Peeking out from one of the few clouds, the full moon shared its evening glow across the resort. The tiniest of waves lapped against the shoreline, far sleepier than the roaring thunder of their afternoon play. From the Marina to Tropicana, the air was still and waned with its evening warmth; The chill of the night was setting in. All that fought the silence and dim stillness at bay were the prana-fueled tiki torches that lit the boardwalk and the last dance of evening laughter.
Many had gone to sleep, but as a weekly tradition, their Grail War group lingered a bit longer. Their get togethers had only grown more relaxed and blissful with every passing month since the great war ended. Surely, with December only days away, their meetings would bloom brighter with accompanying festive cheer. There wasn't a single one among their group who didn't await the promising holidays.
As much fun as it was being together, they never stayed past midnight.
"Sleep very well! We've got a lot to eat tomorrow!" "We always have much to eat." "I only get oil sips!"
"Good night, everyone!" Serenity waved as Rena's eyes swiveled and extended past her cradling arms to see better. A moment later, they'd disappeared into Club Cove as Arash's chuckles were drowned by Ozymandias' godlike laughter; They made their way to Memorial Hall on a detour. Brynhildr and Arthur followed in Serenity's wake after a few waves and farewells. As the night's quiet embrace smothered the area, only two remained.
After slipping his tan blazer on, Jekyll adjusted his glasses and smiled. "I better get going too. Hopefully Mordred isn't sprawled over the whole bed."
"You're quite the optimist to still believe that after all this time," Paracelsus replied, and they shared a simple smile. Though the caster in a white polo and matching slacks turned respectfully to him, he still leaned on the railing. "Good night, Jekyll. I'll see you in the morning."
"Busy schedule tomorrow. Please don't stay up too late," the blonde replied with a smile. He tossed a gentle wave, and made his way towards Club Cove's doors. "If you do, I hope you see the friendly neighborhood ghost."
"I don't think she goes by the name Casper," he quipped back, and after one final shared chuckle, Paracelsus was left alone. He turned back to the sea quietly as a tiki torch burned gently beside him. Its flame flickered eagerly and tried to rival the moon, but that circle in the sky stole his gaze. Not even the ghostly silhouette of a beautiful woman by the forest distracted him; The friendly neighborhood 'ghost' was never much of a spectacle to him anyway.
…Amusing, really. He'd grown so accustomed to the oddities and peculiarities of this hidden jewel called Chaldea that little fazed him. The caster safely assumed it was the case for many; There was just much to anticipate. With every summoning, a new arrival could change the dynamic ever so slightly or greatly, but Chaldea always stayed on course. This realm was an evolving concoction that always offered the same blissful effects no matter what was added, even if it only needed time to stabilize with newly added ingredients.
Though the possibilities were endless in this peaceful place, it's that idea that unsettled Paracelsus. He'd come to cherish the stability and the offerings it could give him. The chance to continue his work and search was greatest among them, but that opportunity was stained by newfound concerns and regrets. As witnessed many times, the peace was fragile, and the glass could shatter from unseen angles. Even the best intents could be sullied with unforeseen, improbably results.
Normally, Paracelsus would merely pass it all off. To have good, there must be its opposite: That is merely the balance of the world. He understood that, because he always sought to learn, understand, and impart that knowledge to others for the betterment of all. As a rational scholar, he long acknowledged worries and doubts were certainties in the pursuit of progress. Though he'd note them, he'd never let natural reservations constrict him to stop his pursuit of his dream and the wellbeing of others…
…The lone exception was a grim acknowledgement that his own hands could be the ones to drown their world with a simple misstep.
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Fragment 102: Side Effects May Vary
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Morning arrived uneventfully, but Paracelsus was awake even before the horizon turned gold in his room's Sunscape window. While the halls remained empty, he was already hard at work within the Alchemical Room again. Medea often joked they might as well rename it his personal workshop. Every time he'd decline because, like knowledge, this was something that must be shared.
The stillness of the morning was often relaxing. Clad in a tailored labcoat, his morning meditation of grinding ingredients or mixing liquids aligned his mood for the remainder of the day. A lifetime of commitment to his pursuit never dulled his enthusiasm for even the simplest tasks. Laughable to many, even the act of carefully watching a mixture froth brought a subdued sense of joy.
Many didn't understand, even if he related it to their own hobbies he couldn't quite grasp.
However, the humblest joys of alchemical chores weren't always picture perfect. The saying goes if you love what you do you'll never work a day in your life. Perhaps not, but there was always one way or another to spoil a good meal. Unfortunately, the new necessities of safeguarding Chaldea did just that.
"I hope you remain in storage…" Paracelsus sighed as he lifted one of the bottles. In response, it bubbled lightly with its light blue glow. "You're perfect just for being made. Even more so if you're not consumed."
He placed the newly made bottle down alongside a few others made that morning. An hour from now, this delivery tray would join many more of their cousins sealed within Da Vinci's dimensional vault. Pristine redundancies ensured Chaldea now had the tools to handle exceptional situations, but the fact their existence became mandatory did not sit well with their creator. Despite his reluctance, deep down, he knew this was necessary.
That didn't mean he'd ever come to like it.
Truthfully, he'd prayed that Medea's specially constructed talismans, charms, and tiny wards would be the chosen path; They even looked like fashionable jewelry! Instead, the council opted for both. Variety and redundancy were paramount since there were too many possibilities in terms of servant skills, mad enhancements, and mental pollutions.
"Your working speed never ceases to astound." Paracelsus' thoughts were cast aside as he offered a smile to the newcomer. The Clock Tower magus in an ivory suit stared straight at this morning's growing pile. He even leaned down to inspect them closer while twirling his thin moustache. "Oh the progress I could make if I could make elixirs of this quality in minutes..."
"You humble me. I'm not that quick." For a regular Clock Tower magus to give any sort of compliment, no matter how veiled, was a rarity. He'd accept it either way, but he was far from a normal magus: Praise was low on the caster's priority list. "Did you have a good night's rest?"
"As well as I could hope until Astolfo and Flat decided to race down my hallway," he grumbled with a new scowl. Despite his souring attitude, he nodded to the caster, then made his way over to his usual spot. "…And a good morning to you too, Paracelsus. I hope your day is productive."
The caster nodded and returned to his work. That's about all the conversations with the room's Clock Tower mages ever amounted to. Nothing overly friendly, but they were far too prideful to admit their respect to the casters, or so Medea often griped about. He didn't even pay the man's actions any further attention... even if the Peacekeeper directive was to do so.
But he was no Peacekeeper. Merely a pacifist.
Medea often kept a secret watch over the room's mages, but Paracelsus couldn't bring himself to. Despite his death at the hands of the jealous and judgmental association, he didn't fault them. They merely acted in their own interests, and regardless of what others insisted, who was he to scrutinize them so harshly for doing so? After all, despite his own pure intentions, how far over the line had he jumped during his grail war…?
If he were to judge them heavily, he'd be but a hypocrite. Like them, his dream also remained the Root. For the good of the world, he'd even stained his hands for the chance to make it possible; He knew far better now, and grew far more judgmental of his own actions.
'If I hadn't been stopped…' He held his train of thought there. Arthur and Arash often insisted it was in the past and he has a new chance. Serenity reassured him she didn't hold a grudge over his acts. That didn't mean he'd forgive himself, so this new self-awareness would remain. It'd plague him whenever something even mildly controversial came to be, just like these ordered elixirs.
