Bit of a wait, but hey I've got the full story mapped out! I'm really looking forward to seeing what you think of where I take it, but for now here's the conclusion for Day 1!
04
Day One: Night
Bramwell
"Hm..."
Archer crossed his legs as he lit his cigar. "It's a lot to unpack, eh?"
"I wouldn't say that," Bram sighed. He looked down at the notepad with a frown. They'd been doing so much staking out today that it was hard to figure out just how much information was useful in the long run. While Bram and Archer hadn't exactly been active, everyone else seemed to be avoiding each other entirely.
Well, Bram decided upon looking at the Lancer notes, maybe not everyone.
"Dunno about you," Archer said, "but I'm happy to sit this one out until the last minute."
He flipped a page, scanning over the minimal notes he had for Assassin. That one was the biggest enigma of them all. "I represent the Church. Sitting out isn't an option."
Archer clicked his tongue and took a deep drag. "Stiff," he grumbled.
"I'm not stiff." Smoke billowed in his face, forcing him to swat at the air in an attempt to get it away. Really, Archer could've done this anywhere else. Why'd he have to pick the spot Bram was downwind of? "Didn't you have important things you had to uphold way back when?"
A snort. "Morals."
Bram rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his notes. It was only one day into the War, so maybe he could afford to relax a little. Just a little, though.
"So was there anything new we learned?" he tried. "I know you got a bit of info from Lancer and Saber's fight, but was there anyone else?"
Archer shrugged. He flicked the end of the cigar and let the ashes be pulled away by the wind, descending upon the busy roads below. Bram did his best to be patient with the man—he may have had a bad attitude towards getting official business done and preferred avoiding fights, but he definitely didn't shirk his work once he was persuaded to participate. The amount of details he'd noticed from Lancer and Saber's fight was more than Bram expected, right down to the exact kinds of runes used in the battle and the effects Lancer's Noble Phantasm had on Saber during the brief scuffle.
The Servant took another drag and said, "Didn't see much more of Berserker. Caster's staying incognito too. Considering what happened with that Master from the Katayama family, I think we can rule out Assassin. I mean, you did quite the number on the poor guy."
Bram shuddered and tore out the page he'd saved for Assassin. He hadn't wanted to fight, far from it, but the way negotiations with Shiro Katayama had gone south... Bram had had no choice but to eliminate the man. The Church had labelled him dangerous, and Bram, ever loyal agent, carried out his orders as best he could.
Archer was right about doing a number on Shiro, but Bram still hadn't been able to finish him off. He'd just watched as Assassin fled with Shiro in his arms, right at death's doorstep and barely able to fight back any longer. Father Iwata had told him about the funeral, thanked him for making the hard choice; it still didn't get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.
Still, what was done was done. There was no use lamenting over his actions when he had five more Masters to account for.
"Alright," he sighed. "So that leaves us with..."
"Rider."
Bram hummed. "Yeah, Rider—"
"No," Archer said, louder. He was standing as fast as he could, bow at the ready under his cloak. "Rider."
Bram glanced up, out into the night sky Archer held a steady gaze at. At first he didn't see anything, and it may have been Archer's keen eyes getting ahead of Bram's regular, but soon enough he could make out the outline of an approaching object. Bram began to rise as well, joining Archer's side as he pulled a Black Key from his coat.
"Hope they're just here for a chat," he muttered. Archer hummed in agreement.
More details could be made out as the seconds ticked by. Bram could see the two bulls pulling the chariot, the red decor covering its roof. A small chariot, he thought, but definitely bigger than most Riders' steeds.
Bram and Archer backed away as the chariot began to descend upon them, landing with a delicate thud against the rooftop. The bulls stared at them, huffed, and their master let out a loud squeal in greeting.
"What do you think of my lovely chariot, Master?" Rider boasted. "Smooth ride? Ripe for a good time?"
"Definitely more comfortable than a car," a kind voice replied. There was a grunt from behind the bulls, before Rider's Master added, "Ah, they won't kick me, will they?"
I have no idea how to approach this, Archer told Bram. The confusion he conveyed was about equal to the amount Bram felt at the moment. They waited and waited, watching as Rider—clad in pinks and whites—presented their destination to her Master—a young man with a sash over his eyes and a cane in his hands.
It was... Odd.
