Season 1: Persepolis/Round 1 Thread 4

Dad 31-Oct-20 02:05 AM

Pascal Poirot 18-Nov-20 07:46 AM

Pascal had seen far better days. The sickening aroma of poached eggs filled the room, the man clicking his tongue in disdain as he reluctantly served them over on a plate. They weren't omelettes, per say, but they were incredibly close. Enough for him to dislike them, at least.

This was his breakfast for today.

"I sure am glad that we ran out of meat yesterday. Guess that's where the 'lettuce' came from..." Pascal joked to himself, but it was clear that he was tilted. What sort of restaurant worth its salt ran out of key ingredients? It was practically unheard of at his previous workplaces, yet it seemed to be a common occurrence over at Persepolis' restaurant district. No wonder they needed to rely on the mafia's support to keep running.

Speaking of, when would that old man learn? The owner of the Crab & Lettuce was a stingy, archaic individual. They refused to fully cooperate with the mafia, yet received no benefits from the aristocracy for doing so. It was a struggle to even remain open, especially with such little clientele, yet they insisted on remaining independent. What a laugh.

...Not like Pascal could judge, since he was currently a freeloader. The other restaurants didn't take too kindly to strangers knocking on their doors for a job, so he had to make do. The boss of Crab & Lettuce didn't even pay him, for they were dirt poor themselves. Instead, they proposed a deal: Pascal would be given free rent and food at the restaurant, as long as they helped out as a kitchen assistant during the mornings and evenings.

It wasn't a stellar job, but at least it gave Pascal a roof under his head. That being said, he was starting to regret his decision.

Signs of a gang war were reported at the #shipyard yesterday night. Mafia members were rumoured to be conducting illegal activities around the area, resulting in the local aristocracy being asked to intervene. The local mafia has been growing increasingly belligerent in the last few weeks, and--

"Gang violence. Sure. Not like it wasn't obvious that the aristocraps and mafiasses weren't at each others' throats already." Pascal sighed. If even a tourist like him could figure this out, who were the news people fooling? He was tempted to turn off the TV in the restaurant kitchen, but decided to keep it on. Some meaningless background noise would help later, after all.

"Alright, enough messing around. Time to get to work to serve a grand total of...zero customers!" He said to himself in an almost mocking tone as he stared down his poached egg. Eww.

"...Today, I think I'll go for steak." Pascal raised his hand, then gently lowered his palm next to the egg on the plate. Once it was a few centimeters apart from the food, a blue aura fizzled and penetrated the yolk. However, the egg seemed unchanged.

"Bon appetit!" He said, grabbing a fork and scarfing it down in two morsels. He started to cough soon afterwards.

cough cough

"Well, that tasted like steak, alright. Charred steak...but better than an egg." He gasped, gulping down a nearby glass of water as he adjusted his back. His taste altering spells still weren't perfect, it seemed.

Thankfully, his current job gave him the perfect chance to hone his magecraft skills. There was a new fad over at Persepolis. People were growing increasingly accustomed to magecraft, to the point that Magi working at restaurants were asked to 'diversify' the meals and alter its taste, properties and nutrition. Something he had already been used to, of course, but he had no idea that these culinary arts had spread so far and wide.

It got to the point that most restaurants had started to purchase 'cook books' dedicated to culinary magecraft. It is similar to existing concepts of alchemy. Just like in alchemy, you gathered ingredients, albeit these would usually be limited to foods and edibles. Then, through certain chants and enchantments, you would be able to transmute the edibles and edit the ingredients' properties. This usually results in either horrible concoctions that are toxic to the tongue, or delicious meals that would be able to satiate even beings from the heavens.

Therefore, these cook books are incredibly valuable, for they come with recipes on how to create unique meals. All a magus needs to do is gather the required ingredients, follow the instructions and voilà, a meal would be prepared.

The owner of the Crab & Lettuce had a vast collection of these culinary books, yet those numbers never seemed to increase the amount of customers the place got on a daily basis. The word of the mafia was strong, and the old man had indubitably insulted them through his refusal of their 'protection'.

