Einzbern File #002: Saber
Ilya was not a stupid girl. Self-centered, catty, kinda bitchy, sure. But not stupid. She knew who the most important competitor was.
Shirou spent a lot of time with Saber. A lot. It was a little weird, how with multiple girls who were allegedly of equal importance, it seemed Saber got most of the attention. As someone who firmly believed that all of the attention should be fairly and evenly distributed (By which she meant that all of the attention should be given to herself, forever, and the other girls should all move to another country. Italy was lovely this time of year, she heard.), Ilya found this offensive. Saber was enjoying the benefits of clear and obvious favoritism. But why?
Luckily, this abundance of Saber-love meant that there was quite a lot of footage to sift through. Ilya already knew the Servant well enough, and knew her regal bearing and general quiet dignity could have a tremendous impact on stupid, stupid men. An icy blonde? Ilya could be that (sorta) without issue. But there had to be more to Saber's appeal than that, and Ilya intended to find it.
As she watched and studied, a pattern emerged quickly. A great deal of the footage... a worrisome deal of it, in fact... seemed to be focused on Saber eating a level of food that would have been enough to feed a person roughly twelve times her body mass. "Does her stomach just lead to a black hole? How does she not explode?" Ilya muttered, watching what seemed to be the fiftieth straight video of Saber eating something too large for her face. Still, if it happened this often and onii-chan spent that much time with her, that was a sign, right? It must be important. Yes... yes. It made sense. Shirou loved to cook, so logically he would be interested in someone who loved to eat! It was logic. Ilya made a note of it and continued her information sweep, looking for other patterns.
After eating, Saber's major contribution to Emiya Household Activity was at the dojo. She and Shirou often went in immediately after he arrived home from school, and left immediately before dinner, one of them very bruised and beaten horribly. Either Shirou was a masochist and the dojo was just his preferred spot to get his 'fix' (And Ilya was not totally discounting that. She already had a considerable selection of whips, and leather wasn't hard to get.), or he really, really enjoyed swordsmanship training. Possibly both; Ilya couldn't honestly picture someone really enjoying getting the crap beaten out of them with a stick every day unless they were a little bit of a masochist, too. In any case, it was something else of interest to note.
Hmmmm... not bad. It was a solid, workable set of mission objectives at the very least. She was pretty sure she had worked out the majority of Saber's charm points. Still, there was always more to learn, and she had a few other, minor ideas. Tiny little things that Saber did that Shirou liked. Ilya knew the importance of the tiny, subtle nuances.
More specifically, she knew the importance of doing them bigger and better than Saber could ever dream of doing.
It would take a few days to get the needed supplies together, but she just knew that onii-chan would just love the surprise. The first assault began Sunday, and Ilya intended this battle to be a utter massacre.
Preparations complete. Commence Operation.
Shirou Emiya sidled into his home, carrying a grocery bag under each arm and edging the door open with his foot. As he walked to the kitchen, he called out to the home, "Um... anyone home? I could use some help unpacking this stuff, I'm ready to start on dinner, and..." However, as he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped. Words didn't seem to be working anymore.
The room was, bluntly, a disaster area. The fridge and all the cupboards were all wide open, and the floor was strewn with wrappers, crumbs, and half-devoured food. And sitting at the table, straight-backed and proud, treating the disaster zone as though it were an Imperial throne room, was his pseudo-sister.
"I-Ilya? What happened here? Did you do this?"
"Shirou. I was hungry, and required sustenance." She said. Her voice was... bizarrely cold and even, not at all her typical self.
"U-um... why didn't you just wait for me?" Shirou asked, stepping over an empty jar of mayonnaise. "I... I would have made you lunch..."
"My pride demanded I face the problem head on, as befitting royalty." Ilya said firmly, her tone still clipped and cold. "I chose to proceed without you."
"... … … right. Um... Ilya. Just a question? Have I done something to make you upset?" Shirou asked. He longed for her to squeal, or jump on his neck, call him an idiot and cry, anything that was... well, something Ilya did. She was acting like a robot duplicate of herself, and it was creeping him out immensely.
"Of course not. Why do you ask?" Ilya snapped.
"... … … … you just seem kinda..."
"Hungry. I have a large appetite." Ilya said, gesturing around the destroyed kitchen.
"This is endearing." Ilya informed him.