No doubt, if it wasn't for the promising results of this second life, he might've been crushed by second-guessing guilt… if he even remembered at all.
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The morning continued as routinely as it had for weeks.
"What do you think you're doing? You're going against the very-" "Excuse me? Weren't you the one with the lower scores?"
The subdued tussles of the Alchemical Room's two frequent Clock Tower mages replaced the near-perpetual silence of old. Most of the room's frequenters passed away in the Fuyuki Incident, and so it remained mostly quiet unless Paracelsus was teaching Janice. Even with Jekyll or Medea here, their conversations were often very quiet and sporadic. Paracelsus didn't mind whatever it became, so long as it was a disciplined working environment.
Janice minded far more. As she glanced over to the distant mages, her hair lightly brushed against the arm of Paracelsus' lab coat. She turned back quickly, fixed her glasses, and huffed. "I swear they get louder every week… Why can't they just be quiet and work!?"
"Pride. The need to prove themselves right to competition. So forth." Paracelsus listed casually with a calm smile. "They're as quiet as they've always been. Your ears are playing tricks on you, Janice."
"Maybe, maybe not," she answered flatly, smoothed her own lab coat, and stared back at the wooden test tube holders before her. Many were corked, and some bubbled with different colored liquids. The one she plucked gently from the rack was a calm but sickly yellow. With her thumb over the cork, she held it and reached for an empty beaker. She paused and glanced up at her teacher.
As usual, he studied her actions calmly but carefully. Without another noise or glance, she carefully moved the beaker over, then slid over her mortar full of finely ground ingredients. Upon lifting the bowl to kiss their rims, her hands painted her growth: She suffered from far less stutters compared to autumn's onset. With ease, she poured the ingredients inside, causing Paracelsus to nod calmly but with mild confusion.
"This is an experimental procedure. I wasn't joking. I know it doesn't look like anything new, but… You'll see!"
"Alright. So it's a potent healing and remedy potion, of some design?" the caster observed, and she nodded calmly. Her hands didn't even shake as she did.
"I'm making it with a twist I think you'll enjoy, teacher," Janice boasted with a proud smile. It was the same smile he'd seen days after he first arrived.
It had been so long ago when he first picked her up as a student. He still remembered how full of pride she was, only to embarrass herself by nearly toppling an entire stand of flasks and beakers. She proved to be every bit the prodigy she declared she was, and just as much of a klutz as everyone else whispered. But smoothing the edges was what teachers were for, and there was no way Paracelsus wasn't about to turn down a request to impart knowledge upon a promising magus.
Like many times before, he taught calmly and gently. He was nothing but encouraging and reassuring as he retaught her basics, then introduced theory and design. By the time they were attacking Goetia's lair, he was confident that he could lose his summoned life and she'd be more than fine. The fact he can teach her more is a better result.
With a small, proud, but a slightly baffled smile, he watched her make the experimental mixture she wanted to show to him. Still, he couldn't figure out what was making this one any different. Even as fine powder, Paracelsus's endless experience could pick out the ingredients. The fine wings of a certain dragonfly. Carefully cherry-picked roots from-
"And here we go!" Janice proclaimed a little louder. A split-second later, Paracelsus' curiosity was replaced with his stomach plummeting through the floor. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't this!
"Janice!?" His perfect zen of balance was rocked faster than the yellow liquid in the vial. He soon fell speechless as she watched Janice flip the vial into the air yet again, letting it spin and tumble over her head. She twirled on her feet, caught it in the same hand, then launched it a third time back over her shoulder. With one final spin, she caught it sideways, swiftly popped the cork so it rocketed into her other hand, and poured the concoction smoothly into the beaker.
As the yellow liquid absorbed the powdery mixture, it sizzled and bubbled into a far more palatable viridian. Janice slid the cork back onto the vial, smiled proudly, and stared at her creation. "It's the tried and true mixture you invented, but I gave it that final touch you said every creation should have!"
"Janice, you must warn me before you do something like that again!" Whatever she was expecting as a response, his assertive worry certainly wasn't it. Still, as he calmed his nerves and recomposed himself, he gazed seriously into her now anxious eyes. "That could've gone terribly! What if you had dropped the vial? What compelled you to do that?"
"Um… You did?" she questioned hesitantly. Once more baffled, he quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly as she fiddled with her coat sleeve. "I was trying to follow what you said… I'm making perfect mixtures now, but they're too by the books. You said they lack a personal touch… and you also said mixtures are made better by pouring your heart and soul into it so… I poured your heart and soul into it!"
Paracelsus stared. After a pause and a blink, he let out a vibrant laugh; One most often heard when he was amongst his friends. Janna heard it occasionally too, but perhaps not as profound as this one. His concerned frustration over her undisciplined act vanished, replaced with a touch of guilt and overwhelming amusement. "Oh Janice… I meant your heart and soul, not mine."
"…Oh…" The embarrassment on her face was picture perfect, but Paracelsus had an equal amount of egg on his face. After teaching her for so long, he should've seen this possibility. Janice followed nearly everything to the letter, and quite literally even if someone was being figurative. After glancing around awkwardly, then staring to her perfect mixture, she mumbled. "…So I shouldn't do the bar flaring thing with the mixtures anymore?"
"It would be far safer if you didn't," the teacher corrected with a gentle tone. The student sighed, mumbled about figuring out what he really meant, then flinched when he calmly put his hand on her shoulder. She stared back into his reassuring orbs as he smiled proudly. "On a related note, I don't know where you learned to do it, but I'm impressed. You can stifle much of the butterfinger accusations if you showed those juggling skills."
Suddenly, Janice's eyes were alight again. Though Paracelsus always loved seeing that look of success and achievement in his students, it was more splendid when they bloomed in the light of his teachings; He supposed this could count too.
She cheered softly. "I saw you doing them and I wanted to try it too, but I'm too young to drink and… I watched videos! They have videos of them! Liz helped show me where to look with my phone, so… You're proud of me? I can keep doing it?"
"Yes, my student. You always find new ways to make me proud," he complimented genuinely. Her triumphant grin was only momentarily bombarded by a simple warning smile and a raise of his finger. "…But please don't do it with potions and elixirs. Even I will never do that. There's too much that could go wrong already without adding extra variables."
"Yes, teacher." Her response was swift and no lie; She'd follow that directive proper. It settled his mind, even if the lingering guilt and shame prodded his conscience. Had Janice not wanted to show off to him first, his newfound hobby could have accidentally sparked another incident. Though the worries were now gone, it became a new, lighter reminder of what could happen by his seemingly innocuous actions, interests, and decisions.
…Now that his guilt made him ponder a bit more about it… "One more thing. Promise me you won't flip medical tools either. I don't know where you are with Nightingale's medical classes, but I don't wish for an earful if you start juggling scalpels."
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It was just three minutes shy of ten in the morning, but Paracelsus' day would have already felt long. Working for hours on a commission, teaching his student, breakfast, a meeting with Da Vinci somewhere in between… He only stopped 'working' just before dinner, so every day was a long day for him. Some just had more scheduled tasks rather than pursued curiosities.
Compared to most, today was far more packed, which was a touch comical considering Chaldea was celebrating a formalized holiday that evening.