However, that didn't stop him from working Pascal to the bone. For today, he wanted several dishes to be prepared. All of them needlessly complicated, yet supposedly delicious. Granted, it wasn't hard. He just needed to read up on the books, follow their instructions and...hope that his average circuits didn't tarnish the dish.

"Bolognese with Void Sauce? People really eat this?" Pascal wondered, skimming one of the dishes for today. It was just an hour until the restaurant's opening time. The owner had currently gone out to restock on meat, but who knows if they would find it. Persepolis was in a sorry state.

"--Three dead bodies were found, with the aristocracy's enforcers claiming that they were forced to put them down in an act of self-defense. Truly, the mafia's methods have grown increasingly aggressive, so one cannot blame Persepolis' higher class from acting out--"

The TV kept playing more doctored news, which is just what Pascal wanted. It was great white noise to drown out the world as he focused on the task at hand.

He started forming a miniature summoning circle on a plate, using everyday materials such as ketchup and tomato sauce. A pile of other ingredients was also nearby.

"Soul of the mind, withdrawn from its vessel. Let strength be granted from your almighty...ketchup."

He read a chant from the book in question, causing a reaction to occur in the circle. The other ingredients followed suit, being conjoined into the ritual. The flow of mana could be felt in the room as it wrapped itself around the ingredients and circle. The two pieces became one as a spark of magic blinded Pascal for a second. When he opened his eyes, the ritual was complete: A plate of bolognese was now in front of him. The cookbook said that its taste would now be comparable to the 'dark void that rests in every human's heart', but he wasn't willing to taste it to check that theory.

"One down, twenty to go." Pascal sighed. It wasn't hard to read from a set of instructions and let them do the work for you, but it also meant that it never got easier. Hopefully he would manage in an hour...

"--The aristocracy also captured several gang members at the scene of the crime. The culprits were escorted to the center of Persepolis, where the administrative office will see to their trial. Meanwhile, the rest of the enforcers have already secured the #shipyard and are currently conducting an investigation there--"

Pascal kept making more and more meals, drowning out the noise of the TV with the sound of magic and odd sounding enchantments. However, he eventually got a bit stumped. He found a cookbook like none other...

"...No title? No description of the meal, even? Strange. Then again, this book looks pretty old. Wonder why it's near the top of the pile then. The old fart running this place could use to be more tidy." He muttered to himself, skimming through pages as he read further. The writing was barely legible, but he was able to make out some descriptions at least.

"Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time. Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Raise a wall..."

"--Reports are unclear, but eye witnesses claim to have seen several S.E.R.V.A.N.T. Mystic Codes being utilized at the gang war. The aristocracy has deactivated the Mystic Codes. Those that were never activated in the first place were sent to center Persepolis. It is rumoured that these Mystic Codes were intended to be sold on the black market--"

"...against the wind, that shall fall."

"--While all of the Mystic Codes have been accounted for, the enforcers state that one, in particular, is missing. They have filed a report and asked local citizens to cooperate with them. Please report any sightings of an abandoned S.E.R.V.A.N.T. Mystic Code to the #administrative-office."

"An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!"

...

Pascal paused. He had finished reading that ridiculous chant. It was around five, to ten times longer than the average chant from a Magus cookbook. He was spent, not just in terms of voice, but mana as well. Did a few words really tire him out?

"Well, I can't say that wasn't fun. Reminded me a lot of some fairy tales I read as a kid! But still, what sort of childish enchantment is this? No food nor water came out. Did I lack the ingredients, perha--"

A thunderous surge of mana stopped his needless chatter. Pascal fell on the floor, a flash of bright light overwhelming his vision. It was far more powerful than any flashbang, blinding his eyes for several seconds while his ears felt deaf. After half a minute or so, he regained his bearings and stood up. He felt drained. So, the lack of mana from earlier wasn't just fatigue from the obnoxious chant.

"What the...Who's there?" He instinctively asked. No way he could generate such an intense wave of mana. Clearly, someone else was in the room with him, but who? He turned around, before noticing that a wardrobe several feet away from him was now wide open. It was covered in smoke and most likely the source of the strange flash from earlier.

