By the Bonfire: Author of our own woes.
This summoning was already off to a rather bewildering start.
Namely the fact he had just passed a God wandering the halls, not even a Demi-God or one with ancestry to them, a full blown divine spirit just walked past him and then wished them all a good morning before going back on their way as though nothing was out of the ordinary about it.
More to the point, his Master hadn't even so much as blinked.
Merely nodded back to them and returned the greeting like they were good friends.
It was fascinating to watch, almost as much as it was rather jarring.
Really, he had only agreed to a tour because it was better to get it all out of the way now in the unlikely event that he would ever truly need these locations. Not that he probably would, he wasn't going to be heading near the combat simulator any time soon, not after poking his head through there and watching the standard sort of violent brutality play out between the two knights.
Sir Gareth of the Round table, his Master had called them, which was something of a slight shock.
For one thing, he never would have expected them to be as short as they were, but then again, they had been young during the time of their death. He would have also mentioned they were a woman and - traditionally - they weren't as tall as men were during the same period.
Were it not for Sir Verndari sparring with them.
Who was most definitely a woman pretending to be a man.
And succeeding by the looks of things, given that his Master was thoroughly convinced that they were a man in the first place.
He could already guess what the motivation behind it all was, likely the same tired cliche trope that a girl could not serve so she disguised herself as a man and rose through the ranks to become an anointed knight, smashing the glass ceiling of gender norms and all of that.
Was it inspiring? Maybe.
But really, he was slightly more curious why anyone would be charging headlong into a lifestyle where you would probably die horribly in some muddy field in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by total strangers and with a sword through your gut.
Truly, people were idiots at times.
But, well, he could at least be certain of the character of the Servant.
Sir Verndari, a liar through and through, but they strove to be something between all of that. They qualified as a Servant most assuredly, rather they swung their sword as though it was an extension of their own being. Or rather, there was a desperate strive to win in their blade, not for the sake of their Master, but the sake of their own consciousness.
What manner of sin had they committed in life that brought about such feelings?
Did it relate to their gender? Unlikely, their service as a knight should have quashed all those sinful thoughts. Unless they were truly the idiotic sort who cared about that sort of thing. At the end of the day, it mattered less who was swinging a sword and rather, what they were swinging it for.
Hmph.
Idiots, that was truly what he had to say.
Loud idiots as well, he could tell right off the bat that this place was never going to provide anything close to a suitable working environment. Was he going to have a shortage of content to draw from? Hardly, this place was akin to a goldmine for authors, regardless of the genre they focused upon.
But it already struck him as being chaotic.
Then again, perhaps that might prove to be just as great a boon.
Too relaxed an environment and he knew for a fact he would never get any work done within it.
Something his Master said abruptly pricked his ears. "A library, you say?"
The teenager nodded their head, glancing towards him with a smile. "Yeah, I haven't actually had a full look at all the books they have in there but I think it might be a mixture of…well…published papers from the Mages Association-"
Geh, how boring.
"-and some history books as well."
Hardly a surprise, any place that allowed for the summoning of Servants should have included history books as compulsory reading. It would be utterly foolish to not know everything there was to know about the Servant you were either planning on summoning or had already summoned.
"I think we have a collection of Sherlock Holmes books as well." The boy continued onwards, glancing in the direction of the young girl in glasses. Naturally his intuition proved correct right from the very beginning, the girl all but screamed an enjoyment of the mystery genre.
And the way she had been sneaking glances at him the moment his true name was revealed wasn't all that lost on him either. Clearly she was something of a fan of his work which was…
…He appreciated it, he supposed.
Though hopefully she wasn't a fan of his work through those movies.
He had been cursed with the knowledge of their existence the moment he was summoned and he almost threw up. Whether it would have been a metaphorical vomit of curse words or actual vomit didn't matter. He was beyond horrified to learn of what they had done to all of his books and had turned them into.
Common slop for the public.
"We have a complete collection of the novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Senpai." The girl all but jumped at the chance, the eagerness in her voice reminded him more of a small puppy getting the chance to bark for the first time.
She followed the boy around as such as well, he'd call them an adoptive father if it weren't for the fact they were close to the same age.
Or perhaps there was some truth to that as well.