Within one of the Medical Bay's rooms, only the sound of a ticking clock fought the stillness. Occasionally, it was joined by the light taps of a keyboard as Nightingale finished up documents at a counter. Paracelsus sat quietly at a pair of chairs by the hospital bed, quietly glancing between a Sunscape window depicting the Himalayas and the nurse in pink scrubs. She glanced to the clock as its hands raced closer to the hour.
"I hope he's not getting nervous," Nightingale questioned. "He was prompt to previous checkups."
"He still has two minutes," the caster pointed out calmly. "Maybe he got stuck in traffic."
Nightingale tossed a glance and giggle his way. It danced with his chuckles. Nearly a dozen clicks of the second hand passed afterwards, then a servant approached. Paracelsus watched the door slide open only for Irisviel to peek her head in with a tiny smile. "Omar will be here shortly. Mozart got a little too into his piano lesson and there was a little tussle in the halls."
"See? Traffic," Paracelsus pointed out again. Though Irisviel was a bit confused, Nightingale giggled again. The other caster still smiled to both of them, then disappeared. She was replaced by Jekyll a moment later. As he walked in, Paracelsus' eyes lingered a bit longer on his white scrubs.
The doctor paused before he greeted him, stared down at the faded stains on his scrubs, then smiled sheepishly. "Mordred used it as a napkin."
"Ahhh…" The caster nodded as the assassin handed Nightingale a manila folder. He then walked over to join him. "How did the other checkups go?"
"Smooth. Beatrice is coming down with a cold but I caught it early."
"Even the common cold must be handled accordingly. It could be a distraction in worst case scenarios," Nightingale added as she browsed through the folder.
"It's more annoying than dangerous, Gale," Jekyll chuckled sheepishly. "But you're the head doctor. You're the law."
The berserker nodded dutifully, then glanced at the clock. It was a minute before the hour, but her new focus through the wall proved their patient wasn't late. Seconds later, Paracelsus naturally felt his gut churn upon feeling a familiar presence; The others remained unperturbed as the servant slowly walked in. Not even Kiyohime's vibrant smile, rivalled only by her flowing royal blue kimono, removed the knife in his conscience.
"Sorry we're late. I had to help pull Tama off Cat," Kiyohime sighed apologetically, making Jekyll release an amused snort. Nightingale's eyes swiftly snapped to her, but the younger berserker was quick to add. "No injuries. Just some ruined clothes..."
"I'll bet Medea is going to complain about it later," Paracelsus mused to distract himself from mixed feelings. He gazed to the Vanguard engineer… Correction. Former Vanguard engineer. Despite being in transition to becoming Chaldea staff, he still wore the black multicam fatigues. In due time, those sunglasses would also disappear with those many shaving burns. "Omar. Are you nervous?"
"Yea… I mean, not because I don't trust legends but… I'm just nervous." Kiyohime turned her smile to him, and though her eyes glowed with worry, her smile brimmed with belief. Paracelsus glanced down to their joined hands as she gently squeezed his. It brought a little smile to the boy's face. He whispered, "…Thanks, Kiyo."
"Mhmm. I'm here," she reassured just as quietly. No one paid it any real attention save Nightingale, who smiled at both of them, then motioned to the hospital bed.
"Please bring him to the bed. We're just going to do a physical examination and explain the procedure. Our assisting surgeon should be arriving in the meantime."
Kiyohime led Omar to the bed, then carefully led him to sit with gentle gestures. Paracelsus watched quietly as he let her move and adjust him accordingly without an ounce of hesitation. After she ensured he was nice and cozy, she sat on the bed beside him. The berserker made it a point that their arms were brushing against each other as the nurse walked over with her tools.
"I'm going to ask you to remove your glasses please," Nightingale insisted. Instantly, Omar fell rigid with hesitation, but Kiyohime was swift. She laid her hand gently on his lap, and he gazed over in her direction. He obviously couldn't see her reassuring smile, but Paracelsus guessed he could feel it. He was far from the expert on the human heart, but he could tell when someone offered the right potion for an ailment. Her gesture worked.
"…Okay…" Omar nodded slowly, reached up, and gently removed his sunglasses. Kiyohime's smile faltered to sadness; The others remained stone faced. Nightingale in particular was already staring with scrutiny into his eyes… or what remained of them. The terrible scar tissue and burn marks that ran between unrecognizable sockets could have nauseated many; It was Omar's reality for too long. "…There is something you can do, right…?"
"Not me specifically. I wish I could, but I can't restore lost body parts," Nightingale corrected firmly as she flashed her little penlight over his injury. Her eyes glowed mildly red with scrutiny. "That's what the other surgeon specializes in. I apologize for the wait, but she wasn't easy to convince."
"Shiki did all the convincing," Jekyll offered, making Kiyohime gaze to him quietly. As Nightingale continued her checks, a presence approached. They were mighty, but certainly no servant. That didn't make the red-haired woman any less prominent among Chaldea's human residents. She paused at the door and knocked, prompting Jekyll to raise his voice. "It's open, Miss Touko."
It slid open a fraction of a second later to reveal the powerful magus, dressed in her favorite white blouse and black dress pants. "So it is. And this is the patient?"
"Yes. And I thank you for being his surgeon," Nightingale greeted as Kiyohime studied the woman.
Touko chuckled and waved it off. "I have no doctorate. I'm only an expert with puppets and forgetting how many favors I owe Shiki."
As she approached the bed, Nightingale took a step back. Touko gently pushed up her glasses with a calm smile, leaned over, and stared undisturbed into his burned tissue curiously. Nightingale kept her penlight on him for a better view, but Touko only nodded slowly and studied him. "Just like the pictures you showed. Hmm… It'll be very tricky reattaching the optical nerves, but I can do it. You can handle the skin?"
"That I can do," the medical angel smiled proudly. "You have the eyes prepared?"
"They'll be finished by the operation. I just needed the right size," Touko agreed as she quietly held her fingers up as if they were a ruler. Omar flinched lightly as she sized up his sockets while her eyes darted from point to point. "We'll have to put him under and numb the area. You don't look like a masochist to me."
"I've prepared a potion to do that," Paracelsus added, drawing a quick glance from the magus. "I even made it taste like your favorite blueberries to separate it from traditional sedatives. Something to look forward to, Omar."
"Thank you." Though the young boy looked grateful, Jekyll chuckled at Nightingale's fleeting expression. Paracelsus caught it too, but didn't point it out. It's not often anyone saw Nightingale huff or pout, but her methods were far from gentle or stale. When it came to operations involving sedatives or faster recovery supplements, many turned to him for the sake of their stomachs.
Omar fidgeted under Touko's continued analyzation. "Nightingale? You'll be marking the nerve endings?"
"Everything will be marked and ready. I won't waste anymore of your time," the nurse nodded, then turned to Omar with a reassuring smile. She reached over, gently laid a hand on his shoulder, and her voice fell soft. "It will be a fast and smooth operation. You're in capable hands, but there's some requirements before treatment begins. After noon tomorrow, you're not allowed to eat anything. We'll be operating on an empty stomach, so enjoy what Kiyohime prepares for lunch."
"I will. I always do," he answered quietly, earning him a quick smile from the girl beside him. Touko stood straight, pulled out a notebook, and began jotting some things down. In the new stillness, the boy whispered. "…Can Kiyohime be there…?"
Nightingale paused, glanced at the other berserker, then Jekyll who dipped his head. Finally, she answered. "Unfortunately, no. She'd have to remain in the waiting room. I'm sorry, but I promise both of you everything will be alright."
