#crimedynamics

The show had yet to start. The makeshift stage set in the park stood lonesome in anticipation of the actors that would make their entrances. He wasn’t sure what sort of show he was expecting, but being on the other end of a stage on a calm afternoon struck his fancy enough. Eyes glanced around almost eagerly for a spot towards the back, away from the crowd that had gathered towards the front, spotting a gentleman who seemed to have the same idea.

“Pardon me, sir.”

Sob sob…

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun’s shining, the bird’s are singing, and there’s a vending machine flying through the air at breakneck speed. It seems to almost float, mid-air, until it tumbles back towards the ground, crashing down to earth with a deafening thud. Several cans and bottles spill out from the broken machine, its last signs of life -- the cheery, pink colours of its lights -- die at long last.

Mordred appears soon after. Plucking a can from the mess, she takes a sip, then crushes the beverage. “Bleh! Lime?! Seriously!? First you take my money, then you give me lime? Argh!” Her revenge is a swift kick to the broken machine’s side, further dinting its twisted corpse. Then, like that, it’s forgotten. Mordred turns and, scanning the street, finds someone who looks less then petrified by her display.

there wasn’t much to be said about the neighbourhood really. it was a never-ending circle of districts and streets, sectors bleeding into each other in a continuous loop of misery. well, at least there was plenty going on. people were friendly in an odd sort of way; stopping to admire the proud walk of a feline who seemed to move with purpose down the pavements. weaving in and out of legs, he had grown accustomed to those delicate steps as a cat, upon four legs with his tail curling above him as he went. people ‘ ooh ‘ ed and ‘ aww ‘ ed at him, taking note of his scarf and the bright blue of his eyes. honestly, he both loved it and hated it. it was truly a difficult thing, to be both a cat and quite simply not one. a mystery he alone felt he must solve. with or without the aid of the phantom thieves, he was going to get to the bottom of it for sure.

his mind had been lost to the thought for quite some time, long enough actually for him to forget where exactly it was he heading towards. he walked and walked, the groups of people fading into just the one or two odd strangers passing hurriedly. morgana looked up. there was a large crack within the centre of the road. he must’ve taken a wrong turn, for the way the ground just seemed to have opened up like that didn’t seem natural at all, hardly like the pristine streets he’d passed a moment ago. “ oh ! “ he exclaimed, peering over the side. “ this must be one of those districts people were talking about ! i wonder which one it is... “ the place below the hole seemed vast; the little spaces where daylight did reach illuminating the insides of a tunnel, it seemed. morgana pawed against the edge carefully, blinking with curiosity. “ what if it’s that one with all of the-------- aaAHH !! “ he slipped. leaning over far too greatly over-tipped him and he tumbled, down down down. THUD. 

dust clogged his lungs and he sneezed. he coughed. he spluttered. “ ow ow... “ his ears drooped. looking up, he realised he’d fallen quite a way, but to his surprise... the tunnel wasn’t entirely thrown in darkness after all. lanterns marked the walls and as he got back up upon his paws, he noticed he was standing on something strange. “ b-books ? what are books doing here ? “ he exclaimed, leaping back to try and make sense of them all. but before he could do so, one of the lanterns quivered. 

If there was something about Chaldea that fascinated Avenger was the fact that Servants suddenly came without him knowing of their existences, as he was connected to the Grail it was easy to him to know the identity of all the Servants that lie in the Throne of Heroes.

Neverminding that, Avenger fully knows that in a place like this city such things don’t matter, and while dealing with other Servants that aren’t Martha, his fellow Avengers or the girl with the Shield he had to at least say something. After all, some of these Servants knew of him and it was fun for him, somehow.

     Was this old man really a Servant or was her terrible ability just tricking her?

     It had been a coincidence bumping into him, she hadn’t been paying attention and crashed right into the man. Not the first time it would happen, not the last. Hakuno was never the most graceful, spatially orientated, talented, powerful-- she could go on. But instead of saying sorry and moving on, like usual, she opened her mouth then stopped once she caught him looking at her funny. To be fair, she was probably looking at him funny now too. 

    ❝ So, ❞ Truly, a conversationalist of the ages. He had to be a Servant, only meeting Servant’s made the hair on her arms stand up whenever she met them. Well, Servants and Pieceman. He had been a piece of work-- it was in his name. If it was a suitable time, she’d laugh at her own joke. But no, she was in a stare-off with an old man Servant she had never met. Not in the War, not in a weird forgotten dream, not in a future she couldn’t remember-- but a Servant who obviously knew she was a Master, however terrible.