21—Seat at the Table
"Wait, Rin. If you are a master now—"
There's no reply from the other side. Just a loud click, which tells Kirei everything he needs to know. The discussion is over. But its conclusion has him frowning at the receiver, briefly, before he hangs it up.
It's fine. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon enough—?
His hand has only just left the phone when the hairs on his neck stiffen. It's only a second after that when the now familiar sound of the air being disturbed in a very particular way, along with a minor pressure wave building at his back, tells him why.
"So… You've returned."
He turns slowly, bringing his cool gaze from the ground up in time to see the dark, swirling vortex of unknown energy collapsing into itself, and the shrouded individual standing in its place.
"And with form, I see."
It takes only a sweeping glance for him to tell by the way the cloak rests on the figure's shoulders, and how the cowl covers his face, that this is the case.
"Yes, thanks to you."
Sobervre smooths down his cloak. As he moves, a hint of the dim light inside Kirei's office reveals for just a moment the figure's face. A face wholly different from the one he'd only briefly and just barely been able to see yesterday.
And one with which he's intimately acquainted.
So he did select that one…
This time, he allows his hollow smile to show through.
"Though I'd have been back sooner, if not for my run-in with a fearsome lass whose greeting left me…" He stretches upward, his hand reaching for the low ceiling of the office, just grazing it with his fingers. "Mmh. Somewhat in need of a power nap."
"So what happens now?"
No consideration is given to the visitor's off-handed comment, and the brief smile he allowed himself has faded, replaced with that well-worn thin line meant to betray nothing.
"Well, I've informed you of the presence of a potential spanner in your works." Sobervre makes his way around the table, then drops to the couch, sinking in deeply. "And you've gifted me with this wonderful form, used though it's been. And roughly at that, from what I could tell…"
Taking a moment, he rolls his shoulder, letting out a stiff grunt as it pops in response.
"Be that as it may, I'd say that makes us even for the moment. So in answer to your question, I'd say what happens next depends on you. I'd still like to warm a seat at your table, so perhaps we can begin our discussion there."
The hard clink of metal against stone catches his notice, and Sobervre turns to spot Lancer, the butt of his weapon having just been dropped to the ground, glowering at him from near the chair where the other, golden-haired individual had been sitting just last night.
"Oh, you're here too. Apologies, rude of me not to acknowledge." He makes a show of his shallow bow, then lifts his head, the cowl shifting enough to reveal a slight smirk. "You weren't planning to drive that thing through me again, were you?"
"Only if I have to," he grumbles.
Kirei turns his stare from the new visitor to his acquired Servant.
"Not now, Lancer."
"Fine, whatever."
"Yes, yes. Good boy, blue."
Sobervre lets out a light chuckle, and Lancer snaps his scowling gaze from Kirei to him now.
"Hey, I don't have to take your—!"
Something unspoken from Kirei cuts his complaint short, and he forces his glare downward.
Sobervre lets out another laugh.
"No, no. Please, by all means, finish. After all, now that I've form, and a chance, I might like to test it out." Whimsically, he floats up from the couch, smirking over at the blue knight. "After all, I did say I had something more than information to proffer at your table."
Lancer's hard frown lifts into a smug smirk. The weapon in his hand, he turns toward the stranger, holding the sharp end steady as he points it at his shrouded head.
"You really want to take me on, you freak?"
"Why not? After all, what better, faster way to prove the truth of my words?"
"Hm…"
Briefly, Kirei muses over the developing situation, his calculating gaze pacing between the two.
Interesting. He's actually goading Lancer into a fight. And there's some truth in what he's saying. If he is as powerful as his boasting would suggest, he could make a fine tool.
"Kirei, I'm serious."
Lancer twirls his lance overhead in a showy display of force. With both hands now on it, he aims it again at Sobervre's head.
"If he doesn't shut up, you're gonna have to use your stolen Command Spell again to—"
"No, I think it's actually not a bad idea."
Despite his slight curiosity and amusement, Kirei's tone is as cool and even as it's ever been.