"Though I'm not sure how interested Mister Andersen would be in those."
Fast as light, the confidence in her words faded and was replaced with unease.
Yes, much like a kicked puppy now.
Frightening.
"So long as you are not burning books, their content means little to me." He declared, holding back a scoff and shaking his head from side to side. "That being said, I could think of much worse literature to stack your shelves with than detective stories…Though browsing only through the Sherlock Holmes novels? I hope you have not limited yourself to such a simple taste. Akin to dipping your toes in a lake."
An interesting reaction.
The boy looked rather taken aback by his comment, a touch of indignation flashed through their eyes at his words, but if they had intended to make a comment, they were cut short by the rapid shake of the head from their…attendant?
He would hesitate to call that friendship.
But he didn't care for friends, so what did he know about friendship in the first place?
"I've read all of the Agatha Christie Poirot books as well, Mister Andersen! As well as the Father Brown books by Gilbert Keith Chesterton!"
That was much better.
Rolling his lips inwards, he nodded his head up and down. "I see, so long as you are not calling yourself a fan of the genre after only consuming a single series of books by one author."
That was all he could say, the girl appeared to seriously consider herself a fan of the genre and he suspected that there were more books she had read, which meant that he could assume that there were more detective books in the library. Though there was one thing that he would still need to ask.
"...Master, do you have any of my own books?"
It wasn't as though he was prideful or anything of the sort, he was just curious about it.
Naturally, the expected result happened, the girl was rapidly nodding her head up and down with her expression brightening even further, the boy wasn't even allowed a single word to escape his lips before the girl steamrolled through the conversation.
No, perhaps that wasn't the right way of phrasing it.
Flood of enthusiasm was a better term.
"Oh, yes, Mister Andersen!" The girl all but blurted out. "Chaldea has a collection of all of your stories and I-well, I have read all of them. More than once actually! So it actually a big honour to meet you as well! I…" the girl looked abashed for a moment.
He knew what she meant to say that.
"You did not think that someone like me would actually become a Servant in the first place?" He raised a brow, the girl flinched a little. Clearly having the nail hit on the head gave her the false impression that she might have somehow insulted him.
She couldn't be further from the truth.
A faint smile - self deprecating - spread across his face. "No, you need not look so ashamed of thinking such a thing. Indeed, I am an utterly worthless Servant. Completely third rate and all I might prove useful for is writing books. Much as I would argue the value of stories, I suspect that you would find yourself greater value in another knight or ancient hero of legend."
"Ho?~"
He stopped walking, the smile dimmed from his face instantly at the rich voice filling the halls.
They emerged in a shower of gold light, crimson red eyes locked onto his own, a smirk on the verge of a mocking sneer painted upon their divine looks. He meant that in the most literal term possible.
"It is not so often that a Mongrel understands their own value." The Servant tilted his head, raising a brow. "Yet you answer a summon anyway, while so utterly convinced of your own faults? Do you perhaps use these summonings as a method of suicide, wordsmith?"
He resisted the urge to laugh.
For all of two seconds.
"Ha! As though that would change much in your eyes." He glanced to his Master, raising a brow at them. "I take back what I said, perhaps I am not the most useless Servant here, Master."
Dead silence.
The blood fled from the face of the young man instantly.
The girl looked no better.
As for the obviously Kingly Servant? They just gazed at him with that same carefree smile on their face, acting as though nothing he said held any weight to them. Indeed, he would be a fool to expect otherwise. The words of a mere author would mean nothing to a ruler with any passing amount of self respect.
"Mister Andersen-" The girl whispered to him rather hastily, a look of panic on her face as she rapidly turned her head to the blonde man. "King Gilgamesh, this is-"
"Silence, girl." Gilgamesh commanded without even sparing them a glance, his eyes never once breaking from Andersen's face. "The wordsmith has put his life on the line with his remarks, we shall see what else he has to say with such things…no, I am more amused to see what else they might offer up after such blatant disrespect. Naturally if they do not atone, I shall take their head as suitable compensation."
King Gilgamesh?
As he suspected.
"Hmph. I see no reason to change my words." He stated, folding his arms and meeting the gaze of the man without even blinking. "A Heroic Spirit? Indeed, that should go without saying that King Gilgamesh is indeed the greatest among them, at least in terms of fame. Though a status as a Servant? You must be joking. One who views all the world as their garden."
