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...? ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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'. ]

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.

Edited (accidentally a detail, fixed a different detail) 2018-05-01 13:40 (UTC)

[ 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... ]

[ 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? ]

[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.

[ 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.

[ ‘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?

[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.]

[ 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?

[ 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.

gib me

[ 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. ]

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nya

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

Crim. And Eve. Because. ♥

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let me know if anything needs changing!

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