Pascal crept forward, shaking with each step as he wondered whether he should leave the restaurant and call for help. But his curiosity overwhelmed him. He got closer, and saw the contents of the wardrobe. He had never opened it before, mostly due to it belonging to the restaurant owner. It was usually also locked.

There was a summoning circle inside, along with a decaying smell. Pig's blood, most likely. An ingredient that they had bought just a day ago. The sight alone was enough to awaken long lost memories in Pascal's mind.

"This...is a summoning circle." He turned around, knowing all too well what had just happened. Sweat trickled from his brow. It was just like back at home. How could he forget that timeless chant?!

"...I ask of you, if you're actually around." He adjusted his hat, trying his best to remain composed, even though he looked terrified just moments ago. "...Are you a Servant?" For once, he had hoped that his guess was erroneous, that he would receive no reply.

#shipyard, #shipyard, #administrative-office, @Magneto

Neil Armstrong 18-Nov-20 08:52 AM

The smell of dust and charred... something hit Pascal's nostrils like a hydrogen bomb. This, mixed with the pig blood used to make a summoning circle, had created a mix of unpleasantness that made Pascal want to turn out of the room and vomit. Yet for some reason, he couldn't.

Fear had rooted him into place.

Just what had he done by summoning a Servant by complete accident? Which one had he summoned? He had failed to use a catalyst. Would a catalyst even work? Dozens of questions flowed through Pascal's head, too fast to even consider properly. Swallowing, he looked throughout the room. Copious amounts of cookbooks, some personal belongings... Had he summoned a chef?

In the frenzy, Pascal didn't notice the fainted outline of the moon in the morning sky, almost invisible as daylight swallowed it up.

It was so natural, so inconspicuous. Nobody would've considered it. There was no way that it would count. Maybe...

Maybe there was a thing called fate after all.

Not a single noise came from the room. It certainly didn't move at all, and Pascal didn't move in return. Without an ounce of warning, a thud could be heard. Then another thud, and a figure stepped out into the light.

A figure dressed in a type of outfit never seen before, and one that hadn't been seen in nearly a hundred years. Pascal couldn't make heads or tails of it. Where the face should be, a visor was instead placed. It was like looking into a mirror.

It looked vaguely human, yet inhuman at the same time. Yet that inhuman nature was quickly shattered.

"Ha! Ahahaha! Your luck is stupendous! You've pulled quite the lucky card, boy of Earth! No doubt you've spent years of research trying to figure out how to best summon me, the Hero of the Stars! The King Beyond the Sky! Behold, the greatest Rider of them all!"

"The figure boomed, spreading its arms like it was a superstar.

It would've been impressive if the Servant hadn't been summoned in a shoddy apartment.

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 19-Nov-20 08:47 AM

Silence filled the room. For a few minutes, it seemed as if Pascal's theory was just that: A theory. He sighed with relief, glad that he hadn't gotten involved in affairs that were beyond him. I mean, summoning a Servant? In a place that wasn't even befitting of a workshop, nonetheless? Only stuff that would occur in dreams. He did wonder why the owner had such a crude summoning circle placed inside of the restaurant, though...

Unfortunately, he would be abruptly woken up from his dream. Numerous thuds were heard from the kitchen as he saw a cookbook fall from the tall pile that had gathered on a table. Someone else was definitely there. Pascal gulped and prepared himself, ready to scream out loud and ask for the mysterious figure to show themselves.

And show themselves they did, in all their bombastic and spectacular glory. A figure from the stars, dressed in attire that was completely unfamiliar to Pascal, to the point he wondered whether the person in front of him was even human.

"Wait, is this how Servant suits look now?" The man thought for a second, adjusting his hat and hiding his eyes to mask his fear. Of course, this wouldn't work, since he started shivering the moment the person spoke.

"...Rider class?" He felt like choking. "No. You can't be serious..." Sweat kept trickling down from the side of his head.