"I'll definitely wait for you," Kiyohime reassured as she gently patted his leg.
"Oh, okay… Thanks," he whispered back with a nervous smile. Paracelsus was glad he made the potion extra tasty, but made a note to see if Nightingale could at least allow Kiyohime to be present when the boy ingests the sedatives. Being with him when he falls under should be the best alternative medicine. The boy sighed. "I feel safer when you're around…"
His quiet admission made Kiyohime blush, but no one else really gave it a second thought. At least not until he spoke up again. "…You, um… Chaldean servants won't leave, right?"
"…Hmm?" Jekyll asked as Paracelsus and Nightingale quirked an eyebrow at each other.
"Sorry, I mean… You've already saved the world and everything. Your purpose for being summoned was accomplished, but there's so many of you guardians… Won't some of you want to leave after you found all those demon pillars…?"
An unusual question, presumably from out of nowhere. It was a rational query and presumption though. Chaldea won. Even hunting down the remaining pillars, they'd proven they don't need the full roster. Servants would likely be present to lend a hand in singularities, so presumably, no one had a justified reason to stay…
…But that was as fundamentally correct as it was symbolically wrong.
"Without any true threats, some might," Paracelsus offered honestly, and watched Omar's shoulders sag with anticipated worry. "I don't think most will want to. We're far too mixed. This elixir called Chaldea has been stirred for a long time, and it's not so easy to separate the ingredients once they're blended. So while it's accurate to say there's no need to remain, many have found other reasons to do just that."
Jekyll nodded, smiled, and pointed out Omar's hidden worry. "He's right. Many of us will fight to stay even if someone tries to force us out. So I wouldn't worry, Omar. I seriously don't think Kiyohime wants to leave either."
"Oh, uh…" Caught red-handed. Paracelsus and Jekyll chuckled at Omar's light blush as he turned away and fumbled to put his sunglasses back on. Kiyohime smiled softly and sweetly, but Nightingale moved in to try and remove his glasses. He flushed more with embarrassment. "Oh, uh right. Examination. Right."
"I've got it all planned anyway," Touko pointed out. Though she had been mostly ignoring everything that happened, her small smile proved she'd enjoyed at least a bit of it. "I'll let the doctors and assistants give you the lectures. I've got some eyes to prepare and an assassin to pester… Hm. You sure you want the same colored eyes? I could make them a bit fancier if you want."
"Um… I like my old eyes please." Touko nodded calmly, pocketed her notebook, and made for the door. "Thank you, Miss Touko! I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"You can thank Shiki for burning a favor," the magus replied, but then disappeared through the doorway. Under her breath, she added with a tiny smile. "I guess I can be as generous as you insist, Shiki."
Paracelsus smiled after her as the door slid closed. His gaze lingered on Nightingale and Jekyll as they began explaining post-procedure care, but his mind lingered on all of them. A prestigious magus helping a lowly engineer. A grievously offended berserker wanting to ensure he's comfortable and calm. A legendary nurse who'd pushed for weeks to have this procedure green-lit.
This was a mixture at its finest. One where the side effects were nothing but promising outcomes and growth. Just being able to help nourish it in his own way was satisfaction enough; To be part of it was bliss. The sight did wonders to lift his mood and silence the clinging shame of his past. With every privileged act, he could still be redeemed and help the world move forward.
Nonetheless, as his gaze shifted to Kiyohime, the reminders of perceived failures remained a plague.
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"I'll see you in two days, Omar, if not earlier. I hope the rest of your checkup finishes uneventfully."
Having heard enough of the explanation, Paracelsus respectfully excused himself from the room. In truth, Paracelsus never had to attend the checkup meeting in the first place; He insisted. His presence at the surgery wasn't necessary either, but again, he insisted. His potions were involved, and despite remaining confident in his master craft, he wanted to hear the process and witness the results himself.
It was part pride and the thrill of satisfactory outcomes. It was mostly to reassure himself he was being part of something founded on proper ground.
No question, the caster trusted his allies to do the right thing. Many wished to do the right thing for others, but he had to be sure. It was a shame, but a broken mirror never reflects the same way again; Trust was broken. Many acted for the good, but the methods could always be questionable. He knew it well because he'd gone with said plans multiple times.
And no matter how many times he tried to subdue his lasting guilt, it only pitched its tent longer. "Paracelsus?"
Stopping just before the central Medical Bay station, he glanced back to see Kiyohime briskly walking to him. At first, he seized up unnoticeably, but he calmed upon sighting the rainbow of appreciation in her eyes. Once more, his smothered shame breached the confines of its vault to sting him like a wasp.
It remained unnoticed by the berserker. "I know you're not doing as much as Nightingale or Touko but… Thank you. I know Omar will be alright if you're handling his medicine."
Paracelsus' smile was a relaxing shore that obscured its riptide. "I only do what I can to help. It's always my pleasure to assist any youth, and Omar is a promising mind."
"Mmm," she mouthed quietly with a grateful nod. "Nightingale said there was a routine for his recovery medicine? Could you give it to me too when you have the chance?"
The caster let out a small chuckle. "You really have become his caretaker, hm? I was only going to give the instructions to Omar, but if you're going to help him anyway, I don't see the harm. Extra reminders ensure proper dosage... After the surgery then. Is that alright?"
"Yes, thank you!" she smiled happily. She was about to turn around and head back, so Paracelsus thought that was the end of it. It wasn't. Brimming with gratitude, she folded her hands before her and bowed slightly. "Oh and… I never did say what I should have long ago but… Thank you for that suppressant. I don't know where I would've been if…"
She slowed down as Paracelsus' expression finally caved. Staring through a shroud of dumbstruck disgrace, he spoke quietly, uncaring if Irisviel heard just a dozen paces away. "Thank me? What I did was despicable… I should still be asking for your forgiveness."
"Please don't misunderstand. I know what you did was offensive," Kiyohime answered straight, but her smile remained. "But it's been so long ago now. It doesn't bother me much anymore… I won't let it because it's finally bearing its fruit. If you hadn't followed with Gabby's forceful plan… would I have been like Penthesilea? What if I found out and got banned from Chaldea when my controlling madness threw me into a fit? Then I might not have…"
"…Built friendships, new and old? Built a new life?" Paracelsus surmised, and though her gentle expression fell tinged with solemn admission, she nodded gratefully. "Met Omar?"
She blushed lightly at the last one, but her smile returned with such beauty it fired rays of light through Paracelsus' swirling storm. "…Yea. I'm glad now. I might be like Fran and Caligula. Only getting to deploy rarely because of how much weaker we've become but… I can live with that. I'm happy with what I have, and I'm hopeful for what's still to come. I hope that…"
Though Kiyohime trailed off in thought, Paracelsus felt the rush of cool wind streak through his veins. It tasted better than the smoothest mixed drink and began rejuvenating his soul like a potent elixir. Even if they talked about it once or twice before, he never did forgive himself for agreeing to Gabrielle's old plan. It was still the most advisable course; They didn't know if her mad enhancement would let her accept what came to pass.
It was terribly wrong, yet he agreed to it for the sake of the result.
But after seeing the glint of disappointment in her eyes whenever they talked about it, he could only feel crushed. Now, with the berserker on the cusp of holding every desire within her arms, Paracelsus finally saw the vestiges of his hopes: One long sought redemption. It wouldn't rewrite what happened as a truly noble act, but if she was finally happy then… Maybe he can finally let go of one clinging shame.