And then the young man turned his attention on Bram, almost as though he could see him perfectly fine through the sash. "My apologies for barging in like this," he said. "Rider and I were only planning on observing the area before she spotted you."
Beside him, Archer mumbled a soft, "Aye..."
"No need to be all rough and wave your little toys about," Rider teased. She dismissed her chariot, and soon the space between the duos grew once more. She waved the riding crop in her hand about and giggled. "Master and I only came to talk."
That made Bram and Archer look dubiously at each other.
"Indeed," Rider's Master agreed. "I realise how early into the War we are, but it can't hurt to scope out the other Masters and see if an ally can be found. My name is Takuya Okami, by the way," he added.
Bram had to think for a moment on why the name felt so familiar. It wasn't like he actually knew a Takuya Okami, but the surname alone was enough to make him look for a connection. He'd heard the name somewhere—but where?
As he pondered, he cleared his throat and said, "Bramwell Gascoigne. Feel free to just call me Bram."
"Bram, then," Takuya said with a smile. "Pleasure to meet you. And your Servant...?"
"Archer," the redhead sneered. Like Bram had still had yet to put away his weapon. Neither was taking any chances.
Takuya let out a soft chuckle. He inclined his head towards Rider and said, "You must've seen us from quite the distance. My apologies again for startling you."
And then it hit him all at once. Okami—as in Ritsuka Okami, the man who'd slain a Dead Apostle Ancestor twenty-five years ago. The man whose son, a victim of an act of revenge, went through hell and back for not only the sake of his sight, but his life. Considering the sash over Takuya's eyes now, though, Bram assumed only so much could be done for him.
Which meant this was also the same Association agent Father Iwata informed him of. As overseer Iwata was obligated to remain impartial to any and all conflicts between the Masters, only offering sanctuary and rewarding spare command spells to Masters if they're deemed worthy of it. But Bram was given a vague list of notable participants this year—and a mage with the rank of Pride whose lineage held great accomplishments definitely fit the bill for what he was looking at right now, what he was recalling about the Okami family overall.
Bram glanced at Archer and shook his head slightly. Archer gawked at him, but still dismissed his bow and returned to a neutral stance.
"I'm honoured to meet you, Takuya, but I must ask if you truly came here to learn about us. The last Master I encountered and sought to ally with proved to be disingenuous."
Takuya's brows rose. "Is that so?" he said slowly. "I can understand your apprehension, then. As a sign of trust, what if I told you Rider's true name?"
Three sets of eyes grew to the size of saucers. Even Rider was stunned, immediately turning to Takuya and spluttering out demands. She wasn't as on board with the plan, which only served to prove to Bram just how honest Takuya was being. They hadn't planned a fake name beforehand, and they hadn't even talked about sharing any names at all. It was spur of the moment—but still a calculated decision.
Bram sighed and put away his Black Key. This was a far cry from what he'd experienced with Shiro, at least.
"No need," he said. Takuya visibly relaxed. He must not have wanted to share the name either. "So, what'd you want to talk about?"
"I wanted to find out what your goal with regards to the Grail is," Takuya explained. "I, myself, have a mission to carry out, which so happens to align with my own desires, but I find another perspective is good to hear once in a while."
A fair explanation, though it did little to elaborate on what Takuya's desires were exactly. But Bram was sure he'd find out soon enough. No one could keep their want for the Grail secret for long.
"I'm representing the Church," Bram said carefully.
Takuya lowered his head. "Oh?"
"Despite that, I'm not free of my own desires," he added. Takuya smiled—probably pleased he hadn't gotten some cookie-cutter response. "For brevity's sake, why don't we say I follow most mages' desire to reach Akasha?"
Not the whole truth, but definitely not a total lie. Besides, who knew how Takuya would react to Bram's more personal desires?
The answer seemed to do the trick, at least; Takuya nodded in understanding, smile still on his face as he inclined his head once more to Rider.
"What do you think, Rider?" he asked. Rider flicked her hair over her shoulder and shrugged.
"Boring compared to what I want," she huffed. "But I have to give them credit for being cautious about it."
Takuya hummed in agreement. He turned his attention back to Bram and Archer. "Would you be open to an alliance, Bram? I can't guarantee it'll last the whole War, but I'll be happy to dissolve it on a friendly note if we get to that point."
