feonixe | CMO 2018 EDITION

CMO 2018 EDITION

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

layout by photosynthesis

prompts if you need 'em

» Random Scenario Meme	More Random Scenarios «
» AU Meme	Kinda Stuck Meme «
» Rain Meme	Snow Meme «
» Seasons Meme	Coffee Shop Meme «

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[ 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...? ]

[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.]

[ 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?

[ Perhaps it was not merely coincidence that brings them together. She knows him - or rather, knew him, a fellow Archer with wings of brilliant white and blue instead of her raven black and lily-purple, raining shards of light down upon those they were tasked to destroy. Despite his caustic manner, he had shown her a measure of quiet respect. Both served a goddess with a blinding fervour, linking them as parallel lines in a sea of oddities.

Yet, that was in the past. He is different now, the semblance of youth fading from his vessel, leaving her the only ordinary one.

His ice-blue gaze flicks up from the book, lingering on her frame for a few seconds before returning to the table. ]

Yes, if no one else partakes of it. [ A pause, as he plucks a feather from the air and folds it into the pages as a bookmark. ] Would you like some?

[ Were the nature of her summoning different, it may have taken effort to veil flickers of barren ribcages or spider lilies in full bloom trailing from her hair. But as it is, as this particular her is-

Such is barred from her. That potential— is not accessible to her, in this container. It would be more accurate to say it does not exist, even. Regardless, she is aware of the brief scrutiny, and returns it with her own, head slightly canted, before he speaks up.

In response, she dips her head. A measured politeness, if guarded. Ruler, it seems, is more restrained in mannerism than Archer had ever been. But those eligible for the Class are all saints of a sort, so... ]

If I am not imposing. I would be capable of brewing my own, if you hadn't planned on receiving any visitors.

[ Regardless of her words, her intentions seem fairly clear by the way she heads not for the shelves but to make herself comfortable at the table instead. ]

[ The same could have been said for him. A form bearing not the holy light of divinity, but the creeping darkness of the abyss...

... of course, that is moot. The entire consideration is moot, and thus out of his permitted sphere of thought. ]

You are not imposing.

[ Ruler stands, the words left trailing in the wake of his robes. While most of the more extravagant Servants chose to tone down their appearance while at base, he didn't quite conform to such a trend; the only decoration being removed would be the gold crescents hovering above his shoulders. Perhaps it could be interpreted as vanity, but he just did not see the point and has been cautious enough to avoid staining his clothes.

He picks one of the porcelain cups from the pantry, setting it down on the table along with a small tray of sugar cubes and milk. ]

[ Archer blinks at him as he speaks, blue eyes narrowing slightly to bring his expression towards one of adequate disapproval. ]

Even the wild ones must exhaust their energy eventually.

[ Was there a touch of disdain in his voice? Perhaps, but it might also just be a figment of Sanson's imagination.

He gestures to the pot and china in front of him with a single sweep of his book-free hand ]

Any tea for you?

Edited 2018-03-10 15:41 (UTC)

[ Angel and Herald, sitting at a lounge table together. A picture absurd in any context but theirs.

Homura watches him as he stands, tracking his movements over to the pantry and back. The juxtaposition between conservative demeanour and... not gaudy, not ostentatious, but still rather elaborate clothing is all the more striking considering their current circumstances.

Archer had been possessed of a sharp self-assurance. Perhaps this is simply a logical extension of it. ...Still, she's been curious. As he returns to the table she speaks up again, making no move for the retrieved items just yet. ]

You were Archer, before. If it is not my place to ask, I apologize. But I have been wondering...

[ She rests her head upon one of her hands, looking for all the world like the image of an ordinary schoolgirl. ]

Is this incarnation you are in now the expected refinement of your Spirit Foundation, or is he- separate?

[ Though she hasn't heard of an instance where could have beens and those potential alternate selves shared the same Saint Graph. It might not mean that it's an impossiblility, though. ]

[ He raises his head just enough to meet her gaze while she speaks. His expression doesn't change in the slightest, a calm observant quality that would have been punctuated by a subtle frown had he still remained an Archer. The past version of himself tried his best to remain neutral, but there were always slight quirks in his manner that betrayed his feelings. Annoyance, pride, determination - even grief, they could be read by those proficient in the skill.

There's none of that now. He is impassive like crystal; not a single imperfection in his form.

(Archer breathes, like a human. Ruler does not, unless he needs to talk.)

His gaze remains affixed in her direction after her voice falls silent; his eyes taking on a slightly defocused quality to signify that he was thinking. Archer had respected her, so he supposes he has been owing her this explanation for some time. ]

It is refinement, in a way. I still bear his Saint Graph. His duty demanded that he grow stronger, so he offered his body completely to our goddess and received her blessing.

[ Just as how humans can be possessed by the divine, so can an angel. ]

[ (That's what it was then, that she noticed unconsciously without immediately being able to put words to it- that unnatural stillness.)

She stills a little herself to match it. Not a visceral response, or out of any perceived expectation to, but still her posture grows just that little bit less lax, if anything like the word could actually be applied to her, and a little more poised. ]

I see. [ In a manner completely matter of fact. ] Well, thank you.

[ Though as to whether the thanks is for the explanation or for bringing over the cup and tray she leaves ambiguous, as she reaches for the cup and pours a bit of milk into it here. She goes about the process of preparing her tea with a staid composure, but in the end her eyes close for a long slow blink as she lets out a low, thoughtful hum, all the while stirring idly at her tea as she waits for it to cool. ]

The mages here call the process ascension. I do not think they would have expected it to be quite so literal, in this case.