Parcelsus smiled. "I don't think you should worry about that. Did you know Marie has been gushing over you two?"
"Quite well. I was just trying not to get my hopes up so I wouldn't be too… um…" she began, but then smiled and shook her head. "Overly eager…"
"You're eager, but that's only to be expected. To be young and falling," he chuckled calmly, and it helped shake more of the weight from his shoulders. "I shouldn't keep you much longer. Omar will need that helping hand getting to lunch, or wherever he needs to be next."
"Right. Thanks again, Paracelsus. And please don't let what happened bother you any longer," Kiyohime smiled gracefully, bowed again, then took her leave. Paracelsus let his eyes linger a bit longer as she skipped down the hall. After waiting for the distant door to close behind her, he turned, maneuvered around a reorganizing medical bot, and strolled past the central counter.
"You got a little pep in your walk." The caster didn't slow down, but smiled to Irisviel as she filed papers at the desk. Her eyes sparkled with recognition.
He chuckled, but headed to the double door exit to the lobby. "I guess I do."
Chaldean Thanksgiving Dinner was sure looking tastier this evening.
¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨(¯ˆ·.¸ VI ¸.·ˆ¯)¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨
Apparently he'd been so upbeat Janice had caught him humming during their usual lessons; He barely played it off. Instead, the remainder of the lesson felt like they flew by compared to most days, but he'd like to think it was because of the anticipation for the evening festivities.
"I want to eat all of it!" "How can we have a food holiday and no food competitions!?" "Please don't say food fight. Please."
Even lunch was sounding far more enthusiastic when he exited onto the boardwalk. Large banquet tables were already set up with white linen cloths. The boardwalk's tiki torches were now joined by brass candelabras and grills on the beach were roasting some pretty spectacular offerings. An extremely large phantasmal boar was already glistening with a golden hue as Tamacat ensured an even coat while her pupil took notes.
His eyes stared forward to the outdoor cafeteria. He'd let his pupil free early, but he'd lost himself in a tiny experiment soon after. He wasn't surprised he was a bit late, but he hardly minded lines. It just meant he could chat with some companions while waiting for the tide to withdraw. But who should it be today?
"Wait! Xanthos, I was kidding! I want my fries! Pwease no!" Jack whined playfully from nearby. Paracelsus tossed a quick glance to the nearby table, but Achilles' beautiful horse was blocking a proper view of the family.
The horse neighed happily and waggled its tail. "I was kidding too, Jackie."
"I guess you can say he was just… horsing around!" Paracelsus staggered to a halt and joined the collective groan that now echoed from the cafeteria. A few laughed, and then the staff member cried out again. "What? It was just a spur of the moment decision!"
"Someone silence that madman and his unbridled puns!" Vlad called out unseen, and the chorus of groans only grew worse.
Paracelsus laughed at the growing discord, but paused when he heard a familiar groan. "By Olympus, Vlad is seriously challenging that Pun Fiend…"
"So he does still occasionally say them? How strange. The Lord Impaler making puns." Paracelsus turned to the railing to spy the two Greek women. Medea shimmered like a goddess beneath the sun's spotlight; Her royal blue chiffon dress and grasped red wine glass only added to that. Beside her, Penthesilea's white sweatpants and black tank top painted a stark contrast. The berserker kept her arms folded, though both shared a light cringe at the growing pun war that escalated nearby.
"Was that a medical pun? I hate to needle, but I think that went over my head."
Vlad scoffed regally. "Hm. I see my last one didn't leave nearly everyone in stitches."
"This is agonizing," Medea mumbled as she took a long swig of her wine. Penthesilea's eye twitched, but she otherwise remained calm. She noticed Paracelsus glancing over and nodded. In a split-second decision, the walking caster decided to answer his mild curiosity. Usually he didn't think much of who was speaking with who, but given the growing horror of a war…
"Good afternoon, you two. Discussing clothing before… well…" His train of thought was bumped by yet another pun in the distance. His eyebrow twitched. Someone was calling for the Peacekeepers to get involved to save everyone.
"Not the clothing, but the shipments," Medea answered as a robot hovered past. She quickly offered her empty glass, and the waiting machine dutifully began refilling it after a gesture to one of its held bottles. "I'm slightly worried we won't get shipments of raw material fast enough. If Da Vinci is serious about carefully exporting our fashion lines, we're going to need a steadier flow of top quality materials to meet demands. A few hundred Chaldeans is one thing, but if we even double that…"
"Doesn't Vigil logistics handle it accordingly?" he inquired as he drew close. He respectfully turned down the robot's offer for wine. "I'd surmise the balance of secrecy and honest client information would be the greater hurdle."
Medea nodded. "They will be, but we only intend to offer our clothes to the elites. Starting with… the Clock Tower, since Naomi has so much experience dealing with a lord, his daughter, and a typical magus family's thirst for outlandish fashion."
"That'd solve the secrecy issue," Paracelsus agreed. "…But the shipments? The UN and Clock Tower aren't on as stable of terms as the Church."
"The Vigil is still willing to deliver, but their packaging is questionable." Penthesilea's added point drew the casters' attention. "As I was telling Medea, they don't package or handle parcels as well as they should. A computer Val ordered arrived with a broken screen and I heard Marie lost a few crystal gifts."
Medea nodded. "Gudao's mountain bike came with bent handlebars and a dented frame, but I heard Da Vinci fixed that real quick."
There were others, for sure. From what Paracelsus overheard from some Vanguard operators, that's just what anyone had to expect from military-grade shipping; It was rough and often callous. It was miraculous they were so quick though. Nevertheless, delivering to servants only seemed to sway product integrity so much when speed was the priority for the sender and buyer. Sadly, it said a lot their delivery satisfaction ratio was still better than UPS or DHL.
"Deliveries aren't the UN's main priority," Paracelsus concluded, but still nodded in agreement. "I wouldn't doubt they're trying considering how much the servants are ordering off Amazon or other sites."
"They could be better, but it is what it is," Medea sighed, but then glanced to Penthesilea again. "But our Amazon Queen says she's not going to let it slide for exports."
"Val expressed interest in offering furniture for sale to the same buyers," Penthesilea stated over one final groan from the nearby pun war. "Many mages would love the prestige of owning an item hand-crafted by the likes of Spartacus or Quetzalcoatl. But they need to reach the destination safely, so I've been designing some destruction proof packaging to help."
Upon seeing Paracelsus' confused expression, the berserker merely smirked proudly. "My Amazons often treated anything roughly. One had to learn how to construct tools to withstand our rigors, so a shipping package will be easy."
"But there's also weight and strength to consider. Amazon women are powerful, but the Vigil Aircraft have a weight capacity," he pointed out, but noticed Penthesilea's spirit grew at his compliment. "But I speak redundancy, don't I? You were a queen, and thus are aware of balance and design. There's only a difference in application."
"Correct. I'm still trying to draw it out, but once I have it, I can offer the same export defense to anyone else. Clothes, furniture… whatever books Osakabehime and Blackbeard are writing," Medea winced lightly at the last listed option, but Penthesilea's smile faded a bit. "I figure it could be a way for me to apologize for the trouble I've caused. I'm not good at much else besides fighting and destroying things."
