呪術廻戦 (ED2)
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@singleruin
呪術廻戦 (ED2)

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The Constellations of Summer, Francesco Levy
It’s almost nostalgic, to be called something along the lines of off his rocker---although what that says about the company Vanitas keeps, he’s not sure. Either way, rather than putting him off, the insult puts him in a rare good mood. He shrugs idly, one hand twirling his knife without any real indication that he’s going to put it to use any time soon. “A few strings loose? Well, it would be irresponsible to dismiss the possibility out of pocket. But make no mistake.” He catches the hilt of his knife and with the same hand holds a finger up, not unlike a schoolteacher trying to underscore something particularly important. “I am not incorrect on this point, nor a madman.”
At the very least, it seems that all of the people in the room have taken a temporary leave from shooting at him, perhaps because of their proximity to one another---or perhaps at a silent command from the man standing directly in front of him. Nehan, if Vanitas’s information is correct---and if he’s not, he is going to delicately season Dante and then roast him over an open fire. “Before I die, you say? Awfully presumptuous of you!
“Let me ask you a question in return, monsieur,” he continues, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t even answered the one asked of him. He puts his free hand on his hip, flashing a conspiratorial glance all around---a meaningless gesture, because without lowering his voice at all, he says, “Are you familiar with the concept of a cursebearer? Or, even if not that, have you heard at all of the Book of Vanitas?” He smiles, but without any friendliness---but at the same time, with no trepidation.
“Hmmm,” Enkidu says, the sound riding on a sigh. “Well, nothing. Sometimes it’s nice to stay up later, too.” That’s the truth---they would be just as content asleep as awake, but there’s something about the quietness of the halls when the other Servants aren’t out and about that relaxes them. Besides, the command room is almost always occupied; they’re sure they could probably drop by any time, but they’d prefer not to disturb. “It’s not often that you see this kind of peace in Chaldea. Isn’t that right?” They flash another smile, straightening up before walking out of the doorway properly and standing next to Diarmuid.
“And you, Lancer? I haven’t seen you at this time of night before.” Enkidu turns with a curious tilt of the head, hands clasped behind them. Of course, it could just be that they’re not out and about often enough to happen to run into him---most nights, they don’t wander much, since Gil gets sulky---but it’s been a good few times. “Checking on Master? Ah, although I guess they’re probably making the most of their free time as well.” Saving the world is quite a task, after all.

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@firstspears / starter call.
It’s a late night. In between missions, the command room is quiet and empty, the Chaldea staff having long gone to bed---most of them, at least. Enkidu does hear the scuffing of footsteps in the distance, meaning that some must be up and patrolling, even at this hour. They suppose that one of the good things about being a Servant is that none of the most powerful creatures in this complex need to sleep, although certainly some have taken to it.
Tonight the command room door has been left open. Enkidu lingers in the doorway, hand against the cool, smooth material of the exterior wall. It’s a marvel to see that humanity had grown such since their day that they could build such a marvel as CHALDEAS. The astrologer’s ring spins slowly, almost imperceptibly, as they watch, lit up an unearthly from the back by the impossibly heavy floating Spiritrons that make up its core. They do nothing but watch for a few long moments, staring unblinkingly.
A sound from just down the hallway has them perk up and tear their eyes away from CHALDEAS at last, and they lean back to see who might be coming this way at this hour. A familiar Servant’s face---Enkidu offers a smile. It’s that Lancer, the Irish hero---Diarmuid ua Duibhne, if they remember correctly. One of Master’s first Servants, actually. “Hello there, Lancer.” They also raise the hand that’s not keeping them from falling flat outside the door and wave at him.
@singleruin ( vanitas ) / s.c.