A shake of the head.
"No matter how you describe it, King Gilgamesh was never anything more than a ruffian who lived how he pleased in his own country, caring nothing for the whims of the people beneath him. Rather, he lived how he believed a King should live and would never change that."
He spared a glance to his Master. "Don't be so fooled by their status, Master. The King of Heroes is merely that. Reigning without governance and beyond that, he is a storm with a will and nothing more. Can his power be denied? Hardly, but the storm strikes and destroys where it will, leaving and caring nothing for the complaints of others."
His eyes returned back to the golden King. "What stands before me is no King of men. Rather, the epitome of greed, cruelty and conceit. I have little doubt they answered this summoning to just laugh at your efforts without lifting a single finger for the people they are supposed to reign over."
His words done, he adjusted his posture and raised a brow. "I have made my words clear on the matter. If you are to kill me, then get it over with quickly."
Gilgamesh's gaze remained on him.
Then his lip twitched upwards, shoulders trembled as the emergings of a small chuckle began from the Servant. Lasting for only a few moments before it faded away, raising his head up, Gilgamesh looked down at him for a moment before speaking.
"An amusing Mongrel you have contracted, indeed…Yes, a mere wordsmith, but one who would house the spirit of an adventure who challenges despair. Your bravery is to be complimented, even if it is only matched by your insolence in making such comments…"
Red eyes closed, then he turned away. "But I am amused. Be grateful, you have avoided death this day…but do not make a habit of such a thing, Mongrel. Only in regards to that first rate eye of yours am I sparing your life."
Without another word, they moved off, their body showered with light as they faded away.
He pulled his lips down into a small frown. "Good grief, flagged for death and just as quickly spared. What a troublesome fellow. You should watch yourself around that one, Master. I doubt that he is often in such a mood as to spare those who tickle his nerves."
Indeed, he could not think of a worse Servant for someone to contract than one who did not even regard the roles with an ounce of sincerity.
"...You're not going to try and do that with everyone you meet, are you?"
He suppressed a chuckle at the voice of his Master, a mixture of disbelief and shock. Indeed, he was rather surprised he was still alive himself. At the very least he would have expected them to slice his tongue out for his words, but it was a warning he needed to get across regardless, just so they understood what they were dealing with.
"Do my words offend you, Master? They are my honest thoughts."
The boy offered a slow nod of the head. "Yeah, I can see that but…seriously? It just seemed way too risky."
"Hmph. Sometimes the truth comes with risk, that is all that-"
He paused, then frowned and cut himself short as he turned his head towards the person walking through the halls towards them. He raised a brow but said nothing at first, however it was hardly long before his Master noticed his sudden stare and turned around, the boy froze for a half second.
The figure at the end of the hall similarly stopped moving in the instant he rounded the corner.
Clad in dull white robes and with skin of old oak, Andersen recognised this individual from some vague recollection in the back of his mind. Something relating to Rome or some other such nonsense that he had been doubtless dragged into.
The two parties stared at one another in complete silence.
Then a second figure walked around from directly behind the wooden Servant, this one in dull iron looking armour carved into the shape of a lion, a spear held in their hands. The knight stopped the moment they understood what was happening, the helmet turned sharply to gaze into the back of the taller Servant, then turned to face them.
"Master." With a practised bow, the lion knightess spoke. "I was escorting Caster Sulyvahn to his next destination. Unless there is something that you have need of him for?"
Andersen shot a look towards his Master and waited.
"...No, I can't think of anything at the moment." The boy replied slowly. "Unless Sulyvahn has any pressing concerns?"
Utter silence from the one known as Sulyvahn.
Not even so much as a creak of bark.
He just stood there and stared without moving so much as a single muscle.
Andersen could tell there was tension between the two of them, likely over something that had happened before he was summoned. Though he was rather intrigued by this development, whatever the cause of disquiet between the Servant and his Master, Andersen could tell that the offer from the boy had been genuine, if a little hesitant.
Still, this was prime writing material.
Conflict in such a tense situation between a Master and a Servant? If he was another author, he would have jumped at the chance to study every single inch of what was happening and chase down all the witnesses to get all the leads.
