CMO 2018 EDITION

[eonflamewing]

I am, once again, in hell.
»		«
the rest of the gang is here
» Feel free to request OCs, I'd be glad to provide writeups about them if needed. » I am generally a slow tagger due to RL/workbut I'll get one out every 2-3 days at the latest. » Pick a prompt and get the ball rolling! Or post a comment and I'll brain something. » Long PSLs are my jam, hit me up on plurk or discord if you'd like to do anything similar ;) » This CMO is sfw but if you want to write nsfw stuff that's also on the table....... WISHLIST ☐ >>>> FATE/ AU <<<< ☐ hair brushing ☐ reincarnation au ☐ mercy killing ☐ royalty au ☐ masquerade party ☐ mermaid au ☐ 'city in the sky' au ☐ long airship journeys ☐ space jockeys
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prompts if you need 'em
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[erstderletzt]

[ Chaldea is quiet as night falls. While Servants technically do not need to sleep, most of them do; either in memory of their past selves, or as a way to disengage from the crushing pressure of the task at hand. Incineration of the Anthropic Principle... and themselves. Surely, a weight far too heavy for most to bear on a daily basis. And so they sleep, whether in dreams or nightmares or nothing at all.

Of course, there are a handful that bear witness as an exception. The light in the lounge is up even at this hour, though it is not occupied by a couple of rowdy Lancers and Sabers playing pool. Instead, a single Servant is seated within, a pot of tea on the table in front of him, and a book in hand.

The silence stretches on, expectant. Perhaps someone is coming...? ]

[painalty]

[The last thing his Master needs, in Sanson's opinion, is another night of sharing his dreams, his memories. That was honestly one of the reasons why he didn't often sleep. And though some of his dreams were pleasant (those of his wife and children, for instance), most were filled with blood, death and dread.

So he walks into the lounge, hands in his pockets, only mildly surprised to find the light still on. Servants did not need to sleep; doubtless some would just be frittering away the night until a new day dawned. Or in this case, one.

There was also the welcome and more surprising scent of tea in the air, and he automatically gravitates toward the source, curious as to who would be brewing tea tonight.]

I half-expected Amadeus to still be up, drinking at the piano.

[SANSON CAN BE RUDE SOMETIMES.]

i'm too lazy to renew my paid rn please pardon embeds

[antemeridian]

[ Small excursions; routine outings. Ember gathering, for those flickers of wisdom that help to reinforce their manifestations. Something like a routine chore, perhaps. Chaldea generally has teams sent out as often as is feasible for this goal, in any case, if only to keep the more restless of their number from becoming overly so, or complacent. It does mean that sometimes, people return at odd hours. And rather than stop by her own quarters to sleep as she no longer needed to... well. ... It might be a little odd to think of the quiet, demure Japanese girl as someone who would have difficulty sitting still. Maybe it's nothing so deep as that in the end. But... Homura outside of her combat uniform, without the great, vast wings spread wide and flocks of magical crow-arrows to herald her presence seems mildly out of place in the halls of Chaldea. Ordinary, in the way that the other Servants whose forms resemble children tend to lack. Their era betrays them. Homura looks as if she could have stepped out of a modern school the same day that the Human Principle went up in flames. That someone is still in the lounge doesn't surprise her, truly. Even when she was still human she tended more toward the night hours, long evenings crafting and reviewing and organizing and strategizing, so she can hardly accuse another of keeping an odd schedule. But really, this right now isn't about anything so grand as that. ] ... Do you intend to consume the entire pot?

nya

[abgrund]

[ It's time for house cleaning, Da Vinci said. Go out into the modern world and live for a month so we can give Chaldea a new coat of paint!

— of course, that's not the real reason. Whatever real reason it is, it was probably important - too important to be distributed en masse, so most of the Servants were given a half-real reason that was enough for them to understand and yet not question it. Servants were thus sent out all over the globe, a few to each country; until the time comes, they were supposed to blend in.

In many ways, it's a rather ridiculous order, and some of the Chaldean residents protested. Eventually, they had to leave as well - for their departure was of the utmost importance to preserve their link to this world.


(Even at this juncture, there are still forces that plot against the survival of humanity.)