"... … suuuuuuuuure." Shirou said. He was beginning to wonder if maybe the issue wasn't that she was angry so much as she had just gone insane. Ilya had always been kind of flighty, and when she got some weird notion in her head... well, maybe too much fresh air could cause the homunculus brain to malfunction? Whatever the case, he needed to get this sorted out, and he needed her to calm down for that. Bending down to set his bags on the counter, he said, "Look, Ilya, I need to clean this up, and..."
Fighting instincts honed from long months of training and long nights of actual combat sent the tingle up his spine just in time, and he threw himself backwards just as the blade sliced through the air where his head had been.
It was a wooden sword, a bokken, and smaller than the norm to account for Ilya's below-average height and weight. It was still a solid chunk of wood that could have cracked his skull open without too much difficulty. "I-Ilya? What the-?"
Ilya looked so very, very, unreasonably proud of herself as she hefted the wooden blade. "I thought that as long as we were here, we could practice swordsmanship! No reason not to get your daily training in a bit early, right?"
"... Ilya, it's actually really dangerous for you to be swinging around a weapon that you don't know how to use, so maybe you can just stop being horrifying for a few minutes and..."
"And after this, the whips! If you're into that!" Ilya said enthusiastically, clearly no longer listening to a word Shirou said. Adrenaline did funny things to her like that.
"Ilya, what the Hell are you talking ab-ACK!" he squawked, leaping backwards to avoid Ilya's swinging the sword at his kneecaps. She was stronger than she looked, and while she was untrained, that didn't change the fact that she was swinging around a big damn piece of wood. When he was admitted to the hospital with a shattered femur, it wouldn't really matter overmuch to him if it had been broken by a master or a gifted amateur. Luckily, Shirou was used to being smacked around by master swordsmen, and at this point he was actually pretty damn good at not being killed. He stayed light on his feet, avoiding her wild swings by inches despite the cramped confines of the house.
"Ilya!" He snapped. "You need to... yikes! You need to stop this. You are being crazy and while I'm sort of used to that, in this particular case I am finding it a bit more difficult to take than usuULF!"
This last was caused by Shirou's memory of his own home betraying him. Where he had expected to find only empty carpet, someone had apparently chosen to place a couch, and he had leapt backwards into it and tripped.
He felt behind himself, trying to pick himself up off the couch and continue his escape... only to notice the couch felt awfully furry. And awfully coarse. And hard. And breathing.
Something made a soft, growling noise, behind him.
Ilya stopped, lowering her sword and breathing heavily from the exertion. "Oh, onii-chan! I see you met Beauregard! I got him this morning as a pet. Had him shipped in specially, on an international flight. Spared no expense. Isn't he just adorable?"
"Ilya..." Shirou said softly. "What am I leaning on?"
"Beauregard." Ilya repeated, her tone indicating she thought Shirou might just possibly be the dumbest person on the face of the planet. This was her way of showing affection.
"Ilya..." Shirou asked softly, trying not to move too much as Beauregard continued to growl at him. "If I turn around, am I going to find that I am pressed against a lion?"
"Well, of course. I picked a good one, too! He's on the large side. Quite fanged." Ilya said proudly. "I just know you'll adore him."
"Ah. Ah-ha." Shirou said. "Ilya?"
"Yes, onii-chan?"
"In a few seconds, the terror is going to penetrate my brain, and I'm going to run. I'm going to run away, screaming like a little girl." Shirou said in almost eerie calm. "Will Beauregard chase and kill me?"
"... … … he's sorta been trained not to do that." Ilya said.
"Sorta?"
"There were some issues with the trainer. I admit."
"The kind of issues that involve being mauled by a lion?"
"... in retrospect, I think that might be why the shipping was more expensive than the lion itself." Ilya said. "I confess, I didn't really do a lot of research into how much a good quality lion is supposed to cost. I kind of just bought the first one I could find. This may have been a miscalculation."
"Ah-ha." Shirou said, "So I'm going to need to run fast. That's... that's good to know."
Beauregard's low growl turned into an outright snarl. Shirou took that as a sign it was time to run like Hell.
Ilya watched as Shirou fled through the door without stopping to open it, releasing a loud, wordless scream as a lion bounded after him with a bloodthirsty snarl.
"... … … so, does this mean we're done sparring? Because I think I was starting to get really good with the sword!" Ilya said.
MISSION: FAILED