Andersen, however, was not like other authors.
He was content with watching this play out, rather curious as to how the Master would handle it.
The boy's features shifted and turned colder. "Alright then, if there is nothing, then I won't keep you. You can go about your day as you were then."
The knightess responded first. "In that case, we shall depart first."
The punctuation in the word left little to the imagination that it was an order, one that the Caster very clearly did not take kindly to if the growl he let out was any indication, aiming a sharp look over his shoulder before he marched forwards, moving past their group without so much as turning his head to look at them.
His Master did much the same, letting them pass him by without shifting his focus from straight ahead.
But the reaction of the girl? Now that was rather different.
Namely that she was sending a concerned look towards the boy, a sense that she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. Instead she just stepped a little closer towards the boy but otherwise remained silent, keeping him company with her physical presence.
…Sometimes words weren't needed.
Now this was the sort of writing material he would be willing to document.
"Troubles, Master?"
The pair jolted and turned down to look at him, almost as though they had forgotten he was even there in the first place. He was neither surprised nor insulted, after that little performance, he would have been rather impressed if his Master hadn't actually forgotten that he was there.
With a tight expression, the boy grimaced for a moment and then closed his eyes. "...A difference of opinion to what is necessary or not. It's nothing that is worth worrying about at the moment though, but I'm sorry that you had to see that-"
"I'm not." Andersen remarked, cutting the boy short. "Rather, I'm pleased that I was able to see something like that."
"You…are?"
"Naturally, for what reason do you assume I would avert my eyes?" A raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. "Not at all. If I were to work here, I would see everything. All that there is to see, both good and bad. After all, in a gathering of as many Heroic Spirits as this, would it not be expected to have some who lack the same sensibilities as you? Rather…I would have accused you of being a liar if you were without problems."
The boy looked troubled for a moment or two, his brows pinched and his head turned away for a few moments. "...That seems…a little cynical-"
"Cynical? Perhaps." He would admit that without a trace of shame to it. "I did come here and expect there would be conflict. Rather, from the moment I realised there was more than one Servant, I was expecting conflict. Despite that, you are determined to have them all under one roof and fighting for the same cause."
He snapped his fingers, then pointed to the boy. "That tells me much about you, Master."
"...Like?"
"That you are an utterly reckless fool for one thing." Andersen gave a flat retort, earning a gasp from the girl and a blink from the boy. "But it tells me you are determined as well, after whatever his issue with you was, it was clear the Caster cares for the cause as well. I could tell within a glance…But whatever the case. Let us be on our way."
Snapping his fingers, he pointed forwards.
He wished to get on with the tour before he retired to wherever he would be staying.
He was curious as to how many conflicts might be in Chaldea.
Andersen felt his brows pinch together as he stared at the person who could only be described as utterly insane.
Everything in his body was telling him that walking near that one - that God - was the equivalent of strolling past a lion while wearing a suit made of pork loins. It was utterly foolish and would very easily end up with someone getting hurt. Yet, it was rather obvious.
There was nothing subtle about the way the red and gold eyes sized everyone up as they walked past, the smile that was far too wide to be welcoming and all else.
Nor was there any hiding the fact that the dark haired woman in the deep purple outfit was watching the God from a short distance away, her body coiled like that of a snake and prepared to spring forwards at even the slightest instance of something happening. Apparently there was reason enough for Chaldea to have more than one Servant around who was trouble for them.
How curious, but at the same time, he felt a little let down.
These were Servants - Heroic Spirits - from an entirely different world, they might as well have been aliens for all their two histories had in common. Yet the people he was running into were more or less the exact same as he would have seen. Perhaps it truly was a case of that old saying being accurate.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Silently, he moved on from his observation and continued his sweeping gaze around the room.
Some pairings were more than a little interesting, to say the least.
His observational skills were telling him everything he needed to know about them from a mere glance, some of the dynamics were similarly…expected. Yet that was nothing to say cliches were bad. They existed for a reason, after all.
Such as the girl with the wide brimmed hat and dark dress sitting before the tanned girl with white hair and a matching veil. The latter was about as emotional as a plank of wood while the former was more like a nervous ball of anxiety. Comfort was something that came to the girl slowly and she was clearly powerless before the wrecking ball that was whomever her companion was.
