better safe than sorry, Diana had rechecked her traps and alarms on the mansion, in case this was some sort of plan to get them out of the house.

But the entire thing goes... smoothly? As smoothly as can be expected, anyway. The De Leon mansion is alive with guests of all sorts, and Diana realizes vaguely that unlike most Magi, the De Leon heir is active in normal society. A businessman. The funds supply his research, since his family's too young to secure Clock Tower funding. This must be an actual event, then. For normal people. Odd to invite a servant, and she can see her cloak and Mordred's...very Mordred fashion sense drawing the eyes of the well-dressed crowd. The whispering dies down when she shows the doorman the back of her hand and he nods at her, though.

At least they're willing to accept she and Mordred belong here. De Leon - a foppish man in his early 30s - appears almost immediately, and after a few seconds of chatter ('Cavendish, baby, you should have said it was you!' 'I doubted you'd have invited me if I had,') drags Diana off, mentioning something about Cruz. That must be the other Master in this odd little puzzle.

Over her shoulder, Diana jerks her head upstairs as she's pulled away through the mingling crowd, the hustle and bustle of a well-stocked party. Even she can feel the presence of two servants besides Mordred, vaguely, and so for Mordred the sensation must be incredibly strong. Best to check that out while they have amiable terms for it.

But then Diana disappears, and Mordred's left with dozens of mingling guests and an incredibly well-stocked refreshment table.]

Comments

[spellto]

[Still, she probably gets up to the second floor. Eventually. No matter how many tiny little bits of sausage on a stick she puts in her mouth, there's only so long Mordred can ignore Servants, right? The steps are long and winding, and when Mordred reaches the top, there's only a few doors to go down. Plenty of halls, though. The layout's quite the opposite of Diana's mansion, which crammed in as many rooms as it could.

One door leads to another, and sooner or later Mordred finds herself in the library, staring at an incredibly tiny girl, blowing idly on a pipe as she thumbs through a book, lounging in a pile of pillows. Her feet are kicked up not on a cushion, but on a large black lion. The lion grumbles thoughtlessly when Mordred steps in. The girl, meanwhile, doesn't bother looking up.]

I was rather hoping you'd think to bring some of the wine for us. Even poor downtrodden Berserker likes his spirits,
and neither of us can quite convince the servants to fetch some for us. [The cat huffs, again, without raising its head. Or even opening its eyes.]

Do forgive him. He's a shy sort, humbled by his experiences in life.

[If Mordred's expecting an explanation of what any of this is, she doesn't get it. The girl just flips a page in her book.]

If I am obliged to offer you my class, it is Caster, she who weaves curses and blessings. [Oh, that explains everything.]

[bloodings]

[ Mordred doesn't bother to hide her contempt. She had to leave the food for this — and she's a little weirded out by the whole scene, honestly. Appearances can be deceiving and all, but this isn't what she expected to see when she went to investigate. (Then again, if there's one thing she's learning about the Holy Grail War, it's to expect the unexpected.)

Also, more importantly: she's being ignored for a book. She grumbles in annoyance, knowing she can't afford to cause a scene. ]

... Great. I really can't stand Casters. [ Okay, off to a great start. On the plus side, the girl's not Morgan, so things could have been a lot worse. ] Saber. But don't confuse this for obligation. The strongest class doesn't have to hide.

Are you the one who wanted an alliance with us? You'll have to start talking sense first. [ She's not exactly hard to understand, just annoying. But that's reason enough for Mordred to be rude(r than usual). ]

[spellto]

I do not hide the truth,
Nor exalt my claims,
I speak only wisdom,
Borne of experience,
Suffering, and love,
If ye doubt my words,
Or do not understand,
Then thy ears have been,
Closed to knowledge,
understanding, and comfort,
Thus do you spite,
Caster, oh Caster,
Most evil of all,
Most beloved of all,
Most charming of all,
Most cruel of all,
Most knowing of all,
and most guilty of all.

[She peers, blankly, over her book.

Then sighs and blows on her pipe for a moment, considering her options.]

Yes, I did do that just to annoy you. [Great alliance here.]

The frog was my doing. The cat was Berserker's. Our Masters have been aligned since the start of the war, as we're both the manipulative, avoiding direct confrontation sort. Well. Berserker can be played that way. I imagine all this sitting around is starting to chafe at his neck, and I'm certain he could tear a chunk out of Rider or Assassin if we set him loose.