"You're seriously a Servant? You look like half fridge, half toaster! Is that you, old guy? Is this some sort of elaborate prank you're pulling on me?! Please, get out of that fishbowl for a head!" Pascal squealed, getting closer and tapping on the black screen that was the Servant's cranium. You couldn't even see the face of the person behind it.

@Magneto

Neil Armstrong 20-Nov-20 02:59 AM

Rider stopped his momentous introduction to look down on Pascal. The spacesuit made Rider look positively inhuman, and almost goofy. There was no body language to be emitted when under so many layers of protection, but that was acceptable. There were plenty of Servants with armor, and plenty of people who wore layers. No, what was most uncanny was the visor.

The lack of face—anything for Pascal to focus in on and declare "yeah, that's a human", was unnerving. The Servant looked down at his suit, before shrugging.

"This is protection! It may not be as impressive as a hulking suit of armor, but this is our—my—work! The stars above, the vacuum of space... None of it is meant for the likes of us!" Rider boomed as his voice attained a static edge to it, as though his voice were coming through a radio.

"...though you may be onto something. Perhaps I should reconfigure this suit so that it has a toaster function. Nonetheless!" Rider looked around. "I didn't expect to be summoned in such a... modest apartment, Houston. It's like I'm back at flight academy. "

This really was happening, Pascal had summoned a Servant. And by the looks of it, an eccentric one. Lucky him.

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 20-Nov-20 06:53 AM

Pascal kept tapping at the visor. It felt like he was interacting with a cleverly crafted automaton more than an actual human being. Of course, Armstrong tried his best to reinforce his claims, talking about the stars above and how he needed extra protection to survive. Of course, this would fall under deaf ears for someone who hadn't seen heard news of spaceships in ages.

"Stars? Space? You're joking, right? Servants are Heroic Spirits. Spirits of people from a time long gone. The age of a Heroic Spirit is linked to their strength!" Pascal muttered out loud.

"At least, that's what my brother told me."

"So, you're telling me you're a Servant that somehow made it to the stars? Spacecraft is barely a century old! I can't ever imagine a Heroic Spirit being summoned from that time period. They would be incredibly weak, at best." Pascal said, trying to sound wise and knowledgeable when all he was doing was parroting second-hand knowledge from his brother. Of course, that last bit would sting. Armstrong certainly wouldn't appreciate it.

Pascal then took out his phone and started to search a few things.

"Clearly, you're a robot trying to fool me. Look! Even your voice has static to it!" He said, while typing up a storm on his phone. The word 'astronaut' hadn't been used in years. Therefore, he tried his best to find a descriptor for what fit Armstrong to a T...

robots with fish bowl heads

He tapped enter. No results.

@Magneto

Neil Armstrong 23-Nov-20 03:37 AM

Pascal was right about one thing. Armstrong didn't appreciate the "weak" comment in the slightest, or any of the other claims made by the sad, poor cook, made in his sad, poor apartment. So naturally, Rider was prone to grow angry with Pascal's lack of knowledge.

"B-Barely a century old?" Rider said, stuttering in outrage. "Besides being completely wrong, Houston, this goes beyond things like time and age, you fuckin' dumbass! Do you know how many people have wanted to go and see what's above us? This isn't about age or power or anything, it's about reaching greater and greater heights!"

Naturally, a fair bit of this would go over Pascal's head, as Rider had done little to sway his doubts.

"And as for me being weak... Maybe when compared to literal gods, but who needs them when you have me!" Rider laughed loudly, though a various obvious edge had crept into his voice. He would certainly remember that jab.

"I suppose you'll want a physical demonstration, you Masters typically do. You like your big guns and such. Commendable! Yet extremely stupid. Oh well..." He looked around the room. "Hmm, you really don't have many items to your name, Houston? Reminds me of 1970s NASA's budget... Ah well, I guess I'll have to use you as a substitute."

Pascal would look up from his phone to see Rider reaching a hand out towards his neck.

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 23-Nov-20 03:45 AM

Pascal kept typing more descriptors, but he couldn't seem to find anything even close to resembling an astronaut. He was tempted to toss his phone out of frustration, especially when Armstrong kept referring to him as 'Houston'.