All is calm in the building; as calm as a mafia family could be anyway, lax in the knowledge that if anyone were to enter unwisely, they’d be dealt with swiftly, while prepared to pick up their guns at that provocation. And Nehan ignored every member as he walked the hallways, having worked for too long to get where he is, aiming to avoid all the aimless chatter. All is calm…
Until suddenly it’s not, with the crash of glass breaking, someone breaking through one of the large windows of the estate – without a damn care, as if already they weren’t being shot at, zipping through the bullet parade easily.
Aiming straight for Nehan. “Gh, do you think I’m that easy to take down?” he asked rhetorically, grabbing at his gun to shoot as well.
Oh, so he’s already aware of who Vanitas’s target is? Either the family’s information network is wider than Vanitas thought---unlikely, unless Dante has become one to withhold information even after Gévaudan---or the man himself has a guilty conscience. Or an inflated ego! Any of the three, and it wouldn’t matter to him. Vanitas jumps from the bannister to the rail of the stairs adjacent, ducking under another hail of bullets and somehow managing to pull his own knife.
“Not at all, monsieur!” Vanitas calls, lacking any delicacy as usual. He swings down to the opposite side of the rail from the stairs, and drops to the floor. He pauses for a second to bite his tongue and hit someone over the head as hard as he could manage with the pommel of the knife. “And besides, you’re mistaken about my aim.” With a flourish---thankfully, no one is quite so close to him now---Vanitas places his unarmed hand on his chest.
“You see, I am a doctor. I am here to save you!” Unceremoniously, he has to scramble to the side to avoid getting shot.
Didem Madak, tr. by Maggie Dubris, from “Sir, I Want to Write Poems with Flowers,” featured in Eda: An Anthology of Contemporary Turkish Poetry
@singleruin
As circumstances would have it, his vassals became wrapped up into yet another realm of affairs not concerning their own goals. Percival doesn’t mind, of course, as he’s told them before, he is actually welcome to having more idiots with such an attitude toward others. As one possessing strength himself, he’s made it his own mantra to help those in need.
The trouble they’re wrapped in this time was a curious one, as a kingdom unbeknownst to him at all, and he considered himself well-read on at least the other kingdoms of the skyrealm. It’s curious how it popped up so suddenly, and that might be why Lyria and the Captain were so insistent that they attend to this new kingdom’s affairs. Especially as the one latching onto a crown of a future kingdom, it may be his duty to observe other nations.
“You have my gratitude again for granting us audience,” Percival begins with his usual smirk and a pridefully puffed out chest. “King Gilgamesh, my own reports have told me that you and your kingdom have suddenly been transported in this realm. Would you happen to know the cause of it?” Truthfully, he’d been having to go by his brother’s word, considering that he brought up this new kingdom in the first place…
That Master of Chaldea... Gilgamesh would have said that it was unlike them to jump headlong into such murky waters, were he not fully aware that it was simply how they---and really, all of Chaldea; fools, the lot of them---behaved. As it is, he stands, rather discombobulated, on the deck of a ship, leagues above any semblance of solid land, and accompanied by only the piteous Master---hurling their guts out over the starboard side---and a ragtag team of other Servants. He’ll kill that Romani when they finally find their way back to Chaldea.
He raises an eyebrow as he’s approached, crossing his arms over his chest. A knight, it seems, of the ship’s proprietor---and one who has correctly deemed him as being in charge. Points. Still, he’s loath to explain, since that’s supposed to be someone else’s job, but if he wants it done right, he’ll have to say it himself. “My own kingdom? Far from it,” he scoffs. “Were Uruk now among the lands of this world, it would no doubt be much grander. No, this is some other kingdom entirely, most likely assembled under some entity with the aid of the Holy Grail.” He pauses for a moment, considering. It is quite quick, to him, for the Master of Chaldea to already have come to an agreement with this motley crew of skyfarers, as they have termed themselves, but...
Well, if this is a mistake, then so be it. He’ll do away with any traitors himself. “Tell me,” he says, leveling a stare at this knight, and matching his smirk with one of his own, “are the lot of you aboard this ship aware of the existence of the Grail in your world?”
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