[The lion shifts a little, but he still hasn't opened his eyes.]

With you onside, he might actually get a chance to do that.

[bloodings]

[ .......................... ]

What the hell is wrong with you? [ That's dedication to being annoying. Mordred's almost impressed. Almost. ] And a Berserker that avoids confrontation? Seriously, that's just messed up. You must be more of a kitten than a lion.

[ Though at least he has potential, if the second comment is anything to go by. Yes, it's better for their alliance if Berserker isn't completely out of control, but she isn't really thinking of that. It's ridiculous to see him being used as a quiet footstool. ]

Hurting an Assassin is hardly impressive. That class barely qualifies as a Heroic Spirit. [ Just a killer that hunts in shadow. ] As for Rider... well, we haven't fought yet. Our main targets are Archer and Lancer for now.

... But I guess you know that. Those were your familiars the other night, weren't they?

[spellto]

No. Those were his familiars, or perhaps troops.

[She lifts her foot slightly, then bumps it down on Berserker. This time he actually does open one eye, just to glare at Caster.]

Oh, do be quiet. I'm certain if our roles were reversed, you'd gladly use me as a rug, much less a foot stool.

[Berserker lets his eyes drift shut again, and in return Caster looks back over at Mordred. At least she's finally setting her book aside, for now.]

But yes, Archer and Lancer are our targets. That Lancer, paragon of Christian virtue that they are, is something of a natural enemy. I'm quite certain you feel the same way about them.

Sir... [And here her know-it-all act falls apart, because she knows quite well who Lancer is, but isn't clear on the specifics of Saber. She tilts her head, rolls the thought over in her mind.]

Well, you possess one too many limbs to be Sir Bedivere. [She lifts her book back up, shows the cover of it to Mordred - Idylls of the King - then sets it back down.]

Not that he'd qualify as a heroic spirit on the level of King Arthur anyway. And Lancer seemed quite frustrated with you, from what Berserker tells me. Though there's a rather large problem with you being Lancelot. Unless Guinevere's sexuality was very complicated.

[bloodings]

Hmph. [ She really doesn't like where this is going. Biting her tongue to refrain from making a derisive comment that would give her away immediately, she takes a moment to speak up again. ] Who says I'm that close to him? By the end, a lot of people hated the king. More people wanted to destroy King Arthur than worship him.

[ Which infuriates her — they were pure parasites, switching loyalties in an instant for their own gain. Her father gave his all to the people, while she fought only for herself, and yet it was her they followed. Fools. ]

... I'm just someone who hates righteous crap. That's all. [ That doesn't narrow it down much, right... ] Most importantly, I can beat Lancer. I just need someone to keep that cowardly Archer out of my way while we fight. If you can do that much, I'll spare you for now.

[spellto]

Berserker can do that much. Casters hate confrontation as a rule, but I hate it more than most. I'm a teacher, at heart. [And she watches Mordred - carefully, trying to notice any sign of who she might be. It's easy to tell that's what she's doing, considering how analytical her gaze is.

After a moment, she shrugs.]

And as a teacher, I have two words of warning for the budding student: First, don't underestimate us. You're in enemy territory, with two servants right in front of you. Come to think of it, that should be a familiar arrangement for you, shouldn't it? And I know how it ended last time.

Show a little discretion.

Secondly, as you are now, you'd lose a one-on-one duel with... [A knight who hates righteousness. Caster puffs on her pipe, blows out a little smoke.]

... your liege lord. [Specific. Caster chafes at the lack of knowledge, but she truly is a teacher, down in her soul. She doesn't want to force anything out of her student.]

Anger and hate are good things, but they need to be directed. I've done nothing to you, but you're lashing out. A bullheaded approach like that can't possibly win. [Caster, conveniently, ignores how much egging on of Mordred she's done.]

[bloodings]

[ Your liege lord. Mordred bristles; tries to hide it, fails. She knows she's being analyzed, but some reactions are too powerful to suppress. ]

Lancer and Archer are both knight classes. You're just a mage and a madman. [ Mad... lion? Whatever. So much for discretion. ] This style is what works for me. If you don't like it, find someone else.

[ Great job with the alliance, Mordred. ]

You can't win the Holy Grail without confrontation. I don't care how much of a teacher you are — that's just the way it is. [ She frowns. ] Obviously, you're prepared to fight if you have to. I'll be expecting help from you as well, not just Berserker.