"What."
Keeping his weapon trained on his target, Lancer shifts his eyes toward the priest, speaking in a tone as flat as cardboard.
"Certainly. Let him show his skills." He gestures with his hand, waving it between the two of them. "Let him prove what he's saying. And it'll give you a chance to cool your head. I see it as a win for both of us. But not here."
He then makes his way toward the doorway leading from his office.
"I don't want to deal with the mess after. You can assert your dominance out back."
"Fantastic!" Sobervre claps his hands together gleefully, causing Lancer's expression to drop like a two-ton weight. "I've been hoping for a chance to stretch these new legs!"
"So it's fine if I kill him, right?"
Outside, fittingly surrounded by tombstones marking their residents' final resting places, Lancer immediately makes his intent known. The person across from him is clearly no child or civilian, so there's no need to hold back. And given the miserable order he'd carried out the day prior, a chance to cut loose already has the blue-clad beast's heart racing with some excitement.
Sobervre grins.
"Cocky, aren't we?"
At his unspoken call, another dark, swirling vortex manifests nearby, into which he plunges his entire arm. When he brings it out, his fingers grip the hilt of an enormous claymore, the black blade of which easily rivals the full length of Lancer's weapon. Once it's pulled free from the manifest portal, said portal collapses, and he swings the blade around before gripping it with both hands and bringing it to the fore.
"Well, I won't speak for your master, but you're certainly welcome to try."
His grin widens as his words have the desired effect, causing Lancer to both grind his teeth and tighten his grip on his weapon.
"It's fine, Lancer." Having found a place on the wall bounding the cemetery to seat himself, Kirei basically releases his Servant's leash. "If you're able, it means we didn't need him."
Lancer ceases grinding his teeth, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a wicked, excited grin.
"Good."
Untrained eyes would have lost sight of him as his form vanishes in an instant, the ground where he'd been standing splintering under the force of his step. Lancer's opening strike is, not a honed thrust like one would expect, but a horizontal, arcing swing, meant to slam the shaft of his lance into Sobervre's side, stunning or winding him.
In the time it takes Lancer to complete that swing, Sobervre reads the weapon's path and buries the tip of his blade into the ground, then supports it with his hand. The strike fails, instead slamming into the dark blade. The shrill cry of their weapons breaks the night's peace, as the force of the blow is diffused through the blade and into the ground, splitting it into a jagged series of fissures at the blade's point.
Aiming his finger at the ground, Sobervre smirks.
"Mind your step."
"Huh?!"
At the gleeful provocation, Lancer looks down, his eyes widening at the pool of dark… something… spreading at his feet. The polite warning gives him just the time needed to leap backward before the blackened pitch erupts in an explosive, super-heated plume.
What the hell was that—and why did he—?!
His feet sink into the ground where he lands. He snaps his head up in time to see his foe stepping out of a collapsing void, bringing his blade, hilt gripped with a single hand, down over his head in a vertical slash. Not nearly as swift as Lancer's first strike had been. To him, it seems like it's moving in slow motion, and he guards against it easily with his weapon's shaft.
He doesn't even grit his teeth against the force of it.
Heh, fine. Want to combine sorcery with your sword?
Smirking himself, Lancer lightly relaxes his right hand's grip, just enough to allow space near his palm for what comes next. With a brief flash of light, a small stone carved with a single runic symbol appears, occupying it.
Eighteen damn runes, and maybe a handful are good for a fight, so I guess it'll have to be this one!
He re-firms his grip, and pushes back Sobervre's oversized sword, then hops back, letting the summoned rune tumble from his hand to the ground at his feet. He gives no warning and, after a second, the Sowilo rune flashes, then explodes in a violent, flashy display similar to the one he'd just evaded. When the flash has faded, Lancer lowers his arm, having raised it to avoid being momentarily blinded. Sobervre stands on the other side of the blast.
Singed, but little worse for the wear.
Noticing this, Lancer's smirk drops into a hard frown.