He extended a hand towards Bram, inviting him to close the space between them and shake it. Bram could only stare as he weighed his options.
An ally would be handy, especially if Rider could cover more ground than just himself and Archer. If they allied, they'd find twice the amount of information on the other Masters. Hell, maybe they'd even figure out a few identities of the Servants. Two heads were better than one, so four had to be even greater.
Keep your bow ready, Bram told Archer. The redhead stiffed again and lifted the hood of his cloak. In an instant he vanished, earning an amazed gasp from Rider.
Bram took one step, two, and then he was walking at a steady pace over to Takuya's side of the roof. The young man's hand never wavered, and he appeared to be listening intently as Bram came closer and closer. He began to lift his own hand, reaching for Takuya's, and Bram held his breath as their skin made contact. Fingers closed over the other hand, and once he was certain a sneak attack was out of the question, he released his breath.
"Alright," Bram said. He shook Takuya's hand, finding a confident strength in the boy's grip. "An otherwise temporary alliance."
Assassin
The Oshiro boy came out of surgery alive. Not many people had come to see him post-op, but Assassin figured it was understandable given how many lives were lost today. Matsuo had shared the investigation so far with him, and it was only natural that the mourning of a fallen head would take priority over the surgery of a successor who was otherwise spared certain death.
But it still felt odd how utterly abandoned Daisuke Oshiro's private room was. Very rarely would a nurse come in and check on the barely conscious boy, and even rarer so were the times his doctor would walk past the room. Assassin watched as these people, with nothing better to do outside of their regular duties and checkups, simply ignored their patient. No family visiting was one thing; medical professionals avoiding him was another. Assassin may not have been used to saving lives, but he definitely knew the body language of those afraid to be killed as witnesses.
Someone had given the hospital orders. Someone who'd orchestrated the Oshiro slaughter.
Assassin kept to the shadows as time passed by. He watched as nurses chattered away about their weekend plans. He listened as doctors sought second opinions for their patients' symptoms. Ever so slowly he would inch closer to Daisuke's room, until finally the rare occasion came that a nurse would open the door and peek inside. Assassin slithered in, immediately moving for the corner closest to the small window.
The child was sickly, but he was alive. The heart monitor beeped at a strong, steady pace, and every breath he inhaled was just enough to keep him going. Every few minutes he'd stir from his drug-induced sleep, but it wouldn't take him long to go back to his rest.
Any updates?
Assassin settled into the corner as Matsuo's voice broke his train of thought. He's out of surgery, Lord Matsuo. Alive and well.
That's good... He would hear the relief in Matsuo's tone. I got an address for the sister-in-law. She did come back just this month, though she's staying at hotel on a tourist visa.
Do you wish for me to find her now, Lord Matsuo?
A few seconds of silence passed, before finally Matsuo replied, No. Keep an eye on the Oshiro kid. We can look into the woman once he survives the night.
A sound decision, one that Assassin was more than happy to carry out. Guarding people was much easier than keeping than alive—he only had to interact with their assailants, not the objective themselves.
Or at least that's what Assassin would've thought, until the door to the room opened again.
As opposed to the previous check ins and half-hearted glances, the nurse that walks in actually came to a stop at the foot of Daisuke's bed. Walking in with her was a tall man, blond and dressed in a fur-trimmed coat, and it took Assassin no time at all to recognise the scent of betrayal wafting from the man.
He recoiled, thankful for his Presence Concealment, and watched as the man listened to the nurse's report on Daisuke's health.
"He's quite lucky that his internal injuries were less severe than the rest," the nurse told the blond. The man simply looked on with a bored expression. "We've performed a few skin grafts and did our best with the third-degree burns on his arms, though the full result of his recovery is yet to be seen. Considering how well he's going now, so soon after leaving surgery and breathing on his own, we've got high hopes."
It seemed even the blond knew that little detail was a lie. He sent a sidelong glare down at the woman, causing her to shirk away with a squeak.
"W—Would you like some time with him, sir?" she tried again. The blond turned his attention back to Daisuke.
"Yes. Leave us."
The nurse scuttled away, closing the door behind her. Assassin could feel the tension in the air as the seconds ticked by. Was this man the one who attacked the Oshiros? Was Matsuo's theory that Daisuke escaped true? Did this mean the man was a Master?
