#chivalour

“Goddamn, why’re there so many of us stuck here...”

Cu leaned on the balcony and flipped through the contact list on his phone. Just in scrolling through it, he’d seen plenty of names he recognized and some he wished he hadn’t. He knew a lot of Servants had been thrown into this mess, but seeing all of them like this kinda put it in perspective.

But that wasn’t the point right now. He was only looking for one.

TO: Saber (Richard I) FROM: Lancer (Cu Chulainn)

“Will you yield, sir?”

Light applause went up from the small crowd as the king’s opponent let his wooden weapon drop to the ground in surrender. Arthur was quick to take the point of his own away from being so close to the man’s face and offer a hand for him to get to his feet, smiling all the while. After a fair handshake and a few words of thanks and sportsmanship, his latest opponent went on his way, likely still wondering just what had happened to him. Likely, if he’d been told he’d just been bested by the King of Knights, he would accept it as a perfectly reasonable explanation.

To Arthur, though, this was little more than practice and a way to pass a bit of time, but it had morphed into a bit of a spectacle as the hours had passed. Someone had spotted him trying to stay active and going through a bit of a workout and had challenged him to a match. When he’d managed a victory, it had turned into a bet he couldn’t duplicate the feat. When he won again, it had turned into a contest with more passersby stopping to look at what was happening. Now there were people sitting by and making a day of it, some even sitting and watching with snacks and drinks as more people came by to challenge the seemingly unbeatable swordsman. By now, the wager pot he had unexpectedly accumulated had grown enough to get him through a week if he so wanted, but he hardly paid attention to it. for all the practice it was to him, he couldn’t deny it was actually a bit fun.

But the afternoon was growing later and though he had no other engagements, he felt it might be best to bring the display to a close. All good things needed to end at one time or another, and this was no exception.

“I think this next bout shall be my last, I’m afraid,” he said to a chorus of disappointment. He smiled apologetically, but despite apparently dashing the hopes of his newfound fans, he stood firm in his decision. Turning toward the onlookers who seemed more keen on taking up the challenge, his gaze fell on one he had seen standing there for some time---one whose observation had hardly wavered, from what he recalled. He could sense now that it was a Servant who had been watching him so closely, something that would have set his instincts on fire had he not started to become accustomed to the fact that this was no War, but something different altogether.

So instead of a cautious stare, he offered the man an inviting smile, his eyes glittering with the spark of friendly competition.

     England didn’t even notice he’d deviated from his intended course towards a familiar bookstore until the sound of an instrument hit his ears; it took him another moment’s pause to realise he had unconsciously approached a particular music shop, and was currently staring at a man sitting in front of it, guitar in hand. His head was turned away; even without a view of his face, however, there was something altogether mesmerising about the figure that drew the full attention of the Nation, even if he had no real idea what that something would be. It wasn’t the music, England knew - the tune was only vaguely familiar, nothing that would’ve given him pause on its own - but he could see nothing else so significantly noteworthy about the scene that would be a reason for this sudden captivation.

     Then the song came to an end, and the other raised his head.

     Oh. That certainly explained the feeling. He’d only caught a few far-off glimpses of the man in his lifetime - mostly amidst the chaos of the humans’ battlefield, at that - but his resemblance to the paintings was unmistakeable. Could he be one of the resurrected ones in this city too, then? The thought didn’t elicit as much alarm or horror as he expected; it seemed the fact that this was one of his kings, and that he had neither known the man personally nor witnessed his death, seemed to help matters. Resurrected or otherwise, it would be a chance for the Nation to meet one of his great historical heroes.

Encountering a Servant he had never spoken to, let alone seen, was new to Gil - who had spoken to many as a result of being summoned to Chaldea for such a long period of time. He was one of the first, though one of the weaker few, but his time there had produced many interesting encounters. This particular encounter was rather interesting though - and that was purely from the blade that this unknown Servant held. No matter what angle Gil looked at it, the answer stayed the same.

It was identical bar one particular feature - “A crimson Excalibur?” 

But upon approaching it for a closer inspection, even the weakened King of Heroes could tell that something didn’t add up. “... No, that isn’t the genuine article. I thought so.” He was, after all, the owner of all the world’s treasures. A crimson Excalibur, if it existed, he would undoubtedly know about it. Yet, the blade that this man held lacked any significant power at all. It was simply a replica - an ornament. Odd for a Servant to have, even in this city. 

would you give me the honor of receiving a kiss of the great magus of avalon….!

True to his word, the magus presses a chaste kiss to the ketchup-colored streaks of Richard’s hair, right against his forehead.

“Your hair is so soft!” Astolfo runs his bare fingers through Richard’s hair as if stroking a cat, lightly running a comb through the trails that his digits leave behind.

"Oh, a Servant! How wonderful. You wouldn’t mind showing Big Brother Merlin around, would you?”