All Servants are to be evacuated, Mozart one of them. He shares his area of residence with a few other friends - Marie, Sanson, d'Eon, and... someone else. A certain someone who tagged along with him due to their unfamiliarity with the rest of the Servant population, someone whom the other three didn't mind having around.

In a world where he should not take his proper form, he instead appears as a black cat. The cat's left eye has been sealed shut by scarring, which Marie chooses to hide by way of a ribbon around its head. Its right eye is a murky green, inlaid with a ring pattern.

As Mozart passes this street, the cat slinks out from an alley and starts to follow him at a short distance. ]

[nozart]

[ Chaldea is always teeming with calculating minds, ever-vigilant concerning the plight of their delicate balance. The order of the universe, the sands of time— abstract concepts that Mozart doesn't care to define, insofar as they don't relate to music.

Unlike the other Servants (far more invested in their work than he is), Mozart is happy for the break from the usual. More sights to see, more sounds to absorb; even in life, the musician was a vagrant. Keeping still was never his strong suit, and the excuse to stretch his proverbial wings is a welcome one.

So. Here he is. Out of his oppressively funereal blacks and purples, disarmingly pedestrian for a man who spent half his life in and out of company with nobility.

It doesn't take long for him to notice the little shadow trailing him (he hears Ain before he sees him, the pitter-patter of paws and the incongruous slowness of his heartbeat). Turning on his heels, he fixes the black 'cat' with a wide smile; animals were always far better company than humans. ]

Oh, look at you. Charming! [ Long legs fold, knees angling for a better view of his company. ] The ribbon's a nice touch, Foreigner.

[ Yes, he knows. That isn't going to stop him from crooking a finger. ]

kicks down your door shh i haven't even responded to our other thread yet but

[postmeridian]

[ There are two of them, Caster and Archer, who look so alike it's almost a wonder they don't share the same Saint Graph. A ribbon in her hair, the same simple uniform (sometimes, depending on Caster's mood), separated by merely earring and ring respectively. No talk of alternative worlds, of histories, of paths that never were, the road less taken. But Caster is playful where Archer is staid, and frigid where Archer would be cautiously friendly. Condescension and bravado in place of icy unspoken judgment. Caster has confidence where Archer deliberates, and cruel, bleak cynicism where Archer has—the most tentative of—hope. (One thing they do share, at least- a solemn certainty that others are worth more than they, in Caster's tendency to take demerits onto herself in exchange for supporting her... allies in battle. She is surprisingly passive, it turns out, perhaps in a way that cannot solely be attributed to her container.) Perhaps they have made different things their masks. It would not be difficult, however, to mistake Caster for her other self at a passing glance now. After all, the activity she is engaged in now- is mundane. So utterly plain, if all of time hadn't been burning outside of their little pocket of warped space-time. Caster, right now, is simply a schoolgirl fussing about in the kitchens to prepare simple snacks and breakfast. Pastries and fruit and fluff, even if her skill with such had never been as good as certain others'. ]

ain grab bag, you said...

[erbluhen]

[ Caster with an Archer equivalent #1, meet Caster with an Archer equivalent #2.

Unlike the two Homuras, these two are easy to tell apart. Archer is proud and a touch aggressive, yet maintains his refinement; while Caster has none of the stuffiness and a whole load more adjustment to things that their life have thrown their way. A good part of Caster of Green's job is to restrain his Archer counterpart from reaching for his swords too quickly, too.

Now that Archer has transcended into Ruler, there's a conspicuous absence of those scenes. Not that Caster misses it, even if he's the only one to not receive a change in his class container.

So here he is, his fur coat replaced by a simple jacket, a clear contrast to the elaborate raiments that Ruler refuses to take off. ]

What're you making?

[ A voice light as air, belonging to someone who could be described as a fairy. ]

Crim. And Eve. Because. ♥

[hollowbutnotempty]

A clatter, a commotion -- the source moved down the roof as it went, quickly, over the edge and fell into the garden area. The birds voiced their disapproval of the sudden invasion of their perch as whatever it was -- or whoever it was -- crashed into a tree next, before landing on the ground.