"Who's Houston, even? My name is Pascal, get that right! I have no idea who sent you here, but I'm not going to put up with--HEY!"

He immediately backed off, standing away from the extended arm.

"What are you trying to do, huh? Keep this up and I'll call the cops, I swear!" He exclaimed in a panic, switching from his browser to his phone and typing a few numbers. Seemed like Armstrong would have to wait another way to prove his physical prowess...

@Magneto

Neil Armstrong 23-Nov-20 04:10 AM

"Tsk... You're a troublesome Master, Houston." Rider grumbled, retreating his hand. If the police got involved over something like this, it'd be troublesome. Rider crossed his legs and sat down, before placing fingers where his chin would be, and taking up a thoughtful pose. It was such a human gesture that Pascal would've laughed if he hadn't been so terrified.

Rider stayed like that for a few moments, as Pascal's finger drifted over the "dial" button on his phone. Suddenly, Rider stood up.

"Well then!" He roared, startling Pascal once again. "I'll have to show you what I, a Rider, can accomplish! One such as myself is only as good as the mount they ride. I await you outside, Houston!"

Footsteps clanking on the floor, Rider would open a door and step down a flight of stairs into the restaurant below, though his steps seemed oddly light and floaty, leaving Pascal on his own.

Wait... What if Armstrong was seen in the restaurant?

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 23-Nov-20 07:19 AM

"I told you, stop calling me Master. Because I sure am not calling you Servant." Pascal replied while Armstrong was deep in thought. As much as he liked repeating that, the realization that he might have really summoned a Servant was slowly dawning upon him.

"...Is this a real Servant? I remember the one my brother summoned looking a lot more old fashioned and noble. Why did a geezer make a summoning circle in the first place? Doesn't he know that it will attract the mafia's attention?" Pascal started thinking as well. Indeed, it seemed rather odd for his boss to make preparations for a Servant's summon.

What he did know, however, was that 'Rider' (he still wasn't confident in calling him that), had opened a door and started heading downstairs. Pascal panicked. It was just ten minutes away from opening time.

"Hold up! Hey! Are you listening to me? Don't blow me off, you hunk of bolts!" Pascal screamed, but Armstrong wouldn't listen. The unwilling Master rushed down the stairs, finding Armstrong around the restaurant dining area. The store was closed, but the glass windows were still rather transparent. Any random passerby was an immediate threat, since it took just one eyewitness report for someone to get curious.

"Get back up! Now! If you're a Servant, then obey your Master." Pascal ordered, albeit he gulped with each word. It felt rather unnatural, to command someone else for once. Even during his numerous jobs as a chef, he never had any position of authority over others, merely being relegated to kitchen assistant or dishwasher.

@Magneto

Neil Armstrong 23-Nov-20 10:19 AM

Rider snorted, and through his static filter, it sounded more like a mix between a clap of thunder and someone blowing into a microphone. He had been standing near the door, though he now turned to Pascal. An American flag could be seen on his shoulder.

"Are you my Master or not? Make up your mind before you start barking out orders, idiot. If I truly wanted to, I could snuff out your life with the ease that a rocket sheds excess weight once it leaves the atmosphere." Rider said, taking a step towards his begrudging and unexpected Master.

"Your goal is to make me want to work under you. That's all well and good. I've been ordered about for many years, and it doesn't bother me. You know what I never could stand, though? A superior who undervalues his men. So here's what we're gonna do:"

In a flash, Rider was right in front of Pascal, causing the latter's spirit to exit his body for a few seconds. Rider peered down at Pascal, who could see his reflection in the visor once again. Pascal was seriously pushing his luck with Armstrong being down in the restaurant. Any second, someone would see him.

"So, Houston. Are you my Master, or not?"

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 24-Nov-20 04:45 AM

Pascal sweated as Armstrong was starting to sound more and more irritated. At first, his ridiculous demeanour reminded Pascal of a malfunctioning machine, but it was growing rather apparent that the entity in front of him was quite human-like. No robot would be capable of saying such scathing words. The concept of a rocket leaving the atmosphere seemed ridiculous to Pascal, who came from a time where astronauts had been all but forgotten. However, Armstrong made it explicitly clear that he was not to be underestimated.