Damn it. There's a reason I hate those things. Eh, whatever. Maybe he'll—!
His thoughts are cut off as Sobervre closes the distance, pressing his attack with another half-hearted swing of his weapon. One which is, again, easily deflected. This time, however, while he contends with the ineffectual sword-swing, Lancer can feel some strange pressure pushing into his back. One which grows in force, commanding his attention.
One eye remains focused on his foe, looking quite bored, still bearing down with his sword, while he turns his head to see what's happening behind him.
"What the fuck?!"
His eyes widen as they reflect the strange sight. A sphere of turbulent air. Wind he can see, for its soft, ephemeral glow. Despite its peaceful light, it expands menacingly, pushing him out of place. Now knowing what it is, he returns his full attention to the source of the strange phenomenon, whose bored expression is again replaced with amused glee as he snaps his fingers on his free hand.
"Dark Gale."
No sooner have the darkly spoken words left his lips then the sphere of air reaches a crescendo, exploding in a microburst which flings Lancer forward. Sobervre steps to one side as the blue knight skips across the ground like a stone, thin lacerations torn in his back, even through his azure suit of armor.
Armor now stained with hints of red.
"Kh—gha!"
He grunts something inarticulate as he slams to the ground, his trip having reached its conclusion. The damage the blast caused is superficial, but still frustrating, and humiliating. If he lacked effective resistance to such things, it could have, probably would have, been far worse. Now in control of himself, Lancer springs back to his feet, glowering at the man who seems content to wait for his next strike.
The entire time, Kirei watches their duel in silence, making mental notes, while also feeling something akin to nostalgia from his time in the last conflict. A brutal affair, filled with double-dealing, back-stabbing, murder and death, where he'd served as a more legitimate Master to an enigmatic Assassin class Servant. One he'd summoned under his own power, after years of training to become a qualified magus under the watchful eye of one Tohsaka Tokiomi.
Rin's father.
Recalling the man, Kirei's lips twitch briefly in a smile reminiscent of the time he'd slipped the jewel-bladed dagger the man had just given him as a gift between his teacher's ribs, piercing his very beating heart.
As he'd given Kirei his back, Tokiomi never saw it coming.
Based solely on the look his face held when he turned his head, he never even suspected. Whatever his last thoughts were, he took them with him, dying in silence in a collapsed heap on the floor, blood pouring from the wound for as long as his heart tried and failed to beat, staining their expensive carpet a deep, treacherous crimson.
On that day, at that moment, something akin to joy flooded into Kirei's heart.
A fresh clash of steel stirs Kirei from his dark reverie, returning his focus to the battle taking place in front of him. Again, they've locked blade and spear-shaft. Anyone observing would think it Lancer's advantage for how effortlessly he knocks the blade away, swiftly retaliating with a strike of his own.
This time, Lancer doesn't allow Sobervre's retreat, or any time to weave any of his magics.
Kicking hard from the ground, which caves in response, he closes the distance in an instant, driving his charge with his spear aimed directly at the man's chest. At the last moment, Sobervre twists himself so the fatal blow becomes a glancing one, tearing his garment and cutting into his freshly found physical form. Lancer digs in his heels to slow himself, and spins to his left, lashing out in the new direction, only to strike empty space filled with a collapsing dark void.
"Not too shabby."
The voice comes from behind, some distance away, and Lancer spins to face it. Despite the words, the tone is deriding and dismissive, and he grinds his teeth against it. The figure is there, dabbing at the cut across his chest. He rubs the fresh blood oozing from it between his thumb and fingers, as if the entire experience is something new to him.
"So, is this still just some stupid game to you?!" Lancer aims his spear at the man, his eyes narrowed in a vorpal glare. "Or are you ready to take it seriously?!"
Sobervre chuckles heartily. "Please. I'm taking this exactly as seriously as I need to be."
"Yeah?" Lancer digs his heels in again, readying his next charge. "If you think that, then I'd be doing you a favor by killing you now!"