Yet, despite the unease, he could tell she was not wholly uncomfortable.
The smile on the face of the girl, what little of it that could be seen, spoke volumes of her enjoyment of the situation.
Andersen folded his arms, drumming his fingers along his bicep.
He twitched when he sensed someone looking at him, then turned his head.
His eyes climbed higher and higher until they reached the summit of the person who had approached, now looming over him as if they were some sort of tree. Their shadow blot out the light.
Another who wore their emotions on their sleeves.
Blonde hair with streaks of black painted through it, mismatched eyes and bronze armour.
But that was unimportant.
The taller Servant stared at him in silence for a few moments, then eventually spoke. "...You seem…young."
"Do I indeed? Is it because I am small?"
The blonde jolted back and raised his brows, clearly caught off guard by his voice, then he nodded his head slowly, brows falling back down before a troubled frown replaced the formerly curious expression. "Oh, so you are not young then? I see…Just small. My bad for assuming otherwise-"
"No, this body is young." A sigh, he shook his head from side to side and waved a hand, already feeling the irritable frown build up on his face. "For whatever reason, this is apparently deemed to be my most prime appearance. Walking about looking like a child, how charming…probably on account of my books, but whatever. It doesn't truly affect anything I can do at the end of the day."
Curiosity returned to the face of the blonde immediately. "Books? You're a writer."
"Hans Christian Andersen, Caster Servant." He dryly introduced himself, folding his arms and reading the face of the Servant.
They clearly did not recognize his name, but they did recognise his profession. It was rather odd to see someone show such delight over the thought of meeting a writer, rather than meeting a specific writer.
"So you were famous for your books, then?" The Servant ventured, tilting his head at an angle but not losing his enthusiasm in the least.
"...Yes." Was all he could say to that. "Though it would be more accurate to say I was famous for what my books ended up being turned into…something I am not entirely sure is worth it, all things considered. Especially with the way it ended up turning out at the very end."
Those bloody Disney films.
Confusion swept through the face. "You…are you ashamed of-"
"No." He cut that thought down. "I am not ashamed of my creations, I am just annoyed with what people did with them. Like spending all your time baking a cake and then watching someone hurl it at the wall and calling the splatter mark a mosaic because it happens to form an image that might be considered artistic…that doesn't change the fact it's a ruined cake."
Andersen fell silent, then watched the face of the Servant once more.
It was clear they weren't really following along with what he was talking about all that well.
With a tired sigh, he folded his arms once more. "Nevermind about that. So then, what interest do you have in my status as an author? Are you an avid fan of reading, perhaps? Or is it just the intrigue that someone with a role as simple as mine could end up as a Heroic Spirit?"
The Servant frowned. "Is it all that surprising? I thought books were important for humans, so that means the people who write them would also be important as well."
"Hah!" Barking a laugh at the Servant, he felt the cynic grin pull on his lips. "If only that were the case, but it matters less on what you wrote and more on how it was perceived. The brilliant papers drawn to explain the workings of the world and their effect on humanity hardly equate to the lowbrow wit of Shakespeare…and yet he is a Servant more likely to be summoned than an ancient author."
Not that it was impossible.
He was certain you'd likely get some philosopher Servants here and there, but he knew for a fact Shakespeare was on the Throne.
The reaction was…not quite what he was expecting.
The Servant looked rather downtrodden about his words.
"Is that right…" The frown was as if he just told a child that Santa was a brand image, Andersen felt his faux humour dry up rather swiftly as he watched them, his lips curled down as he allowed them to simmer for a moment, then the Servant continued onwards. "So…humans don't remember their writers as much as they remember the warriors and leaders?"
"...You don't have much experience with people, do you?"
A twitch from the Servant and a turn of the head, but the answer was readily apparent to him from the very beginning.
"Listen. Humans pay more attention to the things with the effects they can actually see with their own two eyes, that is just how it works. The things that have true influence upon them, while there is no doubt that someone writing a popular story is going to play on some people's minds, the effects of a King leading his people to victory are going to last much longer."
"But…I…suppose that might be true." The Servant scratched the side of his neck, yet the frown remained even as he understood the words being spoken to him. "But it seems to be a bit of a waste…anyone can kill something, but it would be more worthwhile remembering the people who actually contributed something instead. Not as though I have room to talk about it but…I think making something is more impressive."
