manifestation of truth

For as much as he would like to claim that his time as an infamous celebrity gang lord has long since passed him—having effectively gone into retirement after the latest iteration of the Saints disbanded long ago, Django’s curiosity and general interest in whatever Spirale’s criminal underworld was up to was just as prevalent as ever, if not even more so.

Like a moth to a flame, the man continuously found himself as another onlooker wherever an active crime scene was taking place across the island. Silently judging every little detail he could make out from behind that oh-so familiar yellow tape. It was child’s play to him. Nothing special. He knew damn well how much better he could pull off these stunts. How much more interesting they would be to the general public who were fascinated by such morbid things.

Exciting! Bold! A grand display of just how better of a criminal he was than most people. But oh if he only had the opportunity. If he only had the guarantee of not getting worked over by the people or the systems set in place to prevent such a show of beautiful chaos.

This train of thought is soon derailed as his attention is lured elsewhere. Some man—around his age perhaps—calls out to him. Whatever neutral expression may have been on his face had now contorted into one of both befuddlement and minor annoyance. Now what in god’s name could the palest son of a bitch he’s ever met want with him?

“ Hey, man. I’m not all about that unpaid labor shit. So unless ya got something that’ll be worth my while, I’d suggest getting some traumatized staff member. ”

“Of course you would be compensated by the thrill of the chase? Or perhaps this city’s law enforcement.” He gestures to the detectives on-site, but if he was being honest, he couldn’t hide the disappointment that flickered across his features. How could one look at this scene and think it was anything other than fascinating? Of course, speaking aloud would only alert the likely onlookers who wish to see how the scene plays out, so he waltzes onto the crime scene himself, holding his cane forward and lifting one side of the deceased’s jacket.

“A Mister Wally Folguy, it seems. How entertaining.” Once again, the detectives looked at the Heroic Spirit before he continued looking around the crime scene. It seems as though whatever the man he had been speaking to had been opposed to had since been forgotten, and any disappointment was replaced by rapt fascination. “Assistant - could you note this down? Victim’s fingernails have blue beds, unpainted. Blue lips, similarly unpainted.” Gloves adjusted, he pushes aside a strand of hair. “A simple tattoo behind the ear. Two lone, or the roman numeral for two.”

At this point, it seems the on-site detectives had enough, but by the time they approached him, he was already walking off the site and into the Casino. “There’s no time to lose if my deductions are correct. We should proceed to the Casino with some immediacy!”

“ Um. “

Seiichirou blinks in surprise as he’s addressed. It’s — quite an open to a conversation, Seiichirou thinks to himself, rather judgementally writing him off as weirdo. Not that what he’s saying is strange but how he brings it up so suddenly with little decorum. His eye glimpses at the strange cane in his hands, likely limited on his arrival. If he’s bringing up multiuniverse theories he is the same as him… 

“ Manifestation of possibilities you say? “

“ Well, I don’t see much other possibility seeing as this is my second time within another universe different from my own… Unless this is some sort of simulation of course… “ 

“A simulation, a simulacrum on a grand scale - I had considered such a possibility.” If he noticed the other man’s expression at all, he clearly has no care nor consideration for it. “An image or representation of someone or something, an unsatisfactory imitation or substitute, an imitation of a situation or process, the act of pretending, deception - although I do suppose some of those definitions could apply to our current situation. For example, the limitations imposed on me here would argue an unsatisfactory of a Grail-like system.”

He taps his cane, considering it. “But if I have been to alternate timelines, and you have been to alternate timelines, it would only be logical to put stock in the former, no? Although it is not entirely out of pocket that this place is a simulation created by an entity with vast amounts of energetic potential and knowledge that exceeds multiple universes, thus postulating that both ideas exist in parallel.”

Having babbled on, he turns to his companion-by-proximity.