There were a few smaller sounds that followed the first, of a pencil rolling down after them, and two thick paperback books, a dictionary and a graphic novel of some kind. The binder had landed some ways away from the figure, open to some lined pages with neat, small handwriting in it. Schoolwork, perhaps.

The figure was just about five feet tall, lying face-down on the ground. A long-sleeved tee that was somewhere between purple and gray, black jeans... black socks and black-and-purple tennis shoes. A chin-length shag of purple-gray hair, messy after their tumble. Pale peachy skin, a bit too light to be simply a result of staying out of the sun. A thin figure, but one that seemed to hint at maybe just a little more than simple lanky youth, with the odd look of their hands.

It wasn't the similarly gray-purple nail polish that suggested something was out of the ordinary about them, but the way their hand's joints looked. The smooth glove of the look of human flesh wasn't present; the mechanically perfect curves of well-crafted joints in smooth plastic was. They pushed an arm under themselves, lifting their face from kissing the earth, and brought their other hand up to bury their fingers in their hair as they rubbed their head.

A moment later, a black hooded jacket fell out of the tree and buried their head, descent no longer delayed by the branch it had caught on.

All in all, a perfect ten-point landing, graceful as--

Okay, no, that was a lie. Someone should probably check on the kid.

\o\

[cmbr]

There's..... a sound. Definitely a sound.

Crim had been in the annex drafting some reports. It was mundane paperwork to keep herself in the legal alchemist's organnization - perhaps a misnomer, for they did not experiment wildly like the alchemists of old; instead pursued active production for inventions and other principles. Alchemists, but regulated - and regulations often meant paperwork much like taxes.

(She hates taxes.)

No one should be in her estate except for her and her assistant, so the sound of someone falling into the tree is very much a sign of intruder alarm. Nevermind touching any security feed screens while she's working - she bids Eve to turn off the instruments before hurrying through the house, pushing open the door to the garden —

— there's a kid there. Definitely not a human kid, she concludes, as her eyes fall onto their hands and limbs. But a kid nevertheless, one who might be trying parkour on an alchemist's roof.

Not a good idea.

"Hey... you okay?"

She takes a few steps closer, a woman in her late twenties wrapped in a red cloak, extending a hand out. She can't be rude to children.

[cmbr]

[ it's not odd for witches to live in this part of the country. it's one with woodland bordering a lake and an open plain, plenty of magical ley lines for witches to tap on and plants for the brewing of their work. and before one gets the idea of evil women cackling in huts - witches weren't bad, the pre-requisite to being one was to care for the land that they watched over.

some witches live in villages, while others live out in the wild. like this particular witch, who dresses more like a hunter, hunting those who would cut down trees without the permission of the dryads or overfish. they're wardens of nature, in this sort of place... and that includes the creatures who live in it.

she's not usually one to adopt creatures, no - just nurse them back to health and let them be on their way. but this particular creature - no, person is quite exceptional. it had human form, possibly a spirit, yet it had been found lying in a pool of viscous black blood.

good thing that she found it instead of any other witch, then. she's naturally resistant to things like these, so she had taken the spirit home and cleaned its form of all that dried blood. it looks quite cut up too, which leads to questions about who or what hurt it... but that can wait, after it has mended.

so she's in her house now, the spirit sleeping in her bed, wrapped up by soft sheets while she does her daily cleaning routine. someone should be coming to visit soon... ]

[oneirism]

[Lapis was one of the witches who lived out in the wilds, secluded from the others - tending to the plant-life that surrounded her home and the lands she cared for, as well as keeping an eye on the creatures there. Luckily her skill with plants allows her to create concoctions to help tend to them, if they're ever ill or hurt - along with also creating deterrents, or worse, for those who dared to hurt the creatures.

And while usually a secluded person, Lapis soon found herself taking in a... well, she still isn't sure herself. Neither a person nor a spirit, at least one she's familiar with - far different from the small sprites that fluttered around her gardens, or the spirits that dwell within the earth. Either way, she found herself grateful for his company - her time in the woods far lonelier than she had wanted to admit.

Though, another part of her role is extending aid to her fellow witches if they need it - especially in a case like this. Having asked her companion to tend to a few things in her absence, checking on hybrids and analysing growths, before she heads out - making sure to pack everything she would need, her steps quick as she heads towards another part of the wood.