Andersen kept silent. "...That depends on what you create…but perhaps an optimistic point of view would be to celebrate everything that a person can make. But that does not place them all upon the same value. The work of the Mona Lisa does not hold the same value as a child's scribbles on the wall, but they are both works of art."
Not the best comparison, but the principle was the same.
The blonde watched him for a moment or two, then shrugged his shoulders. "I think they both might be worth something."
"Oh?" Andersen could see them now, much clearer than before. "I see. Only those who know how to destroy can truly appreciate how difficult it is to create?"
The Servant froze and stared at him with wide eyes.
"This is not a matter of accusation or judgement, do not be confused." Andersen dismissed with a wave of the hand before the Servant could get the wrong idea. "Merely an observation, uncalled for it may be. I would merely assume that someone who has spent their whole life breaking things, would understand how difficult it is to try their hand at the opposite…though whatever your reasons might have been, I will say this, do not fall into the trap that just because something is made, does not mean it has value."
"...Why do you say that?"
"Because personal taste exists." He shuddered, turning away and walking off. "And some things really should not be made. Rather than appreciating everything, you should find something worth appreciating, doing so makes it easier to create. But that is just some advice. You do not have to follow it."
He could feel the stare aimed at the back of his head as he retreated.
"Berserker."
Andersen stopped, then turned his head and stared at the blonde.
"I am Berserker."
His brows climbed up, feeling himself at an almost loss for words.
"You're a Berserker?" He could not help but ask, it was a rather large shock for him. He would have expected a Berserker to be dribbling on the floor and frothing at the mouth, not trying to engage him in a debate about artistic beauty or the value of writing.
Berserker nodded his head.
There was clearly a reason they weren't saying their name, and clearly it was shame.
Perhaps they tried their hand at making something and had it explode in their face?
That is what Andersen would assume.
It must have been a rather spectacular explosion for it to cause a Servant to hide away their true name much like a child would sweep the mess under the rug to avoid the watchful eye of their parent.
…Somewhat pitiable, he supposed as well.
With a nod of the head, Andersen turned back around and resumed his stroll onwards.
If this is what the Berserkers were like in Chaldea, then what on earth would the Caster class be like? Or the Sabers?
Should he expect to find a Saber with a hammer and chisel trying to create the great works of Michaelangelo or something?
Wouldn't that be a shock?
Andersen stared.
The red haired woman looked right back at him.
Neither one of them moved or said anything for what felt like several seconds.
"...Did you not hear me the first time?"
Jolting, the woman blinked several times before she made a rather puzzled face and then looked down, her brows pinched together, then her head came back up and stared at him as though she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing.
"Did I wander into a zoo and become an exhibit without realising it?"
"Sorry just…" The woman cleared her throat, still looking at him in a somewhat perturbed manner before shaking her head, a polite smile crossed over her lips as she spoke. "Sorry about that, I was a bit surprised at all. So what was it that you wanted, a coffee?"
He could see the hint of strain in her face and hear the wisp of doubt in her words.
Apparently she was somewhat reluctant to give him coffee, probably on account of how he actually looked rather than what he was actually like.
So long as she actually served him the coffee, he didn't mind.
Seconds past, then she nodded her head up and down and stepped away, turning around and calling back into the kitchen. Giving out the specifics of what he wanted, casting one final odd look towards him before her sight returned to the kitchens, "It'll be with you in just a moment."
And with that done, she moved away and further off to someone else who was probably looking for a meal or a drink.
One thing that did bother him was the height of the chairs, evidently they were not made with the intention of seating someone of his stature. Not that he they would have, but it was the image it presented. He could look over the counter, just about, so that wasn't the issue. The problem was climbing up and down the chairs in the first place.
Andersen paused at the sound of heavy breathing - panting, more like - then turned his head towards the noise and felt his brows shoot right the way up his brow as he watched a wolf that could have looked a horse in the eye plod right past him, the beast stopped only briefly to cast a look in his direction and take a sniff of the air before it turned and carried right the way on.
He blinked twice, then shifted his attention to the kitchens once more.
"...Are you all aware there is a wolf in here?"