"Maybe you're being too hard on yourself," he offered. Paracelsus would know. Many in Chaldea would, he so safely assumed. "I'm sorry you had to take that potion. It didn't do you any favors for fighting."
"You were there when I took it. You know how I feel," Penthesilea's declared firmly as she met his gaze strong. She smirked ever so lightly. "I'm a Queen of the Amazons. I didn't need that mad enhancement to be strong. I'm now weaker, yes, but what good is power if it can't be controlled? I'm content."
"Those agreed spars with Achilles probably help…" Medea mumbled in jest as she sipped her wine. Paracelsus noted his friend was letting herself go a little more today. "Maybe you'll find an enemy Achilles to beat up. That will make you feel a lot better, I promise."
"Something to look forward to? Just like you're still waiting to see another Jason?" the dark-haired caster joked.
Penthesilea glanced to Medea as she chuckled a little too darkly. "My little sheep pin cushion is showing its age… I won't say no to a new one."
As she sipped her wine with clear devious thoughts, Paracelsus blinked when another servant passed. He and Penthesilea glanced over to spot Mia strolling along. She tossed an awkward glance to her older counterpart; She probably just heard her older self's comment. Medea's eyes quickly snapped to her younger self, then eyed her grape chiton like a hawk. Paracelsus calculated an uncomfortable scene was about to unfold considering… "Mia. Stop right there please."
As the child caster froze with a bit of worry, the other two watched Medea take a few steps over. Paracelsus knew Medea had mixed feelings over her innocent, younger self, so there were many possible outcomes to this sudden mixture; It didn't help some other recent counterparts got along… not so well. Still, he was surprised with how gentle Medea appeared as she gracefully leaned down, pulled out a handkerchief from her purse, and began wiping an unseen stain from one of Mia's dress frills.
"You should be more careful. I didn't make these dresses so you could dirty them," she scolded lightly, and Mia nodded bashfully in silence. Still, Medea offered the very tiniest of smiles to her and offered the piece of cloth. "The washing machines will be able to get the rest out, but it should be unnoticeable now."
Mia looked around quietly, then leaned in to whisper near inaudibly. "Thanks, sis."
A moment later, Mia was scurrying off towards her gaggle of lined-up friends by the buffet grills. Medea waltzed back like nothing happened, picked up her glass from the railing, and took a new sip. Instead of bringing anything up, Paracelsus only smiled lightly and waited for the other caster to choose a subject. "Where were we… Mm. Juggling shipments. Oh, but a more interesting arrangement… I heard you'll be doing a little drink spectacle this evening?"
Penthesilea glanced to him curiously, but he only offered a subdued smile to both of them. "Whoever told you may be right or wrong."
"It was a Marie rumor, so I'd give it a fifty-fifty," Medea countered with a knowing smile. He said nothing more.
It was only a bit into lunch, but certainly, Paracelsus had much to look forward to that evening.
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After a brief stop back at the Alchemical Room to ready some projects for tomorrow, he'd returned for the growing festivities. The smell of food was as overwhelming as the amount of relaxing conversations. He joined fellow intellectuals like Chiron and Da Vinci for a bit. There was small talk with Helena or answering some questions from the mages. In the end, he wound up on the beach among a group of companions he felt most comfortable with.
Changed into a navy v-neck shirt and white pants, the caster lounged on a beach chair beside an empty one; Jekyll was currently elsewhere. At his other side, Ozymandias sat straight on his like a throne. In an unbuttoned black tropical shirt and matching beach shorts, he looked like the Sun King of Polynesia for the day. His eyes remained cemented away from their circle and towards a distant volleyball net.
"Who's winning?" Arthur asked from across their small little firepit.
Ozymandias glanced to the other king in white swim trunks, then smirked at the distant commotion. "Nitocris. It's a close tie. To uphold the Pharaoh's prestige, she wishes to ensure victory. But in a show of the Pharaoh's grace to their important ones, she's not trying to crush her friend."
"But Scheherazade is trying to lose badly because she doesn't want to make Nitocris look bad." Paracelsus smiled and wiggled the toes while his sandals clung for life. At that mention, Brynhildr tossed a glance from her seat beside Arthur. While she looked away, Paracelsus saw one of the newer employees shoot a peek at her from the boardwalk. The caster couldn't blame the young guy. Brynhildr looked breathtaking while lounging in her amethyst bikini and translucent beach sash.
"Get it, Medjed!" …But, the distant show was that much more eye-catching to him. By the volleyball nets, Nitocris and Scheherazade were admittedly hard to see among their sea of teammates. They were clearly the captains, but it was an army of Medjeds versus a host of cartoonish, story-forged familiars. It was to no one's surprise it was turning into its own little show while there was a gap in registered entertainers. Every time the ball flew over the net, one side rallied like a cheering stadium.
"Good to see Scheherazade looks all settled," Arthur praised then smiled to Ozymandias. "Does she still freeze up around you and Cleopatra?"
Ozymandias laughed loudly. "Only before me! It's very flattering! Though Cleopatra can still make her freeze when she decides to critique her outfit. It is only to be expected. To spend so much time around we Pharaohs demands proper attention to one's wardrobe. It must be flattering but not distract from our presence!"
"The last thing she'll want is to offend any of you. Nito most of all," Brynhildr commented, then reached over to the table between her and the saber to pick up her tropical drink. A plate of a dozen appetizers rested between them, matched in quality by the one between the caster and rider. The pharaoh reached over to pluck a group of fresh grapes while Paracelsus took an apple. Before them, the fire pit crackled comfortably in the small pause.
They were missing a few for now, but the comfort remained stable ground. By all means, their group of friends never should have been. Their grail war was trying, but they'd still somehow come together while most other grail war competitors stayed apart. It was a mixture Paracelsus never could quite wrap his head around, but it swirled together all the same. He didn't think much of it anymore.
"Well now! If it isn't our heroic Persian and his lovely companion!" Ozymandias had quickly called out behind them. Paracelsus turned to see Arash and Mata Hari approaching in matching orange swimsuits and holding hands. "We were wondering if you'd join us."
"Paula's under the watchful gaze of the Goddess Artemis," Mata Hari answered playfully, and an amusingly timed loud cheer from the bubbly goddess echoed in the distance. It likely came from the growing sand Atlantis she, Kintoki, Blackbeard, and Asterios were making with the children. She giggled, "Would you allow us to bask in your presence for the night?"
"It's a Chaldean holiday for great company. How could we say no?" Arthur obliged and swung his hand to the many empty chairs. "Serenity and Jekyll will arrive later."
"I'm surprised you're not with your sister and the knights. Is that where Jekyll is?" Arash asked as he led Mata Hari towards the wooden loungers beside Paracelsus.
"He should be. Last I checked, Arty and Mordred were considering another food contest." Everyone quickly stared to Arthur with mild concern, which only made him chuckle radiantly. "Lily and I persuaded them not to. Even if we didn't, there's more than enough food to go around."
"Interesting happenings too~!" Mata Hari agreed as she sat down and quickly checked her phone. There was some distant yelling that failed to snag anyone's attention. Mata Hari glanced a few seconds later, then watched as running footsteps clattered along the nearby boardwalk. "Is Bazett…? Oh. Hmm? She's just running?"
