Chapter 4

Gray took extra care where her fingers were positioned, repeating the proper etiquette in her head for the umpteenth time. Her palms went along the handles, extending out to their respective thumb and forefinger. With the fork, she was to keep the forefinger straight and check that the pointed end faced downward. For the knife it was the same, only flipped at an angle. From there, she poised them over the meal on her plate: a fancy miniature steak with some type of white dressing and leaf on top.

She peered over at Médée, who hadn't even picked up her utensils yet. Stabbing her knife into the steak, Gray couldn't see past that frigid expression of hers, and also couldn't just lift the steak to her mouth. No, she had to hold down the piece she wanted and cut in a sawing motion with as little motion as possible then… she would slowly part the piece from the rest of the steak. And, with care, bring it to her mouth. Only a few chews, then swallow. Chew, swallow. One, two, three. One, two. One... two…

"... and what of the Lord El-Melloi's young apprentice? Hm?"

Looking up mid-chew, Gray went around the table until they settled on the handsome, auburn-haired man whose appearance reminded her of a lizard with a glint in its eye; Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, the younger brother of the Kayneth Archibald, former holder of the title "Lord El-Melloi" that her master was now the new one of.

"How badly did he outshow Kayneth to leave him like that?"

Gray's face went whiter than her hair. She hadn't been following the conversation, and cast a frightful glance in Reines's direction.

She caught it. "I believe we're done here," Reines said. Taking her own fork and knife, she then mercilessly cut into her own steak, stopping only when she started scratching the plate underneath. She shoved it into her mouth, chewed vigorously, swallowed hard. Slapping her hands on the table, she pushed out her chair. "Thank you for paying for our portions, Bram. Come along, Gray. Médée."

Exaggerating her actions and calling over the proprietor, telling him they would find dinner elsewhere, Reines gathered her coat and waited for them to both get up. Then, she stormed out of the establishment with a chip on her shoulder, ignoring the horrified looks of Bram and his associates.

"And you too, Flatt," she said almost as an afterthought, not stopping for the boy ogling the restaurant from the window outside.

Reines drew her coat around her shoulders and sighed loudly, lifting her arms as she looked up to a street lamp. Passerby's on the sidewalk gave her funny looks, but she just ignored them, too. She began to walk in a random direction, hands in her coat pockets, head down to keep from catching the wind in her face in silence. After a few minutes, she stopped in front of a window with equally as extravagant dresses as the one she wore underneath her coat. Shaking her head, she continued on, turning around a bend and waiting at the crosswalk that followed. Multitudes of fancy cars whizzed by, and she stuck her tongue out at them until the way was clear. Once across, they continued on for a time before swinging around another corner. Before long, they were in the less wealthy parts of the city.

"I know this little diner where they serve large portions. It's close to the Clock Tower, so we can make it back before curfew," she joked.

Glancing as Reines led them onward again, Médée and Flatt gave them the slip some ways back. If she noticed, Reines didn't let it show.

And, following her inside the little diner she spoke of, Gray could feel how welcoming the place was from the atmosphere alone. Yellow sunshine seeped from the walls, happier times floating in the air. With every clank of a bottle and holler of laughter, this little diner in the blandest section of the area was livelier than most of the magi she'd met in her brief admittance into the Clock Tower.

Grabbing a booth for two, Reines sat down across from her, same as before, giving her a playful wink as a waiter asked for their drinks. "I'll have a fizzy." She flipped a hand in her direction. "And she would like the same."

Scribbling on his little notepad, the waiter told them he'd be right back. After a few minutes, he had their drinks and was all ready to take their orders.

Reines didn't bother to open her menu. "I'll have a beef burger." She tapped hers. "Have whatever you like."

Gray shuffled through it. "The, uh… bacon butty."

As the waiter again went to get their orders, she caught Reines's eye. Her master's younger sister-in-law was now quietly watching her, as if waiting for her to say something and start a conversation. Then she quickly took charge and launched into what Gray assumed was the topic she'd been too preoccupied to follow earlier. Reines complained about her dislike of Bram and his family and how she couldn't deal with any of them after the state the first Lord El-Melloi returned in.

"... Especially his fiancée, good riddance. Though I always knew he wouldn't win," she said when their food arrived, squeezing a large amount of ketchup on her burger. Lifting it two handed, she took one, giant bite. Sandwiched between her small, pale white fingers, it was wider than her entire head.

Gray could only see her flower-tasseled blue cap. "He wouldn't have?"