And so as Crim goes through her routine, there will be a few quick knocks on the door - golden eyes peering up at the other woman once the door is answered. Lapis then raising her hand in greeting, expression settled into something still and calm.]

Good afternoon, Crim, I'm Lapis. You had called for me...?

[abgrund]

[ This is a dream.

This is a dream, for the forest's road stretches on into the distance and folds into a sea. This is a dream, because the sky is purple and filled with blue stars, a world inversed yet still obeying a certain beauty. This is a dream, and the dreamers must journey to its end, so that they can wake and return to the living.

This is a dream between realities. He's here sometimes, in these bubbles that touch the surface of the void, as one would examine a passing cloud. He's just projecting here, so there need be no risk of the dark miasma polluting this dream with darkness.

It is a beautiful dream, he thinks, in the way that flowers hang upside down from the trees. An illogical logic.

— ah, but he's not alone here, is he? ]

[downloadable]

[Indeed, he isn't.

Androids don't dream. Or rather, they weren't programmed to. Switching to standby mode wasn't the same as falling asleep. A machine is comprised of software and hardware, merely imitations of organic material. Even if they bleed, their blood isn't red. Even if they can "sleep," they have nothing to dream about. After all, a machine finds fulfillment in accomplishing its purpose.

It's like falling into the zen garden. A brief flutter of the eyelids, the gentle sensation of falling, and, when Connor opens his eyes, he finds himself in the strangest forest. Bellflowers dangle from tree branches like overgrown vines, swaying gently as if they were wind chimes. Surprised, he reaches up and pinches a flower to gauge the realness of the simulation.

... this is a grave error. If Amanda realized what was going on, she'd have Connor immediately decommissioned. He looks about to gather his bearings when his eyes land on a strange, strange man sliding among the trees.

On a sudden impulse, Connor yells:]

Excuse me!

[It may be the hacker. It may be another glitch. Only one way to find out.]

Who are you? Identify yourself.

[oneirism]

[Lapis had met Sen a few weeks ago, a chance encounter with a fellow medium - one that had led to a quiet friendship growing between them. A friendship Lapis was incredibly grateful for - both due to her loneliness as she grew up, and also due to how encounters with a certain other medium have been less than pleasant. She had at first tried to reason with Elliot, tried to speak to him and find out why she sparked his ire so, but a bullet to the shoulder was enough to put an end to her attempts.

Encounter after that were less violently, but their most recent one changed that pattern - a bandage across her cheek and on her arm signs of the fight that occurred between them. It made her feel less bad about using the power of her ghosts to burn him. But right now, she doesn't want to think about that - instead heading to where Sen works.

Sighing softly as she steps in, perking up when she sees the other woman at the counter, her uninjured arm raising in greeting before she takes a seat. There's still some lingering pain from her injuries, but it's easy enough to ignore - keeping her injured arm cradled to her chest as she turns her eyes to Sen.]

Good afternoon, Sen.

[cmbr]

[ Sen works at a small restaurant, hired by an old couple as a backup cook for when the lady couldn't keep up. She soon gained a reputation of being skilled at grills, one that she didn't bother to dispel - because it was true. With the help of the Flame Soul, she was able to control the food preparation process to an exquisite degree. What better way to hone her powers than to do what she loves?

The restaurant is empty at this time of the day, so Sen is seated behind the counter with a cup of iced tea. Her attention is half on her phone and half on the door (to take orders), so it's a pleasant surprise to see Lapis pushing the door open and stepping in.

— Wait. Something's wrong. ]

Hello! Are you okay?

[ Brows furrow at the obvious bandages on Lapis' arm ]

let me know if anything needs changing!

[dcityrock]

[ Who even gives a crap about correcting this singularity? A beach is for parties—and sex—and she’s not getting either with a dearth of hot boys in swimsuits (the women are nice, but they’re more her sister’s thing, so).

But a contest is a contest and Panty hates losing even if she doesn’t care much for the prize, or the stakes involved—or any of this, really. But the sooner they get this over with, the sooner they can go ahead and enjoy the beach properly. So when her designated partner for the event finally walks up to her racecar, the automobile See Through, she takes one look at him and scoffs in distaste.