Paracelsus and Arash turned curiously to spot Bazett running along the boardwalk at a brisk pace. Her flapping Hawaiian shirt tried vainly to slow her speed, though form fitting black dress pants fell far more streamlined. Her pace only slowed to an awkward halt as she neared the Outdoor Cafeteria. Now within a dozen paces of their group, Paracelsus could spy the clear signs of bafflement in her eyes.
"Hey! Where's the fire?" Cu joked as he approached her with a beer in hand. His blue Hawaiian shirt was an exact match for Bazett's, but he opted for tight worn jeans instead. He tilted his head upon spotting his friend staring back the way she came. "Fire over there?"
"It'd be easier to explain," she spoke as some spectators lost interest in the sudden spectacle. "Angra wanted us to stand back-to-back then run fast in opposite directions. He wouldn't explain why. Only that it was something he always wanted to do."
Cu laughed, and Bazett finally turned to him with a miffed expression. "You know something, don't you? Was this something from his war?"
"We'll tell ya' sometime. Maybe," Cu teased and began walking away. Instantly, Bazett was stalking after him with information demands. They passed by Tristan setting up on a small little stage with a Ukulele in hand; It seemed he was the next entertainer. If the music options were next, then that meant Elizabeth likely had a small concert approved by the council.
After one final click of her phone's camera, Mata Hari moved to stow her phone in her purse. Brynhildr smiled to her, "For your gossip with Marie?"
"Something to ponder about~…" Mata Hari commented. She then paused with thought, quickly pulled her phone up, and snapped a picture of her and Arthur when the two weren't looking. As she put her phone away, she smiled innocently to Arash as he stared at her with a playfully judging stare. Ozymandias' laugh distracted the saber and lancer from the assassin.
Mata Hari then clapped her hands together. "So~… There's dishes from all over the world today! What's everyone filling their stomachs with first?"
"The Laotian dishes from Tamacat." Arthur's instant specific answer quickly drew stares. He only smiled and shrugged. "I love my homeland's food, but you know I don't mind new cuisine. Tamacat is supposedly very diverse in the cultural foods she can make."
"Oh, she is~!" Mata Hari agreed. "It has Tamamo tizzied all the time! Did you know that Sri Lankan dish was by her? I thought it was from one of our new Asian cooks!"
"You best secure a dish before your family does," Brynhildr giggled lightly, and Arthur nodded with mild exasperation.
"I think I'll go for a mix," Paracelsus added, making Ozymandias smirk to him.
"Our prestigious alchemist, always trying to mix everything," the Pharaoh mock-chided, then waved regally. "Knowing you, it will turn out well. But the question stands… Before or after you juggle it?"
"Maybe I'll add it to a routine," the caster countered and earned some laughs. Like fickle winds, their conversation topics only continued to shift. Often small and inconsequential, Paracelsus preferred it this way. Relaxing and comforting, it helped bat down any stress or concerns. Most of all, it solidified the idea that this was a daily affair he didn't want to diminish. The casual holiday only highlighted its appeal further.
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Mouth-watering smells from wood-fired grills filled the air. The sky was turning a brilliant amber by the time the first offerings of the massive buffet were placed along the many tables. Conversations were loud. Some animals and birds wandered about between a sea of moving legs and chairs. Most of all, the mirth was at an all time high as any concerns and worries were destroyed from Chaldean minds for the evening.
Chaldean Thanksgiving, their newest casual holiday, was in full swing. Inspired by the Canadian and American holidays, Chaldea chose to have its own for the last day of November. It would mark the beginning of the most festive month of the year, where events were stacked and the festivities would only grow stronger. It was the Council's idea that it would be a time of merry bonding to celebrate all Chaldea had become.
So far, it was off to a smooth start, and Paracelsus was about to help with that. On the little stage on the boardwalk, in sight from the many tables and the cafeteria cabana, the caster thanked a few robots as they moved his setup carefully into position. Others carted off Elizabeth's extra sound equipment while the lancer chatted happily with her uncle and producer nearby. Most would be using the time to still their excitement, but Paracelsus only felt… levelled.
It's not like his act was anything to worry over. Nor did he really mind how he was perceived by over a hundred other heroic spirits for his little hobby. He was doing it for fun, and because he was asked. Confidence in his new skills was unshakable, so why was there a need to worry? In the end, bar flaring was mixtures with extra pizazz.
"I didn't peg you for a pretty boy singer." The caster turned around to greet one of the new faces passing by. Though summonings were still on hold, Meltryllis had slipped past by virtue of an AI who did whatever she wanted. The battleclad alter ego stood with an unreadable expression, though many still didn't know what to make of her. Those who fought alongside her in the future singularity caught another glimpse, but all Paracelsus got to see was a sadistic dancer with raunchy clothing.
That didn't mean he was going to judge her on that. "I'll spare the audience of my singing. I hope you're having a good evening, Meltryllis?"
"I guess," she mused as her little smirk came into view. "This fortress isn't quite what I suspected, but I suppose playing along has its merits. Do you often make up needless holidays?"
"No, but I won't be surprised if it becomes routine," Paracelsus joked, but the alter ego stared a bit dryly. Holding a conversation with her may try more temperamental servants, but he thought nothing of it. He stared down at her glistening shoes for a moment, and how they scuffed the boardwalk planks where she stood. Before she walked away, she noticed, but he inquired first. "Do they make it hard getting around?"
"Do dancers often complain their legs get in the way?" she nearly scoffed back, but smirked again. "Or do you mean damaging the floors? That lead inventor said this place was reinforced. A few scuffs shouldn't cause worries."
Paracelsus shook his head. "I was just wondering if you were considering options like Passionlip is."
Now Meltryllis smile faded completely. She even frowned a bit. "Why would I do that? She's simple enough to think that her arms can just be swapped out so easily. They can't. I don't know what led her to perceiving them as something unnatural, but attachable prosthetics for servants? Don't make me laugh. We're living ether. Spiritual bodies made manifest."
"That's what controlled experimentation is for," he countered calmly. "It's never been done before, but that doesn't mean it's not feasible with all our gathered specialists. Flight was seen as impossible."
Meltryllis paused, but didn't seem to buy what he was selling. Instead, she merely shrugged and began strutting away. "Believe what you wish, but there's only so far alter egos can and will go. And I will certainly not lower myself to be more like a disgusting human. Many fawn over me as I am. I don't need change."
The alter ego walked away, but Paracelsus hardly counted it as rude or uncalled for. It could've ended better, sure, but he wasn't about to say her attitude didn't belong. So long as it didn't threaten the safety of others, abrasiveness was allowed. He wouldn't even fathom thinking about throwing a potion or talisman to fix something unfortunate but not threatening. He had a line of morals to uphold… even if he did challenge them every now then.
He only watched as Meltryllis started a conversation with Tristan, and wondered how long and how well she would adapt to the Chaldean melting pot.
¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨(¯ˆ·.¸ IX ¸.·ˆ¯)¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨
"Before some relaxing duets by Jeanne and Eric, we have a fun little show by our master alchemist Paracelsus!"
The caster already stepped up to his little mixing table as Da Vinci finished her introduction. An array of bottles shimmered under the spotlights aimed at him, and an armada of cups and mixers. The clapping was light, but his mind had already tuned it out to focus. Just like with his work, his mind was ready to calculate on the fly. Wasting not time, he waved, then called out. "I know many of you would never turn down a fine drink, so may I have some volunteers offer-"
"Three Cosmos!" Medb, Gabrielle, and Suzuka were very quick to yell out their order before he was even done. It drew some laughs from the Celts, and after a quick glance from Gabrielle to Scathach, the master spoke up again. "Make that four please!"