The cap bopped up and down. "Right. He was too smug, too reliant on his supposed genius, but, at least he escaped with his life…"

Recalling the story of how her master gained the title of Lord El-Melloi II, numerous times she'd noticed him pulling out a dusty, old cloth from his desk when he thought she wasn't looking and stroke it. If the story were entirely true—and she had no reason to doubt otherwise—it'd been the catalyst he used to win. Thinking of how the experience must've affected him, Gray frowned.

"Aren't you going to eat your burger?" Reines wiped her mouth with a napkin. Her icy light blue eyes narrowed. "... Are you upset about Médée?" She didn't nod, but, Reines continued anyway. "That girl… is very… unique… Other than being apprentice to the Barthomeloi Lorelei, her whole reason for entering one of these… frivolous rituals, wasn't to win. Well, not really."

Gray perked up. Médée'd won hers too, and not only one, but, beaten everyone else so sorely they ended up abandoned being magi and passing their Magic Crests down to their successors. The rumor was that she even canceled her contract with her Servant to fight by herself. If her intention wasn't to win…

"Then what was it?"

"To defeat a Servant. Singlehanded." Reines waved a fry at her. "No magus can defeat a Servant. Even someone like Médée. Even her master. Not to say it's impossible, though..." She sniffed. Her nose wrinkled like she were about to sneeze. "Ugh. Too much pepper."

"And that's why…?"

"Nobody ever told you? Or no… perhaps it's not best for me to discuss it right now. You have a plane to catch. Come on!" Putting another fry into her mouth, Reines got up. "Don't fret. Something like that isn't going to stop her."

Gray tilt her head. Something like… what?

—§•δ•§—

Overlooking the marketplace of the city she'd saved, spear resting against her shoulder, bored out of her mind, Lancer yawned.

She was waiting for Saber to appear again, having decided to use her brain instead of her brawn this time around and ask her fellow Servant about forming a truce to go against Caster first before beating on each other. If the previous day was any indication, Saber knew just how crazy Caster was from the get-go, which meant they'd had a past together. Which meant she could know some way to take her down, and, eying the crowd, the various vendors selling their merchandise and wares, and whenever someone entered or exited that butchershop in the corner—she was hoping someone would come out with a prime piece, preferably rabbit even though her Master requested lamb, the greedy fucking bastard—she'd first spotted Saber by pure luck, feeding some goats. Thankfully she'd keen eyesight, otherwise she might've mistaken her for just another shepard walking around the city, except, try as she might to conceal herself, blend in, those hips couldn't lie.

While Saber's frame was thin as a willow, her thighs were woven as intricately as a wickerman. Only a seasoned warrior could have leg muscles as taut as that, and, resting her head on her elbow, a part of her shamelessly wished it was Saber's firm, tight ass.

Honestly, she blamed her teacher for that way of thinking, but, tight ass or not, Lancer had already been watching over the marketplace for an hour or two, maybe three, and if she didn't spot Saber again within another hour or so, or nobody who left the butchershop caught her attention with what they carried out, then she'd look around for some decent, juicy scraps and leftovers for her Master before moving on to find Archer or possibly even Rider or Berserker... Assassin… Whichever other Servants were out there if there were those willing to help defeat Caster before she became a real problem. After all, greedy fucking bastard or not, the bone she left him wouldn't occupy him the whole day. Also her conscience wouldn't allow it if he starved and, if he were here, Dóelchú certainly wouldn't have allowed it even for the sake of the World not ending because her Master deserved only the best.

… If only he were here with her now, he'd been able to sniff her out in no time. Oh Dóelchú. Go ndéana Dia grásta ar a anam dílis. Mo chara, O so faithful friend. She wiped the tear from her eye, buried the shame, the guilt and regrets, the many deaths, her daughter and beloved Ulster too, and kept her head high, lest she fail and fall again.

—§•δ•§—

"We'll be touching down in about five hours," the pilot called from the overhead speakers from the control room. "But if this storm up ahead gets any worse, we'll have to turn around, land, then wait it out. Don't worry, it's sure to pass."

Gazing out one of the plane's numerous small, circular windows, Médée observed the storm in question as it rolled over some mountains in the distance, wild, untouched, and thick with fog. An outpouring of light was visible within, a city once ignored now the center of collective interests within the magi world. Whether it was a sure to pass or not, one thing was already already certain: it wasn't natural.

It wasn't of this era. Something older, darker. Whoever had woven it was no ordinary modern magus, or even a modern magus at all. A Servant. An enchantress from the Age of Gods, maybe even older, and turning her attention away from the window, remembering Caster, their incompatibility, their falling out, the betrayal and death and dashed dreams, she and her own disappointed thoughts, Médée closed her eyes, chin tilted toward the ceiling.