Red eyes took in the sight of the boy. He let out a small huff and turned for his charts, hung at the foot of his bed.
"I got sloppy," he grumbled. He took in the charts' details and let out another huff. "No matter. At least you serve a purpose for her."
He put the charts back and casually walked over to Daisuke's bedside. Assassin watched as, just above Daisuke's body, a small pool of gold materialised in the air. The magical power radiating from within sent him into a panic—this wasn't a Master, this was their Servant. And if the Servant had made those comments, then what other purpose were they here for than to kill Daisuke?
The Servant reached into the pool and dug around for a time, until finally he pulled his arm out with an object held in his hand: A potion, contained within a small vial, that held a calming blue glow to it. Assassin watched, awestruck, as the Servant went about mixing the potion in with the IV drip in Daisuke's arm. Calm blue flowed through the tube, entering his bloodstream, and all Assassin could wonder was what the point of it was. If it was a poison, the doctors and coroners were sure to detect it. If it were a healing elixir, then why was the Servant saving the boy's life?
The Servant loitered for a few minutes, checking the watch on his wrist every so often. Just when Assassin was sure he'd leave, come back another time to reap the fruits of his labour, Daisuke groaned.
"Finally awake, are we?" the Servant said flatly. The teen squeezed his eyes shut, wincing, before finally he relaxed and opened them.
"Caster...?" Daisuke groaned.
Caster—Caster, Assassin repeated in his head, hoping his astonishment reached Matsuo—simply sneered at Daisuke and pointed to the drip. "My work here is done," he said. "Do your part and wait until that's faded before calling for a nurse."
"Right..."
Caster made a turn for the door, but was stopped by Daisuke reaching out for him. "Caster," the boy mumbled, "be careful. Felt a... Felt a presence back at the mansion..."
At last the painkillers in his system knocked him unconscious, but it didn't make the weight of his news any less dangerous for Assassin. Presence Concealment was best suited for spying—but he'd been reckless back at the investigation, so sure no one would sense him while he reported his findings to Matsuo. He looked over at Caster, certain that the Servant would be well on his way out in search of him now—
Red eyes stared right at him. Assassin stayed rooted to the spot, forcing everything in him to not prepare for an attack. He was completely concealed—Caster was just working on the assumption that Daisuke had been followed to the hospital. The correct assumption, at least.
The door clicked shut. Caster turned around, facing Assassin's side of the room fully. There was only approximate knowledge of where an intruder may be, and suddenly Assassin regretted his decision to linger by the window. In a flash of gold a heavy, stone tome landed in Caster's hands. He took one step forward, pools of gold rippling behind him. Assassin prepared for the worst, even if it wouldn't directly hit him.
And then Caster froze. He narrowed his eyes, shutting the tome with a click of his tongue. "Mongrel," he spat at no one.
Caster left the room without another second of delay. Assassin watched the window, waited for the image of a fur-trim jacket and blond hair exiting the property. Once he was sure Caster was far enough away, Assassin opened the window and climbed out.
Lord Matsuo, Assassin called. He shut the window behind him and fled to the rooftop. He had to return to the police station as soon as possible. The Servant that attacked him was Caster.
There was a delay before Matsuo could reply. Caster?
Yes. Moreover, it seems Caster's Master has instructed him to heal Daisuke Oshiro.
Which meant that a deal had been made, and that the Master was connected to the Oshiro family. Which, as Matsuo soon repeated between them, meant Katerina Oshiro was worth investigating.
Momoko
"Ah, this place always smells so good!"
Pan-Oba chuckled at Momo. "You always say that," she cooed.
Well, it was true. Pan-Oba always made the best pastries and bread at her bakery, and Momo was always more than ready to lend a hand with the behind the scenes action. Late at night Pan-Oba would prepare her dough, letting them ferment until opening hours—and Momo, ever eager for free food, would always knead it all for her.
Today must've been a busy day for Pan-Oba, too, if the lack of shortcakes and bread rolls were any indicator. Momo wasn't going to be going home with a whole bunch of goodies, tonight. Maybe just the bare minimum.
"It was nice of you to bring your friend along, too," Pan-Oba said. Momo kneaded the dough with intense concentration, only humming to let Pan-Oba know she heard her. "How thoughtful of him to take out the garbage so you can help me prepare tomorrow's bread."