[spellto]

You and that wonderfully-named Master of yours are the ones that came to us, I'll have you know. Because you nearly bled out in the streets. [And really, Berserker hardly seems *mad*. More grumpy. Then again, he hasn't been sicced on anyone yet.]

Diana Cavendish, wasn't it? I heard my Master speaking to her. Are you going to drag that young woman into a fight you can't win? Even if you hate righteousness, you must have some empathy.

[Truly, these three are off to a wonderful start.]

... But I'll admit, we do need you. I am well-known, but only among certain groups. And Berserker is ancient, but somewhat obscure. A servant like you is what we need. We lack a direct actor.

Of course, that only applies if you're willing to listen to us. Berserker is an emperor, you know. I have no regard for anything that puts one man above another, but you're a knight. You must respect the throne? [Said as she still has her feet on his back.]

[bloodings]

... That thing is an emperor? [ How's that for respecting the throne? ] I don't respect anyone just for their position. Actions are what counts, not some lofty title.

[ She didn't follow King Arthur just because he was king: she followed him because he was perfect. Still, there's nobody else that brilliance could have come from but a king. Berserker isn't impressive by comparison. ]

But you're right about one thing — I won't let my Master be killed. Lay a finger on her, and I'll make sure you suffer. She's the only reason I'm talking to you at all.

[ Otherwise... well, otherwise she would have died fighting Lancer — and deep down she knows it — but she certainly wouldn't be making an alliance with anyone. Even the thought of referring to it as that annoys her. In her head, it's a temporary ceasefire, nothing more. ]

We have common goals, and that's enough for now. Be careful not to overstep, witch.

[spellto]

It's a cat. [She nudges him with her foot.] Surely you know what those are?

[But she listens to the rest of Mordred's little - whining - then shrugs.

Slowly, she stands, feet pushing off of Berserker, searches around the room. There's a glass of water, and she reaches for it, reaches down and dips her finger into it, swirling it in lazy circles.]

Much as Berserker is a cat that belies an emperor, I am a witch that belies a messiah. And I am sure you have something you consider yourself, besides a knight, or a warrior.

In the end, this war is about wishes. I am not asking you to respect us, but only to respect our desires, whatever they might be. In return, we shall respect yours. My Master is no doubt making demands of yours, but that is my only request.

[She holds the glass out to Mordred. The water's a deep red now, smells of grapes and alcohol.]

Shall we drink to that?

[bloodings]

[ The worst part is that Caster's words aren't all that disagreeable — she's not asking for anything difficult or compromising. Mordred almost wishes she was, because then she'd have an excuse not to go along with this, to preserve her stubborn independence. But she knows better than to force a rift now.

She takes the glass, but sniffs it first, suspicious. Her instincts aren't alerting her to anything, so she shrugs. ]

Very well. [ Tossing the water — wine — down her throat in a single gulp, she smirks a little. ] Someone who admits to their desires, I can deal with. I'd have called you a liar if you pretended not to have any.

[ A Master might be dragged into the war against their will, she supposes, but there's no way a Servant could be. For a witch... for someone who went out of her way to be annoying... Caster's not as bad as she could be. ]

What about him? [ She gestures to Berserker, half-mockingly. She's not exactly expecting him to have a say in this. ]

[spellto]

[The wine tastes perfect - too perfect. Artificial. It's the best wine Mordred's probably ever tasted, but there's no edge to it, no sensation that what she's drinking is real. It's more like she's having a vivid dream about drinking wine.Do what you like.]

He's a curmudgeonly old man. His life was one of failure. I know he might not seem like much of a Berserker, but his madness has transferred to his army. That's why those cats attacked you all at random. We'll try to keep it under control, of course. The alliance should work out.

Do you want another glass?

[bloodings]

He must not have any pride left, to let you talk about him that way.

[ Her voice is full of contempt. She hated her unnatural birth, but felt pride at her skills, at being like the king. She'd sooner bite someone's hand off than roll over for them. ]

I'll pass. It's good, but there's nothing real about it. I'd prefer a flawed drink to an illusion any day. [ Perfection has its limits — even for her father. ] But our cooperation is established for now. Unless your Master is fool enough to jeopardize it with some boorish demand.

[spellto]

More like he's biding his time. The smart lion hides its fangs. Though a stupid lion is capable of that, as well - do watch my Master. He's not half as clever as he thinks he is.

