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Post by Gráinne on Mar 27, 2016 22:08:18 GMT
Grey eyes glanced at the large anthology in the brunette’s lap as she picked a chip from the large pile on the table. It was something about myths and legends that she had picked up from the library in Dundalk before departing to Chaldea. Oddly enough (for her at least), it wasn’t a reread, Grainne could only attribute that to the fact that she couldn’t reach the shelf that it had been placed upon as a young teen without fear of spilling every book from the shelf. Or maybe she had looked some sort of solace in the stories that she’d known or something awfully sad like that. She didn’t know, she didn’t particularly care. She was far too busy reading about Taliesin—was it Taliesin? She wasn’t too sure, for once in her life the brunette was far too engrossed in the taste of the delicious chips on the table to focus on the information dump that she could consider 'a bit of light reading'.
Under the impression that she had heard a noise of some sort the Irish woman jolted, slamming the book shut with her free hand as her other moved over the snack protectively. After her chocolate had mysteriously gone missing she had no wish to lose yet another treat to the greedy magi and servants of Chaldea.
Perhaps taking the opportunity to have a midnight snack in the mess hall hadn’t been the best idea, what with it being dark and scary and all that. Especially considering her wish to keep her food away from the hands of strangers. Then again if every tale ever told was to be believed the most interesting things had the habit of popping up late at night when no one was up. She had to look on the bright side, that noise had meant that something interesting was going to happen. Or you know, that someone somewhat interesting was going to come along. And variety was the spice of life. Yes, this wasn’t a bad thing at all.
Instead, she turned to the source of the sound with a grin on her face. Better to ease the tension now than have some sort of awkward meeting with someone that she may have to work with in the future, right?
“Tad late to be hangin’ around, don’t ya think, a chara?”
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Post by Gareth on Mar 31, 2016 1:07:14 GMT
Gareth had needed to occupy himself. Get his head off bitter disappointments and long-standing grudges. That left him with little options, however - friends, those were never getting summoned. Unlucky he'd been that all his companions that were worthy of note had in some way betrayed him or died in ways much worse, and were thus even more unlikely to be brought about. Someone mentioned Percival's existence, but that had been a rumor from what he could tell. Practice, as he'd been informed, was largely useless. His shell had been summoned with preset stats from his peak form, and thus his fighting skills could largely neither be enhanced nor rust from misuse. Another waste of time. Sparring? No, Chaldea wouldn't allow it, and there's no way to tell children from elder deities in this accursed facility. Luckily, the next option on the list had been quite viable.
Cooking. Never had he thought the skill he gained to pass the time until an adventure came about would come so useful as to calm his nerves.
After a rude introduction to the grub served in his new workplace, the knight had quickly been taught that only he and a tanned japanese man should ever be allowed near the kitchen. Humans were largely useless, and other Servants were more likely to summon hellspawn than to concoct something actually delicious. Taking turns with the man that entitled himself a Counter Guardian, the luck of the draw had left him with the last shift of a quiet day, and thus the responsibility for the dishes.
Wiping away the moisture of the plates, the blond could not help but sigh with a certain satisfaction to his lips. Work truly ennobles man, he thought, for it washes away all frustrations. Work is simple, something one begins and ends, something one sets off with a certain result in mind and spends effort towards it, until it is accomplished. In that manner, it is somewhat similar to a quest.
He'd been on the finishing touches of storing away the dinnerware when he heard sounds from the tables, guessing someone must had come there for a snack or some alone time. Not paying it much mind, it only came to importance once more when the knight failed his attempt at a quiet leave, having hit his ankle against a bench on his way out.
"Ow- ow..." Gareth of Orkney exclaimed, forgetting all his high and mighty act for the sake of expressing pain. When the blur of suffering wiped off his eyes, emerald gaze caught notice of the woman standing there, reading. Even against the barely lit nocturnal cafeteria, he could tell the shape was familiar.
An irishwoman. Together with Edmond and the indian, one of the few presences in all of Chaldea he could tolerate, and the only that had been a Master.
"Was just finishing up the dishes." The blond responded, shrugging the awkwardness of how he'd been revealed away. His face, if closely watched, still carried the lingering remains of pain. "Plus, that goes for you too, irishwoman. Unlike us, conventional sleep is not an optional affair."
Dressed in a crimson t-shirt, black formal pants and leather shoes, he would offer no trace of his side occupation if not for the white apron over it, his hands busily drying themselves by wiping against a kitchen rag.