"I guess a quartet of Cosmopolitans it is," Paracelsus laughed, then quickly eyed the ingredients. 'Lime juice there, grapefruit there…'
In a split second, he knew the locations of everything he needed. He already signaled to Robin to play the music for him as he began gently placing the martini glasses front and center for everyone to see. He then carefully pushed the only nearby bottles to the side so the view grew clearer. The first beats of the chosen beat began to play, and Paracelsus' foot was already tapping to secure a rhythm. "No magecraft! I swear!"
A few chuckles raced into the air as he grabbed the first bottle. "Let's waste no more time then!"
By the time the hard beat truly kicked in, Paracelsus had already flipped a bottle of vodka into the air. As it twirled, the loose cork flew off, which Paracelsus caught nonchalantly, behind his back after he spun. Discarding the cork, he quickly popped the top off the Cointreau and sent it twirling into the air too. Calmly and steadily, he made a show of juggling the uncovered bottles behind his back, over one another, and every which way. They almost looked like planets orbiting him, the current star.
It was just the warmup some Chaldeans had seen many times before.
What they didn't see was just how calculated every move was. The minimum needed spin to keep any liquid from spilling. The amount of time to let each bottle pour depending on its contents, neck diameter, and target glass. The precise movements necessary to get the exact measurements without wasting any alcohol with a spillage. The calculations were innumerable, and made all the much more difficult when it was to be done while smoothly bar flaring.
That's what made it so much fun for him; It made an otherwise routine affair into a spectacular show of mixing skill. Casually, he caught the vodka bottle upside in the crook of his elbow. It began to pour perfectly into a mixing up swiftly moved into position when his right hand wasn't juggling the Cointreau. His focused mind multi-tasked between the other spinning bottle and the pouring vodka. 'One second… two seconds…'
He grabbed the vodka bottle at the right time with his right hand, caught the Cointreau in the left, and sent both twirling into the air again. As they spun, he casually grabbed another mixing cup, spun twice until his back faced the audience, then caught the falling vodka bottle upright. The Cointreau spun over his head so he could catch it with his free hand and twirl it over his head like a helicopter blade. By now the applause and cheers of spectators were grew loud… and only the first ingredient was poured.
"Bartender! I just wanted my drink!" someone called out and earned some laughs.
Paracelsus chuckled, slide the cup with vodka across the table, then bounced the Cointreau on his elbow twice. "You never placed your order, sir!"
The routine continued, and no jest or comment faltered the act. Each move was swift and executed perfectly. Catching two bottles on the back of his fingers, whirling open glasses around his arms like windmills... He even flipped a mixing cup and bottle into the air so perfectly the ingredient started its pour on the way down. He caught the glass atop his elbow and the bottle on a peace sign with his fingers without interrupting the pour. 'Four... five... done!'
Calm and relaxed, nearly all other thoughts were pushed from his mind as he calculated his next moves instantly. Smooth and calm, he let himself fall for the bliss of this discovered hobby. True, at points it was more juggling and showmanship, but it always ended with the same result: A perfectly poured drink. A branch of his craft he wished he'd known sooner because of how much stress it let him vent.
He wasn't one to like standing out, but he'll always make an exception for this since the concoctions came with bigger, grateful smiles.
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The rest of the evening had been much of the same. It even lasted far into the night, to the point Paracelsus found himself only taking an hour of rest before he was once more working in the Alchemical Room. Many had succumbed to the legendary food coma, but his hunger for progress was never satisfied. It only meant he worked with a fuller stomach than usual, or as much as that could be felt for servants.
Today he started off with a newer project. The apple experiment had been a huge success, but not everyone glutted after them like Atalanta. There had been inquiries if it could be made into apple juice or another tasty snack, and though experimentation had been mostly put off, he finally had free time to commit to the luxury options. Afterall, his obligations for safeguards were now fulfilled, so what better way to start December then the possibility of watermelon flavored mana drinks?
'Or maybe eggnog would be more appropriate,' he joked to himself and smiled. 'Tis the season.'
The Alchemical Room door slid open quietly, and for a second, Paracelsus was confused. He was almost certain, despite their show of pompous reluctance, the Clock Tower team was also incapacitated due to the food offerings; Siegfried even had to help a stuffed Gordolf. However, it was the familiar, radiant presence that challenged his mood.
As the door closed, Paracelsus placed his vials down carefully to glance back. "Morning, Arthur. You don't often bother me here… so then I can only assume…?"
The long and silent walk to stand next to him gave it away before he even spoke. Paracelsus nodded slowly. "I see."
"I hope it hasn't troubled you," the saber offered near silently with a sad smile. Even bothered, his glimmer never lost its blanketing warmth. If only it made Paracelsus feel better. "I don't know if you need more time to think about it, but I thought this would be a safe time to ask."
An awkward pause followed. The room's once comforting silence and lightly bubbling noises made it feel like a boiling pot. Beneath his labcoat, Paracelsus swirled with contradictions and debate. His reservations were thick… yet he already decided. "…I don't need more time. I'll help you."
Arthur's smile faded more. "You're certain? Again, I don't wish to push anything on you that you wouldn't want to do. What I'm asking is far from chivalrous or noble."
"No, Arthur. It's not chivalrous, but it's a noble wish," the caster countered with a silent sigh. "I've had a month. To keep you waiting any longer would be disrespectful to a great king, and an even greater friend. I'm willing to help you. For her sake."
Arthur's smile returned, but the regret tinged within matched Paracelsus' conflicted mind. "…Thank you. I'll repay you somehow… and if something bad should happen, I'll take responsibility."
"No, we both will." Arthur's smile faded again as Paracelsus nodded grimly. "My hands play a part in this too. Like you, I will not feign innocence. But I wish for the best for our friend. Bryn should be free from her problems. From a dreadful daily routine that only serves to remind her of what may still happen."
"She deserves to be happy." They both agreed wholeheartedly to that. "It remains between us. I swore it."
"I trust you. Knights don't break their vows so lightly," Paracelsus smiled lightly, then nodded. "I'll put my all into this final suppressant. I promise it will be the last Bryn ever needs to take."
It was a promise to Arthur, Brynhildr, and himself. Paracelsus doubted the lancer enjoyed the potions; Her master forced one on her in their last war, which set her fanatically against Arthur. Never another, for her sake more than theirs. For that pure wish for their friend, he'd gladly sneak it past her into her usual dosages. Hopefully, if all the gathered research over saint graphs was right, they wouldn't need to turn to Medea for an almighty talisman.
"If only we could have asked her directly," Arthur lamented one last time. Consent was the only marring attribute.
"She said these dosages were more than enough. You know she wouldn't want to trouble us further."
"She bottles her problems too much," Arthur chuckled dryly. "We could have helped quicker if she only asked."
No doubt, the same went for many in Chaldea. That's merely how it was. They lived in a wonderful place with plenty of opportunity. As proven many times, it was a house of cards. So some hid for the sake of keeping the status quo mundane; Those powder kegs could blow at any time. It was a volatile mixture.
…But, it said a lot that some did. It showed how much this place and those in it meant to them.
Chaldea meant a lot for him too… That's why, no matter how much guilt and concern it poured, he'd still do questionable acts to smooth this elixir's taste.