Ugh. She’s not gonna question the Master’s orders, but really? Him? ]

Are you gonna fucking get in, or what? The race starts in a few.

looks good!

[gottwaffe]

[ She's talking to a man, but unfortunately he's not in a swimsuit. Though he did dress down for the event from all his angelic finery, so maybe that's some relative accommodation - a red shirt patterened with flowers in what might have been a Hawaiian print, but on closer inspection those flowers are probably blood prints.

It remains the greatest mystery about why they're paired together, but perhaps as the most prickly of celestials, it was destined. A shame he can't just take a knife out and shank her. A shame, really. ]

Of course I am. I said I wouldn't be late.

[ He's not late, technically. There's still a few minutes, so he'll stand by the side of the driver's seat. ]

Are you sure you want to drive? I can drive, you know.

[ Avenger tilts his head to one side, touching a finger to his chin. ]

[unyarivaled]

[ ‘Tis the season for a little change in scenery, after all, so it’s just as well that Chaldea’s accidentally transported them to another deserted island in the middle of nowhere. By this time they’re kind of used to getting dumped in weird places anyway—what’s another? Tonbokiri certainly isn’t as fazed by all this anymore. At least he’s still a Lancer, though that doesn’t seem to do them much good right now.

Still, there’s one thing that’s different about their experiences versus that of the girls’.

That being that the island is actually a grassy, densely wooded lump of rock floating in the middle of the sky. Rather than the vast oceans one would come to expect, thick clusters of clouds lap at the shore, and there is only the vast blue of an endless sky stretching endlessly into the horizon, with the ground completely obscured from sight.

Somehow just building a ship to sail out of there seems like it’s out of the question. But more importantly: ]

Ah! Where did Master go?

nice username btw

[erbluhen]

[ Maybe the ladies are having a nice suntan time on a tropical beach somewhere. Or they've been conscripted by the master to build some sort of island retreat for piglets... whichever it is, the ladies aren't here. The Servants who rayshifted to this island are mostly men.

Not that the height bothers Caster, no. He can fly. ]

I was about to ask you that question, actually.

[ He taps his finger to the side of his chin. ]

I can still feel them. They're bound to be around here somewhere...

yeah boy

[courtmagic]

[Servants aren't supposed to dream. but there are exceptions. there are always exceptions, when someone pours power and whim and thought into a potent concoction that seeps into the halls to drip down and lull into a sleep. concealed from sight, out of reach of human senses.

to sleep is to dream, tonight. and he is not alone, in his dream - no, there is the flash of long hair, the scent of flowers warmed by the sun. Merlin is barely bothering to conceal himself as he circles this dream like a curious observer in a gallery, drinking in color and shape. but nothing about his presence is malevolent - it's honest in its searching, its existence.

tonight, he merely wishes to see.]

YEAH BOY

[glanzenschwert]

[ This is a dream.

This is not a human's dream. Humans are creatures of whimsy, their lives transient as the leaves on the wind. This dream does not shift and meld into itself - no quintessential chaos that plagues a human mind. In its place is a clarity that surpasses the cold of a mountain's peak; something so clear as to be inhuman - or belong to the almost-divine.

The dream is a field of flowers. Pure white blooms that carpet the ground, interspersed by soft green grass. It is a place that speaks of holy, inclusive of a stream that runs through the field, starting from a fountain inside a temple of white marble. The owner of this dream stands within, gazing up at a statue of a veiled woman. She holds her hands out in a vague gesture of benevolence, but her face is blocked from view.

In this place, the air is so clear as to seem like engraved crystal. This is not quite a dream, but a fragment of memory unchanging.

— he has guests. But he does not move, letting his voice carry through the air like resonant glass. ]

Why are you here?

[erbluhen]

[ It's another normal day in Shibuya, at least for one of the city's various design studios. Designers and weavers alike worked to produce asethetics for the upcoming season, and the models they employ are familiar with the studio's various rooms to hang around after work.

Lapis has her hands full today, but the shoot is finally done, so they can relax. Most of the models have already changed out, some have left, but a sizeable number are lingering in the lounge to get some respite before they exit and into possibly people waiting to take their photographs.