[Berserker, for his bulk and his obvious animalistic strength, does seem... tired, more than anything. When he opens his eyes again, they're weary, exhausted seeming. He closes them a moment later.]

And how rude, to reject a gift. [Caster doesn't seem very offended.]

I'd offer you a tarot reading or a palm divination, as proof of our friendship, but I imagine you don't put any stock in 'parlor tricks' either.

[bloodings]

Heh. People who try and act clever rarely are.

[ Does... does that make Mordred a genius?







(God no it doesn't.) ]

It's a temporary alliance, not a friendship. We're still enemies in the end. [ Plus Mordred doesn't have friends. She's too edgy for that. ] Besides, I already know what the future holds. I don't need my victory spelled out for me.

If you really were skilled, you'd already know that.

[spellto]

[Give her a second.]

... Ah. You're scared I'll see your identity.

[bloodings]

Huh? N-no I'm not! I just don't believe in any of that crap!

[ Busted. Well, at least a little — she's pretty sure Secret of Pedigree would protect her name well enough, but Caster already knows she's someone related to King Arthur. Even contextual clues might be enough. ]

There's no benefit to me. That's all. [ She huffs. ] I'm the strongest, so the Grail is already mine. You couldn't tell me anything useful.

[spellto]

I could tell you if your Master will be fine. If Lancer will admit defeat or claw back at you to the end. If victory will make you happy.

[And yes, Caster's mind is already working, gears turning as she looks Mordred over.]

Maybe my identity would appease you? I hide it more out of habit than need. Unlike you or Berserker, I'm quite proud of my legend. Or do you not want to spoil the surprise?

[bloodings]

... Of course it'll make me happy. What are you, an idiot? Winning is all that matters.

[ Nevermind that if she really believed that, she'd be out eating souls for power, or obliterating this whole building just to kill the Masters inside. It still sounds believable to her own ears. ]

If you told me something like your name, I'd just assume you were lying. That's beyond pride — it's stupidity. [ Which is rich, coming from Mordred. ] You're free to dig your own grave, but don't expect the same from me. I don't have that sort of knightly integrity.

[spellto]

Oh, no. I mostly just wanted an excuse to speak another poem. Or 'spell,' I suppose.

[Remember the good times, when she was babbling almost literal nonsense.

It's not quite pride in my name, either. Maybe, at the end of the day, we both just love our fathers?

[There's a pause, after that - Berserker lifts his head, suddenly alert. Caster tilts her head slightly, puffs yet again on her pipe.]

... Sir Galahad? [Is that her actual guess, or is she teasing? She isn't smirking, but she doesn't look quite sure of it herself.]

[bloodings]

So you just like being pretentious.

[ She already knew that much, but it's nice to have confirmation. 'Nice' in a sense of the word, anyway. What's less nice is the next thing Caster says — Mordred freezes completely, down to the expression on her face, only to let out an (almost) imperceptible sigh of relief. ]

Who knows? I'm not about to tell you. [ Though she has to laugh a little, inside. Is there anyone she's less like than that perfect beacon of purity? ] If you keep guessing blindly, you'll spend the entire war trying to figure it out. Sounds like a waste of time to me.

[spellto]

All good things are made blind, don't you know? Love, for instance.

[Really, she figures it isn't Galahad. Caster just likes her word games.

And that reaction. A father. Hrm.]

If you ever get around to killing me, [said with all the worry of 'If you ever get around to cleaning your room,'] I do hope you'll tell me.

Speaking of telling. Your Master probably hopes we're playing nice. I wonder if you'll tell her the truth? Then again, considering we're enemies, maybe this is playing nice. Ah, war never sat well with me.

[bloodings]

If it comes to that, I'll make sure my name is the last thing you hear.

[ Assuming she's the one that finishes Caster off, anyway. Besides Lancer, Mordred doesn't really care who kills who, as long as she comes out victorious in the end. The rest could all just disappear, for all she gives a damn. ]

But you're right — this is playing nice. I haven't killed you yet, so she'll probably be impressed. [ ... Not that she cares what her Master thinks at all. Obviously. ] What about you? If you have any complaints about me, out with them already.

[spellto]

Well, you're a boorish sort, but you still make for better conversation than Berserker.

[So, Caster shrugs.]

If I had a complaint, it's that you aren't heretical enough to convert and not Christian enough to taunt. At least, I doubt you have much love for God.