"Berserker's helpful like that," Momo grunted. She threw the dough against the bench. It had to be almost ready to ferment, right?
"Yes, yes. Such a funny name, though."
Momo froze. "Oh," she said slowly. "That's just a nickname. He likes dressing up in hardcore stuff."
"Well he's a lovely young man. So quiet, too."
She laughed softly. Sure, Berserker was a quiet guy. And he was kind enough when he had his moments. But Momo wouldn't go so far as to call him lovely. Guy was a powerhouse, and powerhouses were best suited for the word "extreme". Momo had just yet to see Berserker go extreme.
Pan-Oba passed a tray to Momo and soon they began to process of letting the dough ferment. It didn't take long for all of the dough to be put away, and Momo was left to happily munch on some melon bread leftover from today. Berserker walked in not long after she began, and Pan-Oba, ever grateful for the help, served him a helping too.
Pan-Oba groaned as she sat down at the table with them. "You two are saving my back a helluva lot of pain," she laughed. Momo grinned, and Berserker did his best to mimic it. "At this point I feel like I should be hiring you. Free bread can't be enough for all this work, Momoko."
"Nah, it's fine," Momo said around the bread. "Your bread's really nice, and I like getting it in exchange for chores."
The old woman smiled even wider. She watched, patient, as Momo and Berserker finished their bread. As soon as the plates were cleaned of all crumbs and Momo let out a pleased groan, Pan-Oba's expression fell into something akin to concern.
"Momo," she said, and Momo had to hold back her fight or flight response at the tone. This was not going to be a good conversation, she knew it. "You aren't getting into trouble, are you?"
Trouble was her middle name. "Of course not," she lied.
Pan-Oba's brow furrowed. "I had a strange lady visit me today. Didn't buy anything, but she was convinced I'd seen someone she was looking for. She looked almost like you, even."
Momo clenched her hands into fists on her lap.
"I had to tell her I didn't know anything, but something tells me she won't give up easily," Pan-Oba went on. She looked Momo in the eye and added, "Be careful, won't you, dear?"
Momo nodded. "I will," she promised.
The smell of bread in the oven clung to her clothes even as she left for the night, the clock striking midnight by the time Pan-Oba got around to turning off the shop lights. Momo stood by Berserker, just at the nearby crossing, as she pondered the news. There were plenty of people in Fuyuki, let alone Japan, and it was entirely possible that this woman happened to resemble Momo. That the crisis the woman was having was unrelated to Momo.
But she knew better. As much as she hated it, she knew better. She'd recognised her mother's voice when Berserker had been summoned, and it was hard to imagine anyone else giving her the time of day, much less the address of the church. Was it really so much of a surprise that she'd been dragged into this by her mother, who now wanted to check on her progress?
Berserker held the plastic bag of bread up to Momo's face. She blinked, hardly even realising the crossing was safe to pass through, and looked up at him.
"Mo..." he grunted.
"Yeah, yeah. You want some more?" She reached into the bag and pulled out two slices of pumpkin bread. Berserker pinched one of the slices between two fingers and stuffed it whole into his mouth. "Try not to choke on it."
They crossed the street and made steady progress back in the direction of her apartment. All the while Momo would slip back into her thoughts, to Pan-Oba's warning, and ponder what it meant for her. Would she be found eventually? Would she be able to avoid a confrontation? Those were the big questions, and as much as she hated to admit it they were also the questions that made her the most apprehensive. It'd been so long since she'd seen her mother—since the horrific abandonment she'd faced—that Momo was truly lost for what she would do if the event happened.
She stopped walking once they were a block away from the apartment. Berserker stopped almost as soon as she did, and he waited dutifully by her side as the night carried on. If there was one thing she could do in preparation for being found, it was keep herself safe—emotionally and physically.
"Berserker," she said. He barely moved. "By order of command spell, I want you to stop Aura Sasaki from coming within two feet of me."
Her shoulder gave off a feeling of warmth, spreading until finally she felt one of her command spells fade away to nothing. Berserker stood up straighter, almost like a machine processing an order, before finally he looked down at her and nodded. Momo met his gaze, grinned, and began walking again.
"Alright! Enough of that dreary junk! Let's go play a few rounds before we hit the hay!"
If only for a little while, she could distract herself from the looming threat of discovery.