The ground at his feet ruptures again as he vanishes in a flash of blue. Much faster this time than before, and Sobervre loses track of him for a moment, only regaining it by the sound of his arrival, directly behind him. Before he's turned his head, he can feel the air moving, pushed along by his vorpal thrust.
"After all, if you live your life as unseriously as you fight, you're doomed to die alone and miserable!"
Sobervre doesn't turn his head, simply allowing the vortex to encompass him. Lancer's weapon pierces the quickly formed void, finding purchase in nothing. The second it takes for the exit to form, he uses to flip his lance, directing its tip behind him.
The most obvious location. His blind spot.
His prediction proves accurate, but his aim is off, and the moment it takes for him to adjust is enough for Sobervre to cleave the air with his black blade, bringing its edge to within a hair's breadth of Lancer's neck.
And leaving them both, Lancer with the dark claymore's edge nearly scraping his throat, and Sobervre with Lancer's blood-red lance at his own neck, just a scratch from being stained with his actual blood, at each other's mercy.
They lock eyes. Even through the crimson mask hiding Sobervre's face, Lancer can feel seething hatred directed at his very soul. A complete shift from his jovial, humorous and light-hearted personality of before.
"Know this, you sorry excuse for a counterfeit Azure Dragoon," Sobervre hisses low.
Like a serpent ready to die for the kill.
"If and when I die, 'alone and miserable', it will be by my choice. Gods, the universe, or whatever, saw fit to mock me with a chance at that of which you speak, only to steal it away. So I curse the very fabric of reality which forces me to exist each day with that weight crushing down on my chest. And you would do well not to speak of such things in my hearing again."
It was such a small statement, and yet it seems to have touched a dangerously exposed nerve. Whatever his words mean, Lancer can feel something more from this man now.
More than just a failure of a jester.
"That's enough, you two…"
Kirei's tone is sharp as he stands from his place on the wall, making his way over. It's only at his exasperated statement, tired both from the late hour, and somewhat vexed at the state of the cemetery, that Lancer lowers his spear.
Part of him wants to apologize for his words, spoken to provoke, but also in frustration.
But it's not a part large or strong enough to impel him to action.
In kind, Sobervre lowers his blade, then thrusts it to one side, vanishing it into the void from which he'd pulled it. Instantly, his serious, seething scowl is vanished, replaced by a cheerful grin that Lancer can't help but now feel is a thin façade.
With peace having returned to the night, Kirei gazes around, surveying the damage.
The grounds keeper will have his work cut out for him…
He frowns, his lips curling down with what for him serves as irritation, and kneads a pinch of tightness from his forehead.
At least they spared the—…
The thought fails to complete before its subject, a headstone, splits. Its soft, plaintive cry rings out in the night, before half slides to the ground with a resigned thud.
Damn it.
He lets slip another tired sigh, then looks over at his Servant.
"I've seen all I needed. Are you content now, Lancer?"
"Heh." Lancer smirks, vanishing his spear. "Content? That's a strong word to use. But sure. We can go with that. He still irritates the hell out of me, but he does a good job swinging that unwieldy looking blade around."
"I'd say you fought well, also, knight of sapphire."
There's no hint of the former menace in Sobervre's voice. If Lancer hadn't just heard him speak, he wouldn't believe it was the same person talking to him now. But there's something else in his voice which Lancer can't quite make out, and it makes him frown. Like his opponent thinks himself lenient, somehow.
If Lancer knew the whole of it, he'd understand that to be exactly the case.
I'm of no mind to transform this freshly found form. There's no need for it, anyway This will perfectly suffice… That 'said'…
"Content to call it a draw?"
From under the shroud covering his head, Lancer can just make out a hint of a smirk. Something, perhaps having been able to relieve his frustrations both from yesterday and having to deal with the man's maddening madness both the evening past and the evening present, lets his frown yield place to another light smirk.
"Only because we both held back, right?"
He then shrugs, turns and walks toward the cathedral while Sobervre lets loose a single, hearty laugh.