Bluhen is half-sprawled over one of the sofas, a Suncents cup held between two fingers in the perfect image of relaxed cheerfulness. He tilts his head when Lapis comes over, and gives her a wave with his free hand. ]

Are you done too?

[oneirism]

[The role of a fashion designer, especially one of the newer talents, is a busy one - yet it's something Lapis embraces fully. It's a chance to see her works fully come to life, and meet those that she had only once admired.

It helped that most of the models were good company too, her recent work with a trio of brothers a pleasant experience. Then there were some... less than pleasant encounters, but that guy currently isn't in Shibuya so it's not her issue.

For now, she's quietly glad for some kind of break after putting the finishing touches on one of the newest lines of jackets. Flexing her fingers as she steps into the lounge, before she gravitates over to a familiar face - her expression softening as she waves over.]

For now. I'll probably be asked to do some more adjustments soon. [Another soft sigh, flexing stiff fingers for one more moment.]

How were your shoots? Did they go well?

hey hey hey i'm here | acata setting, after they've settled down.

[statecrafter]

[ after she's managed to settle some affairs, wrangled out some answers to satisfy her paranoia, and locate a room for herself - one that was, hopefully, remote and far away from the others' sleeping quarters that most wouldn't bother her - does lorem search out for her friend.

she leans against the opening of his room, remembering her ingrained manners long enough to rap her knuckles against the stone frame to announce her presence to him. when he notices her presence, lorem graces him a quick (and, oddly enough, nervous) smile.

might as well get this over with. ]

My son is here. [ she rubs the back of her neck, a sign of her being agitated and worried over something. if she could, she would be running a hand through her hair but she's already pinned it up for bedtime after this much needed talk. ] My son is here and I would like to avoid him, if possible. Like him to not know my presence but I don't think that's feasible so dodging it is.

I- [ a deep breath. ] -I thought you should know about this. Just in case.

YELLS IM LATE

[priwen]

[ Alex is tidying his room. While the setting has robbed him of his telepathy, he isn't as nervous about it as he was previously - one learns to adjust to it as they mature, and his practice with interaction has lessened his dependency on it.

His usual light smile dampens into something more suitable as she talks; something thoughtful. ]

Your... son.

[ He's not quite sure who that person is, but it sounds serious. ]

Is there a reason why you don't want to see him?

touches u too

[hoasen]

gib me

touches back

[abgrund]

[ so they're in chaldea's home base! sen is minding her own business until a tentacle taps her on the shoulder.

it then starts retracting out of the door and down the corridor so she should go after it before it vanishes from sight...

the tentacle ends up spooling into the tv room. once she opens the door there's a blast of cold air in her face; it seems the current occupant is very fond of cold places. ]

Is this yours?

[ foreigner is sprawled out over one of the seats. the tv is apparently playing a documentary about vietnamese cuisine ]

[glanzenschwert]

[ Zeta gets a contract.

There's money, of course, to prevent Vaseraga from harping too much on her hotheadedness. But what's more important is the opportunity for a hunt - a primal beast to be taken down alongside the contract's poster, which should be more than enough reward by itself. The contractor specifies that he will keep the core, but that's not so bad either.

He's even booked an airship to get them to the island. Zeta will get a ride back from said island, after which they will part ways. A job simple and done.

The person who offered her the contract is standing at the airship bay, a scarf around his neck and pulled up to cover his mouth. Above that scarf is blue on blue, eyes and hair the colour of a frigid sky.

He's waiting. Don't keep him waiting. ]

[redaction]

[ Zeta doesn't town a job, especially one that promises free travel and the chance to go for a hunt. Done and dusted in a day, cause this is just an open and shut case of primal hunting. It's all exciting, because this is the first time someone asked to keep the primal core - it raises more questions, if anything. But Zeta can temper her curiosity... sometimes. Occasionally. For work at least.

She's only late by half a minute as she appears, her trusty Spear of Arvess on her back and a smile on her face. Giving a salute to the stoic looking individual, she grins. ]

I'm guessing with the way you're the only one standing still in this dock that you're waiting for someone.

[ Not to mention the dock was empty. ]