He appeared in front of Pascal in a mere second, with speed that would not be possible by a mere machine. Pascal gulped, as it became rather obvious at this point that this person was not from this world. Talking about spacecraft and stars, while also having superhuman capabilities? They were no machine and they were too advanced to be a familiar. There was only one possible answer.

Now, he would have to think on what to do with that information. He wasn't sure on how to react, but he didn't have much time. The restaurant would open soon.

"...What would have my brother done?"

Those long forgotten memories started coming back, as a flash of inspiration struck him.

"Houston? Master? Servant? Man, I don't give a damn! I just want to grill some food, for God's sake!" Pascal shouted back, refusing to let Armstrong be the victor.

"If saying that I'm your Master will make you piss off, then sure! I'm your Master? Happy now? Now shoo. Disappear! Can't you Servants turn into a spirit form or whatever? I've got meals to cook!" He ordered Armstrong around, sounding a lot more confident and composed. After all, he was merely repeating the same words that his brother used...albeit in a far less elegant manner.

"If you're so high and mighty, then prove it with your own actions. Unless you're only good at snuffing your Masters out. Guess you're more Assassin than Rider." He taunted, purposefully playing on Armstrong's pride.

@Magneto

Neil Armstrong 25-Nov-20 01:31 AM

As Pascal began to fling insults at Armstrong, it felt as if Rider was grinning underneath his visor, as if he and Pascal were two friends talking trash. The way this Servant acted seemed seemingly inconsistent, from jumping to action to action, threatening murder to extending a hand of friendship...

Just what had Pascal summoned?

"So you grew a pair. Excellent! That's good. Get mad! Do you think the other Masters of this 'Holy' Grail War are going to be as kind as I am? No! They'll be cruel, they'll be mean, and they'll want to do us in." Rider said as he marched past Pascal, turning to him.

"Even if this body is a shadow of a shadow, it's mine. Tsk. I like tinkering with machines, but this...?" Rider looked down at himself, and flexed his arms, as if to make sure they still worked.

"I'll be your sword, your gun, whatever. Just make sure that you recognize the worth of the weapon. Otherwise, I'll make your life as miserable as possible. Good luck shutting me down, Master."

Rider said casually, the static on his voice fading for his last sentence. His voice was human, yet Pascal could still feel chills coming down his spine.

Bringing Pascal back to reality, Rider clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. If I really wanted to kill you, I would've back in your room. As a show of good faith, I'll take my leave. I need to check out our Mission Command, see."

Rider said, taking long, floaty steps up the stairs, as though gravity didn't apply to him. Pascal had become a Master, no matter how unwilling he was. The greatest astronaut and the poorest cook were bound together, whether they liked it or not.

@Dad

Pascal Poirot 25-Nov-20 07:03 AM

Armstrong seemed to have accepted Pascal's resolve, if throwing insults could even be considered resolve in the first place. Still, it seemed to have worked for now. That being said, Pascal was still at odds on how to handle this obnoxious Servant. Not to mention he still had to figure out the reason for their summoning in the first place.

"Holy Grail War? Hello? You heard the news? There's no 'holy grail' out here." Pascal formed quotes with his fingers. "In fact, I don't even know the reason for why you were summoned. But we can think about that later. For now, shoo! Get back up!"

Armstrong obliged, giving a warning about being Pascal's weapon before ascending the stairs in a floaty, cumbersome manner. This was how spacemen moved? If Pascal couldn't take Armstrong's strength seriously back then, he certainly couldn't now. Of course, he would refrain from commenting on it.

"...Today is going to be a long day. Let's hope I get this sorted out before the owner gets back." He whispered to himself, slowly approaching the restaurant entrance and flipping the sign on it.

"Maybe I'll even manage to transfer this moronic Servant over to them. Beats having a fishbowl follow me around constantly. Besides..."

"...I'm not worthy to be a Master."

Crab & Lettuce: OPEN!

@Magneto