"Of course we did! You never even evoked that fancy weapon's true name! As for me, well… While it may have satisfied you to end my miserable life, I was content merely to show the words falling from my face were not mere bluster."
"Heh…"
Though he already knew, hearing it so brazenly admitted out loud should irritate him.
So, finding that it doesn't, Lancer can only let slip an amused chuckle.
Minutes pass in silence once they've returned to Kirei's office. Lancer seems content standing, leaning against the wall, his pauldrons periodically scraping against it. Sobervre has chosen the couch, and Kirei has returned to his comfortable armchair.
He spends those minutes pondering the reason.
The one burning question.
Never one to hold out his hand and just ask for the answer, he holds his piercing stare focused on the table as he lets his mind do what it does best during times like these.
Why. What could be his interest here? He spoke before of an enemy of his making trouble for us, but why would he care about that? And with what else he said, it doesn't even seem that person knows he's here…
Of course, there are sound reasons he seldom solicits the answers to his quandaries. That they're often the sort to which no satisfying answer can be found would be the primary reason. Lancer's steel pauldrons scraping gratingly against the wall as he shifts his posture slightly, drawing his focus from the table, reminds him of one other.
That he can usually uncover those answers for himself, and there's something almost enjoyable in that. The answer doesn't come from the sound of metal scraping against stone, or his focus shifting, but from of what Lancer's presence reminds him.
The Grail. I can think of nothing else that would draw this fellow here.
His gaze shifts back to the table's surface, and he folds his hands at his mouth, hiding the slight hint of an amused smirk.
Still, I need to be sure.
It's in this moment he finally breaks the silence, not with an inquiry…
"So, it's the Grail, then."
… but with a simple, evocative statement.
"Why you've approached us."
Carefully, he eyes his new associate, trying to read his reaction, yet careful consideration is not required. The man makes no attempt to hide his reaction, but it's not surprise that the stranger, this Sobervre, responds with.
It's a bored yawn.
"Obviously." He snickers. "What else would it be? Clearly not your winning personality. I've had more engaging interactions with decorated, load-bearing pillars."
Now that the silence is gone, Lancer turns his absent gaze from the wall toward Kirei.
"Wait, what are you on about, priest?"
"Think, knight," Sobervre mutters, shifting so he can look toward him, now. "Why would a being from another world, the bane of whose existence is now here, give a single golden gil's worth of concern about you and yours? If I didn't have something to gain from being here, I'd have been content to let you try solving my problem for me."
He speaks, of course, of the off-worlding adventurer vaunted by the masses as a hero.
The Warrior of Light.
"But since you knew that, for what reason are you bringing it up?" He folds his hands behind his head, resting it against the back of the couch, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling. "If you've figured out that much, you must already have reached a conclusion."
"Merely affirming my supposition."
With the matter confirmed, Kirei returns his stare to the table.
"Wait, so he wants the Grail for himself?" Sobervre chuckles in response, and Kirei only nods, both to Lancer's growing frustration. "And what? You're just gonna—"
"It's not a concern to me, Lancer," Kirei interjects sharply. "My only purpose is to see the object for myself. There is nothing I would ask from it."
"Well, fine and good for you, master, but what about me?!" Frustration gives way to anger as he pins his hand to his chest, sweeping the room over with the other. "I have equal claim to the Grail's power!"
"Oh, you'll get no argument from me in that regard, Knight of the Lance." Sobervre turns his absent gaze from the ceiling toward Lancer now. "If, after I've fulfilled my end in aiding you and yours with the procurement of the prize, the priest there is content yielding his share to me, which by what he says, he is, then I'm content letting you exercise your claim."
Lancer narrows his eyes, grinding his teeth, staring the stranger down. The stranger with whom he's just finished locking blades, and toward whom he's gained an amused sort of interest, and passive, idle curiosity.
Someone toward whom he now finds his opinions quickly waning.
"And if not?"