"What, Sif?" Came a voice from someone, Andersen was pleasantly surprised to see if it was a regular human who approached him, the man didn't so much as blink as he dried his hands off and sniffed the air once. A middle aged fellow, they didn't seem put off by his appearance either. "Has better table manners than some of the others around here. Big fan of the bone broth as well. Give us a use for all those other parts, can't say I'm gonna complain about it."
The man turned to him, then raised a brow. "Big shock at first though…but you got accustomed to wild animals walking around on account of that damn squirrel thing. Though this one doesn't steal food."
It sounded as though they had a magic rat problem or something along those lines.
"So is that a Rider's mount-"
"Nah, heard it was a Servant."
That was a Servant?
They were just making anyone Servants nowadays, weren't they?
A moment later, the man glanced over his shoulder and grunted before he moved out of the way of another approaching fellow. This being a man adorned in the traditional black vest atop a white shirt, busy handlebar moustache as well and a wide welcoming smile slapped across his face.
Striding towards them with a cup and plate in hand, the man paused and then blinked as soon as he caught sight of Andersen.
The Caster waved his hand towards himself but said nothing.
"Hmmmm." A drawn out sight as the Servant approached, but set the coffee down in front of him without much in the way of complaint. "I would say you're a touch young for that sort of thing, but you are a Servant as well…so perhaps a case like that of young face but old soul? Hmmmm."
"Yes, that."
"Good heaven." The Servant jolted backwards with a surprised face. "A powerful voice you have there, my good man."
"Yes, it seems to be very striking." Andersen dryly remarked that he took the mug and slipped it closer to himself before taking a short sip. He paused, then pulled the mug back and stared at it for several seconds, his eyes narrowed before they turned towards the man in front of him and stared, shooting a gaze between the two items for several seconds. "...What did you do to this coffee?"
The man replied rather quickly. "Well, at first it was something I was doing for my fellow undead because we don't really have any taste in our tongues, then apparently everyone was getting rather warm feelings towards it."
With a helpless shrug, the man could only smile. "And then, before I knew it, suddenly I was making coffee with Estus brewed into it. Though I could make you another cup without it, if you should be so inclined."
Andersen debated it for a moment, glancing between the two of them once more.
The coffee was dangerous for someone like him, if he was drinking this while trying to work, he knew for a fact it would tear his attention away from his writing and onto the drink before he could help it. The feelings it brought about were akin to some gentle warmth, like he was in the more comfortable moments of his life.
…But he wasn't writing anything right now, so he didn't see a problem.
"I'll let you know when I want a regular old coffee or not." He replied after a few moments, taking another small sip and setting it down. "A passion for the culinary arts despite your lack of taste? Some would call you talented."
The man chuckled. "Talent? I would hardly call it that. I merely toiled and toiled until it became second nature to me. Like riding a horse, you never forget how it is done. To call it talent would be to imply that it is limited to a select few."
Andersen grunted but said nothing to him.
Not that the man held the same constraints.
"So then, you are a new face." The man leaned forwards, resting his palms flat on the counter. "I am Siegward of Catarina, a pleasure to meet you, my young faced friend."
"Rather friendly one, aren't you?"
"I strive to be." Siegward replied without missing a beat. "So then, how has your visit been going?"
Andersen raised a brow at the man. "Does my personal life intrigue you so?"
Rather than appear put off, Siegward merely offered a smile. "If you are not comfortable with my prying, then I shall push no further. But I have always made it a point of habit to speak to those who are receptive to words. You never do know when you might find yourself drawn into the most interesting of conversations."
"Ah." Andersen grunted back. "So you enjoy gossip then, do you?"
"Gossip? Hmmmm." Siegward rolled his lips and furrowed his brows. "Hmmmmmmmmm." then cupped his chin and released a long and thoughtful hum.
Watching the man, he raised a brow but remained content to watch him.
"I suppose that would be sensible, yes." Came the reply after a few moments. "I'm a rather curious fellow, I suppose. Always ready to speak and learn with whomever I can."
"Our Master seems much the same."