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Post by Gráinne on Apr 1, 2016 2:47:49 GMT
A pale hand moved to cover her lips, a poor attempt to hide the giggle that had escaped her lips at the manner in which the blond man had been revealed. She had always thought of those in Chaldea, both the Servants and the Masters as somewhat high strung—regal even, something that befitted heroic spirits of old and the people that worked with them. It had been the reason that she had joined Chaldea in the first place, the opportunity to work with the people who had inspired her so much as a child. Alas, there were few Irish servants as far as she was aware and her interest in the mythologies of other countries wavered around the time they reached anything that wasn’t French based Arthurian literature. By now she should have figured out that there was little need to worry, heroic spirits were just as human as any other average Joe.
She would have found it disappointing if it wasn’t for the range and the fact that these people lived through things she had only read about. Besides it was sort of comforting to know that the person who killed a dragon had as many flaws as someone that she might’ve known. Might‘ve being the keyword as she didn’t often care for normal humans or modern magi; not the ones who seemed boring at least.
Grainne paused, taking in the blond’s appearance, a white apron over otherwise damn nice clothing, it almost made her casual ensemble seem hastily put together in comparison, which it was, she had literally thrown it on to go and grab some chips. He was wearing that to clean. It almost seemed a bit much in comparison, the brunette made a mental note to ask him where he’d found those clothes. If Chaldea provided them then she was going to have a word, she needed a whole new wardrobe. Trying to find respectable clothing which was practical enough to save the world was simply easier said than done.
The Irishwoman shook those thoughts from her head, smiling at the blond and motioning to the table. An invitation for him to sit down, she didn’t fancy going to sleep as childish as it sounded. Not when there were better things to do than sleep! Like reading and eating and maybe a conversation if she was lucky and didn’t get pushed into actually going to bed.
“Grainne works just fine, much better than Irishwoman at least,” she replied, her gaze lingered on his face in an attempt to see if he had been in pain or if it had been a trick of the light, only to shift when she realized that she’d ran out of chips. Chuckling softly she turned her attention back to the blond. “I’m doing a bit of light reading, I figured it’d be good to get a proper grasp of any interesting servants who may or may not turn up.” She explained, grinning lazily in an attempt to hide any sort of tiredness that may have set in now the excitement of chips had gone away.
“So kitchen’s definitely closed for the night? You’re not going to go back in there at all?”
Was she thinking of asking him to fry up some more chips? Definitely. She just hoped that she wasn’t being too obvious about it.
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Post by Gareth on Apr 4, 2016 0:02:47 GMT
Well, Gareth had grown somewhat disdainful of his armor. A symbol of pride in life, a trophy gained from the Legendary Black Knight of Londinium that had been passed down evildoing knights for generations through naught but bloody combat in which the victor took the spoils, the boy had decided he'd instead use the infamous plate for good. A redundant Mystic Code that stored the attributes of its strongest wearer and borrowed them to its current user, it served no purpose as a magical device due to its way of inheritance requiring the new owner to always be stronger than any past ones, yet even still, he'd clung onto it for dear life. A beacon of his accomplishment, something people could recognize him over.
In Chaldea, however, it simply tipped people off to him being a Servant. What brought judgment onto his name, his achievements, and never any recognition for the plate he wore, which apparently was just repurposed after his death into the same function it served before. A tool for evildoing. In a way, all he had done was take care of it for the next villain to appropriate.
Clothes that fit him in this era had been hard to find. Adapting to modern fashion had been nigh impossible, since casual clothing simply looked too alien to Gareth, much like a jester's, yet formalwear was simply too cramped and tight. That was why he had picked this mixed attire - it looked elegant, fit him perfectly yet didn't suffocate him and allowed a great deal of freedom of movement. Plus, clothing in this time even came with his trademark colors - black and deep, crimson red. How convenient!
Masters and staff treated him really nicely, specially when he made them food. So to hell with Servants and their honor and their sordid affairs - he'd just spend time with this modern people, pretending to be a cook. That should keep his mind off the crippling depressing realization his life had been pointless and accumulated only in misfortune and disaster!
A bit self-aware at being laughed at, the knight let it slide like off a duck's back. "Ah, Grainne." That's the name. They'd met before, but never properly. One of those quick exchanges amidst the halls, probably when he went to restock the muffin machine they'd installed in the confraternity slash coffee lounge. "I'm Gareth, remember? Gareth of Orkney." Whilst he omitted the 'Sir' and the lengthy introduction this time, the youth secretly wished she did remember that he was a Servant, at the very least.