"Well, I imagine it would come down to a cliché sort of scuffle in the eleventh hour, don't you think?" Sobervre waves his hand dismissively. "With the heroes vanquished, we turn toward each other, each reading the other at a glance before turning a tenuous alliance into a full out brawl ending with one of us dead, the other claiming the prize."
He giggles maddeningly, then glances over at Kirei.
"So, which will it be? Shall I aid you in seeking the prize until our goals fall out of alignment? Or are you content simply seeing what this fantastic artifact is, then yielding your share to me? Or shall I simply see myself out?" He shrugs. "I mean, that's always an option, too."
Kirei doesn't even need to think as he lets his hands relax, leaning back into the chair, a fully amused smirk darkening his expression.
"It may play out that way, anyway."
He chuckles at the man's succinct summation of all the possible outcomes.
But mostly at the first. That he fully expects them to betray each other.
"But you have proven yourself capable, at least at a level equal to Lancer. And you've brought to us timely information which should prove useful. So if only for the moment, I see no reason not to, as you so put it, let there be formed a 'tenuous alliance'."
There's no hand extended to be shaken, no documents signed, no arcane pact put in force.
Just a simple verbal agreement.
"Very well then!" Sobervre claps his hands on his legs, then springs up. "I believe this calls for a drink! And so that it should never be said that I come empty-handed, I believe I have just the thing!"
Grandly sweeping his hand over the table, a smaller vortex appears over it, and from it falls into his grasp a plain looking, if dusty, opaque glass bottle, cork still flush with the opening.
"My… Friends? Sure, let's go with that." After puzzling over the term for a moment, he goes on, dark force emanating from the tip of his finger into the cork and freeing it from the bottle. "You're in for quite a treat, I assure you! This is one of the last remaining bottles of Rolanberry Red! Pre-Calamity!"
At table level, three more vortices open, and from them rise three pristine wine glasses, into each of which he decants a generous portion of the red wine from the bottle. As it gently sloshes around in each, it releases a fragrant scent into the air reminiscent of spring flowers.
One glass, he hands to Kirei, one to Lancer, and the third he takes for himself.
"And to allay your concerns, I'll be the first," Sobervre chimes gleefully, then takes a full sip from his own glass.
The sweet taste brings from his face an absolutely beaming grin that could rival the royal feeling that follows Gilgamesh into any room. Lancer sniffs hesitantly at his glass, then shrugs and takes a sip for himself. The second the solution touches his tongue, he's unable to repress himself, his eyes widening with surprise at the taste and texture.
Sweet, like fresh strawberries, yet smooth like water itself, and most telling is the absence of any sort of alcoholic bite. No sting on his tongue, or in his throat as he swallows it down, yet the second it touches his stomach he can feel it go straight to his head, proving the drink is, in fact, alcoholic in nature.
"Yes, I can tell you're surprised. I only drink the sweet stuff! The dry stuff always turns my stomach."
Gleefully, Sobervre comments his observation of Lancer's reaction. Slowly, this time, to avoid sloshing his own glass over the sides, he recedes into the couch. He then glances over at Kirei, who stares at the glass ponderously.
The entire thing reminds him of something he'd seen. Not through his own eyes, but through those of his Assassin brigade, he'd watched something similar. Three kings, one dressed in gold, one in silver and azure, and one in casual street clothes, a white shirt and blue jeans, each discussing their ideals as rulers and their desire from the Grail, and finding conflict between them on a fundamental level.
Mostly, it was the way the drink was provided which reminds him of that time. It was the golden-garbed king who offered from his own divine collection, similar to how Sobervre had just done. Smirking, Kirei takes a drink himself. Even he has trouble keeping it from shining a light in his eyes. The taste is as wonderful as the first time he'd enjoyed the taste of the drink.
And this time, it didn't even need the spice of human suffering to please his palate.
Lancer takes a second sip from his own glass, letting it run over his tongue before drinking it down. He swirls the contents of the glass. Considering something Sobervre had said when he first arrived, he casts a smirk in his direction.
"So. Who was this 'fearsome lass'?"