    Ritsuka is someone who has long since gotten used to how this city works. she’s seen plenty of familiar faces come and go, their existence more transient than ever before. of course, she treated them as she always did and would cherish what memories she made with them here. but it still hurt, even in the most gentlest of ways. and for some, their appearance came with a unique sort of pain. one that she’s experienced enough to count on one hand– one hand. she considers it a good thing when it comes to those meetings: the fact she can keep her composure, letting surprise cover everything else before it bleeds into a bright laugh. the usual routine, one she falls back on, as natural as breathing. but, even with all of that, she still cannot stop the way her heart stutters in her chest at the sight of the Ruler and the emotions that follow suit.

          it has been weeks since everything transpired. since she experienced the newest problem for their world, how it ended, and everything after that. in no ways had it been easy, most of all for her. she had always been so good at managing those feelings. at keeping the anger and grief kept tightly under lock, plastering over it with a carefree attitude. she still felt it all though, every single ounce of it, until it refused to stay hidden any more. it had only been a fraction of what she felt, but it was enough to do something. and just like that, it’s as if it all has come rushing back.

   Ritsuka doesn’t need to ask to know. he hasn’t experienced it yet. perhaps it is like with Mashu, where what he knows is so far behind what the Master herself knows. it was hardly an issue in most cases, but in those select few, she cannot help but to feel the guilt. at keepng everything a secret, held carefully against her chest and away from their eyes until the Stars’ decided it was time to know. it has never been a kind thing to be so far ahead, to know what others do not and be unable to prevent it from happening. in some cases, she spoke of it, but in others, the trials faced never left her lips. it would have to be the same here. she cannot tell him. she cannot tell him what has happened. even if Ritsuka knows he would offer his typical Sherlock Holmes deduction on it all…..it would be cruel to force it upon him. and it would be even more cruel to act in a way that would only raise alarm.

  (  it’s instinct by now to not worry others. she had sworn to do better, but, in this case….she is sure Mashu would forgive her for going back on her word. (

     and so, Ritsuka swallows it back. she drowns the sorrow and the grief that once more claw at her heart. she erases the forever imprinted memory of that smile from her sight. she ignores the words that were said, pretending as if they never reached her ears. she lets that signature smile fall onto her features with a practiced ease, the laugh that comes out sounding far more at ease than she feels.

    “ Aw, come on, Holmes. Just because we get whisked away to another world doesn’t mean I’ll always end up in trouble.” a hand waves in the air, head tilting to the side, pretending her pause is not as heavy as she herself feels.

           it is, genuinely good to see you safe. 

   nobody will ever know how much she wishes the same for him. she almost wishes she was back in Scandinavia, where, even if gravely hurt, he was asleep and healing. how funny that she misses such a time.. “…yeah. It’s good to see you too, Sherlock.”

There was something decidedly, and perhaps unknowingly, off about her.

There had been a time where he would not have bothered to wonder, as it was not pertinent to their mission. In the sands of Camelot, perhaps, or in Shinjuku, the Pseudo-Singularity. He had his own goals, and his assistance had not been out of caring, but more out of necessity. Ritsuka was, after all, the person who was needed to deal with such situations.

And although he had already readily deduced, himself, what camaraderie had transpired to make him care for all of them at this point beyond what was deemed necessary (he, himself, was necessary, even if just in a supporting role), he had not deduced what would give him an inkling of something in the absence of any evidence.

After all, whilst the truth does not need evidence to make itself evident, presenting such a question may make her heart heavy. After all, were she of a mind to share such burdens, he wondered if they would be with him at all. At this time.

“While that is logically true, it is statistically false, leading it to become a logical fallacy. Although the use of logic and statistics is based entirely on our own understanding of them, which this place likely doesn’t follow given the circumstances.”

Absent both Chaldeas and Grail, and not summoned by Ritsuka herself (not to mention the lack of consequences that being summoned once more would call forth, ranging from memory loss to complete erasure of the developed ego when summoned, if one buys into that theoretical framework) there must be some of the selfsame spatiotemporal anomalies found in the Lostbelts.

Which became difficult when considering the fact that he, himself, did not possess all of his own abilities, and thus the other likely did not have their own abilities. His index finger tapped his cane thoughtfully as he observed her.

“Tall and broad stature, blonde hair...Your bearing denotes a warrior or a knight of some kind, but many of the more influential knights have been accounted for.” He observes her with a calm countenance, considering as he goes through knights that would be worthwhile in becoming heroic spirits.