[ It's faintly wry; Archer might have recognized it as what passes for Homura's sense of humor. If Ruler cares to remember that much he might too. ]

No problem.

[ Ain drinks his tea in silence, an artificially refined gesture as he returns his attention to the book. His cup is set down at the exact lengthwise center of the table, if she would notice. Perhaps he finds some sort of enjoyment in enacting symmetry from arrangement, even if it is merely trivial.

He pauses in the middle of turning a page when she speaks, letting gravity flip it to the next chapter. ]

What do you think of the term?

[ Slightly uncharacteristic, but he shows a certain curiosity in his eyes. ]

[ Another thoughtful hum. ]

... Unnecessarily grandiose, I think. Grand, in the way that the mages of this world seem to tend to.

[ It isn't openly critical, but perhaps there does lurk a faint flicker of unimpressment in her eyes. Their purpose here in Chaldea, under their current Master, is a noble one, but the Mage's Association among others... ]

More charged than it needs to be. [ she says, crisply. Maybe for some the word has fewer connotations of the religious inclination, but she was educated in a Catholic school. Besides, it strikes her as the sufficiently pretentious sort of thing that the magus society of this world would strive for. ] Many of us are not remotely divine, and the process does not necessarily raise us to a higher state of being even outside of that.

It only makes us... more, of who we were, I believe. Those who were not kings will not suddenly become one.

[ The cadence of her words suggests she has more to say, but deeming her tea sufficiently cooled she takes a measured sip from her cup now instead. ]

Those who were only mortal, and not divine masquerading as such, will not suddenly become more.

[ No ascension will have her reflect that particular aspect of herself in this container, even if it is, on an objective level, a higher state of being. So she thinks, or at least she hopes. ]

Edited 2018-03-11 21:15 (UTC)

[ Much of this escapes his understanding, as he is not from this world. Archer had shown his disdain for less scrupulous branches of the Church once or twice, citing how their deeds defiled the ideal of the god they had chosen to serve - but Jeanne and Martha had quickly made him can his frustration. Worship and divinity are different across worlds, after all; and as much as he was an archangel, he wasn't one here. ]

Gods and men are destined to be separate. One cannot become the other, much less through hubris.

[ His tone is calm, a clean contrast to before. At least, he doesn't rag on it like an offended zealot. ]

Would that they see the error in their ways once their order is restored. [ It's hard to tell if he puts any faith in humanity, with his blank expression. ] If they do not repent, they trap themselves in a cycle of repeating their own mistakes.

[ .... why is he preaching (?) ]

[ 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. ]

[Amadeus, to begin with, had quite a lot of energy. But that is a conversation for another time. Sanson doesn't really care much about whether or not he detected any disdain in Archer's voice (really, he doesn't blame people if they feel disdain toward Mozart...or himself).

The offer of tea does bring a faint smile to his face.]

Yes, thank you. [He tentatively takes the seat in front of the other Servant, trying to sit properly considering that he's still draped in that long coat of his.]

[ Archer inclines his head before standing up and heading to retrieve another cup for Sanson. The gold decoration behind his back still remains even off the field of battle, perhaps evocative of wings.

He sets the porcelain on the table along with a small tray of sugar cubes, if Sanson wishes to take some. ]

Help yourself.

[ - is all he'll say before settling back on his seat, taking his tea in his hands again. ]

[ 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'. ]

[The gold decoration catches Sanson's attention for a short bit, but he quickly checks himself and stops staring; it's rude, after all.

When the cup arrives at the table, Sanson begins to serve himself, hesitating before deciding to add only one sugar cube.]

Quiet nights like this have become so rare.

[ 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. ]

[ Archer nods, closing his eyes briefly. ]

All the more to treasure them, then.

[ His gaze lingers on his book, but quickly lifts to regard Sanson once more. ]

How was your mission? I heard it was challenging.

[He looks up from where he had been gently stirring his tea - not haphazardly that the spoon would clink and click constantly over the porcelain.]

Yes, but it was nothing we couldn't handle. We fought large dragons before.

[ She also hums lightly, a soft and lilting 'hmm' as she pauses briefly in her bustling to regard the arrival. ]

Nothing particularly involved. Eggs, pancakes... a bit of toast. Fruits, to top it. It isn't my usual choice of fare, but it seems there are many here more accustomed to this sort of meal.

[ A hand comes briefly to her chin as she looks up, contemplative. ]

I thought it might be nice to try doing things this way. Something new.

[ A novelty, to not simply clap her hands and have it be. ]

[ He tilts his head, craning forward a little to get a better look at what she's making. ]

Mm. It's very quaint. [ Human. And for the briefest of moments, he wonders if she's seeking familiarity. ]

For yourself, or?

[ 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. ]

[ It had taken some time to get used to this new form, but for all his weirdness, Ain has always been adaptable. Having disassembled limbs in his human form did not deter him from using the ones he has now, so the cat moves much like what a normal cat should be - though there is a certain lightness of foot that might suggest this cat doesn't exactly obey gravity.

He comes to a stop in front of Mozart, not quite sitting down. Instead of meowing, his voice transmits into the Caster's mind ]

I learned that gifts should... be treasured.

[ The cat looks up, holding eye contact without blinking. ]

Where... are you going?

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CMO 2018 EDITION

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

ITS OKAY embeds are cool too

EXCELLENT...

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nya

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

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ain grab bag, you said...

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reach in, try not to get scratched by hissy cat

its okay, some aincats are docile

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