"Ah." Siegward, for the first time, looked a touch pensive. "I believe he might be braver than I when it comes to the company he would speak with. Mind you, perhaps I am not one to talk. I once sought to engage a Demon in an idle conversation and made friends with a giant for my troubles. So…perhaps we might be cut from the same adventurous cloth, but…"
Andersen subtly leaned forwards.
"...Well, it is the choice of the boy whom he speaks with." With a wave of the hand, the man dismissed. "But I can only hope the boy is not too dour when he doesn't get the right sort of company. I understand all too well the sadness that comes when you realise the other sort isn't all that receptive to a conversation. A pity, really."
He would just call that life.
"I suppose others might not be as receptive?"
Siegward grimaced lightly. "Perhaps. Though I doubt many in Chaldea would enjoy the company of others…but do not feel so down, my small friend. I am certain that there shall be those who find you to be good company. However odd they might first appear, at least."
That wasn't what he was worried about in the least.
And besides, it was hardly as though he was going around looking to make friends in Chaldea either.
"Hmph. If you say so." Was his simple reply as he took another sip. "I suppose that is why you became a chef, despite being a Servant? To satisfy your need for conversation with people? I suppose there are few other professions that grant you as many a chance as this one when it comes to needling into the personal life of people."
A single blink from Siegward. "Well, it makes it sound as though I am a bit nosey when phrased like that."
"You mean you aren't?"
"Hmmmm. I have a habit of putting my face where it might not always be welcome, I have been told that before." Was the honest reply, at least they did not try to deny it. Then Siegward chuckled to himself. "I have also been told that I sleep like the dead."
It took Andersen a couple seconds to understand the joke.
Then he shot a flat look at the man.
He didn't need to say anything about that.
Siegward smiled as if he was the picture of innocence. "But really, can I be blamed? With so many interesting characters about, I'd much rather have the chance to speak with most of them when they're comfortable. A battle is hardly a good place for casual conversation and-Aha! There you are my good fellow!"
Andersen turned as Siegward moved off, then stepped further down the counter towards-
That was a minotaur.
That was a very large minotaur.
"Hello. Ward." Came the rather gentle voice of the body of muscle, pale white furry hair slung around the head, beady red eyes stared down at the chef and a small smile played on the lips of the figure. "Here. For. Usual."
"Of course you are." Siegward chuckled, "How has Lady Euryale been today?"
"Fine." The Minotaur replied with a brighter expression, evidently the topic pleased him. "She and Stheno. Very. Happy. Listened. To. Songs. Very. Nice."
Siegward nodded along with the tale recounted to him, smiling all the while. "That is lovely to hear. I'm sure that you would have quite the singing voice as well, perhaps something deep and operatic? I'm sure that Mozart would be happy to lend some of his time to give you lessons on it."
The minotaur remained silent for a moment, then tilted his head. "...Really?"
"I do not see the harm in asking." Siegward replied, then brought up a single finger. "There was that other fellow who played the triangle during that lovely little christmas party some time back. He seemed to be rather new as well, I believe Mozart gave him some skills in the subject, perhaps a small tune for that?"
Silence, then a single nod and a wide grin. "Sounds. Fun. Surprise. Euryale."
"Hahaha! That would be a pleasant surprise for me." Siegward laughed, moving back to the kitchens and then returning a moment later. "I knew you would be here soon so I took the liberty of making it before you arrived. Enjoy yourself, Asterios, and give my regards to the Lady Goddesses."
"I. Will." Asterios gently took the bowl into his hands and stepped back. "Bye. Ward. Have a. Nice day."
Andersen watched the minotaur plod back the way he had come, then turned his eyes to the man and raised them ever so slightly. "...Interesting company indeed."
Siegward shrugged. "He's a fine fellow…rather unfortunate past, but a fine fellow all the same. Well, I fear what would happen if the Lady Goddesses ever found out that I was rude to him, not that I would ever be rude. He's been nothing but cordial…"
That was hard to believe, but not impossible.
It was merely that putting the words 'Minotaur' and 'Cordial' in the same sentence felt off.
But that was none of his business.
"...Chaldea seems a rather storied location."
To that, Siegward chuckled. "It seems to be a tale that writes itself."
No.
Books never wrote themselves.
No matter how much he wished they sometimes did.
AN: In response to the last chapter.
I put Ritsuka in a dress for fun.
Don't think too hard about it.
That is all.