“So, of course, we cannot rule alternate histories out of the equation either. I imagine I simply have not encountered you yet, or you are from an alternate world I am not privy to.”

“Is it the sheer vastness of the multidimensional theories being pursued here that is causing you to look so uncomfortable?”

“I suppose that is a normal reaction, although by the  very same logic used to postulate such a theory, we are all here.” They themselves, as beings, were the evidence used. And although this guy looked tremendously plain, there was something in the back of his mind that indicated that they may be in the same situation.

And worried was not something Holmes often felt. A sense of consternation, perhaps, but worry was so far from his mind typically that he wondered if he could feel it at all. The furrowing of a brow, perhaps. The wrinkle of the nose, the slight twitch of a lip but worry-

Particularly with the many, multiple, myriad, theories he had already begun to form - decidedly that there were many possible outcomes for this: why he had not noticed anyone’s absence, why they had not noticed his, if they would ever notice each others, if he simply existed in a world as the “Holmes” that did not note any extra-physical absences or presences and yet, perhaps, there was a “Holmes” that would have noted such a thing, stranded in a Lostbelt without the last Master of humanity. . .

And so on. All of that, of course, was occurring his own territory, his study of his mind, something that could occur outside of regular time and space - or perhaps within it, but in a split second. The way in which it would take less time for you to imagine a cat than to say the word cat.

An exhale, internal musing aside, he couldn’t help but feel an easy smile upon his lips. Was this what the other side of relief felt like?

“Spatiotemporal anomalies aside - which are decidedly not anything new, of course -” Because, of course, it truly wasn’t. Spatiotemporal abnormalities had saved them time and time again, after all, and he wondered just what was happening with this. Surely, he could not help but think, they would figure it out, as they always did.

“It is, genuinely good to see you safe.” While he could go on a prolonged rant about pocket dimensions, it wasn’t anything Ritsuka was not aware of herself. There was, really, no need to tell someone who lapsed into alternate realities in her dreams that they were far from home, even further from Proper Human History, and that whatever Singularity they had stumbled into was going to be a difficult one to parse out and certainly not one that had been seen on their maps.

“Some would believe that this individual likely came here for his own predetermined fate, ill- as it was.” He continued, observing the scene for what it was - a robbery gone correctly. While the ornery detective in front of him tried to tell him it was probably a mugging, he could only chuckle. Amusement continued to play on his features as he walked onto the scene, looking up into the crowd.

His eyes met one of the onlookers, and he pointed with his cane.

“You there - I always work better with an assistant, and you seem to know your way around this Casino.”

Decidedly, assuredly, not currently serving as the face of the Alien God. A young woman who died prior to his own relationship with Chaldea began in earnest but someone he was more than aware of. Someone who’s presence lingered in ways she likely was unaware of in her current state.

And someone who, he could only imagine, had lingered before her face had been taken by the Alien God. There were enough records to distinguish her from the being Itself, outside of the fact that their clothes were decidedly different.

Although he of all people knew one’s appearance was not necessarily the most apparent indicator of their identity, in this case, in this space, and in the absence of anything else to indicate otherwise, it was the truth he could discern without speaking, and so introductions were in order.

At least one would presume.

“Olga-Marie Animusphere. Our paths were not able to cross at Chaldea proper, but it is a pleasure to meet you now.” Unless the Alien God has taken to more modern fashions - doubtful, he imagined, and while there was part of him ignoring the social niceties of remarking on how decidedly not desecrated her posthumous appearance was, he could bite his tongue on this one.

“Sherlock Holmes, Ruler-Class Servant, although I certainly typically possess the capabilities to attain other classes.” A gloved finger tapped the end of his candy cane-cane. “Further introductions are likely unnecessary, but if you have any other questions, as this is clearly an example of,” In a split second, his mind flew with a flurry, books being pulled off shelves, papers, files, flying every which way. Metaphorically, imaginary, but oh so real at the same time, “Metaphysical reality, multiverse theory - all plausible, and done in many myriad ways in our own world. You may very well know what Chaldea has been up to in your absence.”