… Gray had been staring at her since they boarded.

She let out a silent exasperation of irritation. "Something you want to say?" She re-opened her eyes, turning her head slightly.

Gray averted her own eyes, ghost-white hair covering them, the girl began to shake her head, then looked up. Their eyes—Médée's narrowed lightning blue, to Gray's wide silver-sea—met. A clash of extraordinary elements, the two polar hierarchies, Grand against Frame.

She wanted to ask something personal, something important, significant, to either she or her—it was written all over her delicate, doll-like face—but, seemed to reconsidered with a biting of the lip.

"I have one." Svin, another student of Lord El-Melloi II's and whom Flatt managed to smuggle onto the plane somehow—the pilot must've turned a blind-eye to, in service to her mentor for many years and firm believer in guiding fate—called over from the back row, on the other side of his energetic friend.

"Are there anymore peanuts?" Flatt burst out.

Médée turned back around and sulked deeper into her seat cushions. Morons. Seven hours had passed since they left the airport, Clock Tower, the limitations and watchful eyes of her mentor, but, she knew in some way this, too, was a punishment.

"... All out? Aw."

"Because you ate them all."

"Say, kid, looks like you got your hands full," the caged mask referred to as Add, quipped. Gray had it strapped into the seat next to her. Her animated, obnoxious, talking scythe sealed mystery, double functioning as her weapon on assignments, and just one more moron added to the list. If Mystic Codes could even be classified such. "But, hey, this girl here is—"

"Leave the wisecracks to yourself," she interrupted.

"Woah. What crawled up your butt and died?"

She gave it a dark look. A rancor dislike that screamed "I'm going to enjoy tossing you out the emergency exit".

Add's trap shut tight and its cage shrunk behind Gray's thigh out of sight. Gray cracked a nervous smile, both thankful and frightened.

With that, Médée focused her attention back to the window and the storm as she should've kept doing to begin with and thinking of what to do once they reached the site of this latest War, first she'd confer with Lord El-Melloi II about the spot it was most likely to be. Its presence and perhaps even the magus—or whatever entity was behind this magic-infused storm—himself. Then, a plan to dismantle it that hopefully wouldn't involve either Svin or Flatt in any important capacity. Something they agreed on, and, for that, she was silently grateful. She'd been wrong. One more person was enough to stop her because, between Flatt scarfing down peanuts by the bagful while Svin kept asking pestering her for details that he hadn't already figured out himself, it was guaranteed the two of them were bound to at some point. And by that, she meant there would be two dead Modern Magecraft students she'd have to explain about. As for Gray… Gray was… well, gray.

"... Your Holy Grail War." Gray finally spoke what was on the tip of her tongue, at the front of her mind, had been swirling back and forth in Médée's own, since. Assassin's knives, Saber's golden blade coming down, that hellish black hole, terror in the heavens, devouring the sky. "What happened?"

—§•δ•§—

"130元."

"Uh…" Lancer fished in her pockets and threw all the money she had on the counter. There was more lint than coin. "... Shit."

The butcher looked disgusted. "No money? No buy."

She held up her hands. "W-wait a sec! I, uh… um…" She reached behind her and swiped whatever the person in line behind her had on them—without them noticing, naturally. "Here!"

He counted it, then shook his head. "100 short." He handed it back and was already motioning the next person forward before Lancer even had a chance to move.

Ignored. "Tch." She put the money back in their hands, stepping out the butchershop and leaving them wondering why she'd just given them free money.

Slumping outside against a wall, if she'd known the prices were this much, she might've used the past several hours lifting more instead, but, tough luck now. Drawing in the dirt with her finger like a child would, he'd just have to settle for scraps. She chuckled softly to herself, a disappointment yet again, until a large piece of lamb meat was thrown on her lap.

It was so heavy she let out an oof and looked up in amazement, wondering who'd be so kind as to, and in the time it took her realize the sharp object coming dangerously close to impaling her in the throat, its wielder was already changing its direction to skewer her eye. It stopped right before and Lancer, pupil wide then thin, looked past it at an unamused, stoic-faced Saber.

"Why are you following me, Lancer?"

The question was presented softly, in peaceful, flat, and even tone, and though Lancer knew it'd be within her best interest if she didn't lose an eye, personally, still, true to her nature, she leaned back to get a better look at the hero of the sword and snickered.

"Hello to you, too," she said with a grin and without a hint of fear. "Thanks for the lamb." Just like before, she couldn't sense Saber's presence as a Servant at all. She scooted over to make room and offered her fellow Servant a seat. "Why don't we sit and talk awhile?"