"Well, it's way past closing ti-"
The slowpoke finally caught up to the punch, smiling a bit that his services were desired.
"- it's your lucky day, we just inaugurated the late night shift!"
The blond afforded a glance to the potato chip crumbles on the table.
"So... potatoes, fried, mashed, sautéed, with a bit of scrambled egg? Take your pick, madam." While she was by no means old, a Magus head of that age had probably already married. It was a fair assumption. "I'd advise you moved a bit closer to the kitchens, however, where you'll be able to watch the magic happen, live at Chaldea!"
Perhaps he was a bit excited at being needed. Just a little bit.
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Post by signy on Apr 4, 2016 4:00:45 GMT
“Indeed, kind lady. And while you are at it you might want to sip a nightcap to end the day,” continued another voice, far sweeter than Gareth’s own, “There is nothing more relaxing than a little drink before bed.” From a hidden passage concealed behind a sliding cupboard that no one knew existed in the kitchen, came a blue-haired, smiling youth. It was hard to tell in this dim lightning whether the youth was a girl or a boy- the face had qualities of both. The loose concealing robe they were wearing did not help too. And it was in such an outdated mode that suggested if the youth was not a Servant, then they surely came from a very traditional Magi families. But it was not important, wasn’t it? Two pairs of bright eyes stared kindly at Grainne as the tall cupboard behind her slid closed. With both Presence Concealment and Information Gathering at the top level, it was hard for anyone to think the youth as anything but a friend. And Grimhildr tonight was just that: a friend without malice thoughts. The first time she paid a visit to Chaldea’s cellar, she was shocked by the less-than-optimal management of the stored liquors, and even more shocked by the awful taste they presented. For Grimhildr, serving a drink was a tradition of the highest form. A slightly unsatisfactory presentation would mean utter disgrace to both the bartender and the maker and generations before them. It was an unthinkable sin, and naturally Grimhildr could not let it happen in the place where she took residence. Of course, the old stern cellarer refused to handle his responsibilities so easily, even to someone as persistent as Grimhildr. But the old man mellowed a bit after a nice little afternoon drink with Grimhildr’s own –special- blend. Just a single drop, and the next time he knew he was handling all the cards and keys to her, believing that he had been told since the very beginning that a more advance connoisseur would be supervising the Chaldea’s stored liquor. All it needed was a little twist in memory. But Grimhildr wasn’t stupid enough to let it went uncovered. Using the many networks of victims she had …toasted… with, she secured duplicate keys and cards for the cellarer and expressly told him to let her work in private and to always approve her request order, lest he got fired, as he should have already been told since the very beginning. After all, he still had his old responsibilities and the connoisseur was only here to help. So the cellarer went on his usual way, and Grimhildr was free to upgrade Chaldea’s stock to match her extra-fine palate. And what a smart one Chaldea was. Of course, everyone knew that the best way to keep hundreds of people cramped in a frozen area satisfied was to supply them with liquors. But to keep the likes of Francis Drake from emptying the stock in a single go, the way to the underground cellar must be kept hidden. Thus was the hidden networks of fake cupboards and doors that seemingly never opened, hidden even from kitchen-frequenters like Gareth. And as most higher-ups demanded access to the cellar from their private rooms, it provided an excellent access for the Witch of Spiders’ scheme. Although not every night Grimhildr wanted to scheme. This night was one of those. She was a little surprised that there were still people in the Mess Hall at this time of night. But she was somewhat excited too. It had been quite some time since she had a chance to satisfy a guest with drinks. Flashing an ID card of “Official Chaldea Cellarer” to remove all doubts, the Magus continued, “We have tawny ports of twenties and thirties, and also Napoleon Cognacs. I think they are best for nightcaps. Not too lively, not too sweet, and somewhat mellow…”
Her eyes twinkled. “And a new stock just came this afternoon. Bushmills twelve and sixteen years old. All thrice-distilled, all single malt like an Irish Whiskey should.” She moved her head, “With a little splash of water to calm them down, they should be perfect for bedtime. We can have a glass for you too. And me.” She ended, moving her eyes towards Gareth with a smile, "Boss would not mind." She might be a little excited. But come on, who would not be happy at the prospect of drinking with friends late at night? |
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Post by Gráinne on Apr 4, 2016 22:16:24 GMT
‘Gareth of Orkney’, what a humble way to introduce oneself, although she never called herself Grainne Ni Conghaile the scion of the Conghaile family of Ireland or whatever either.
“Sir Gareth of Orkney,’ beaumains’, brother of Gawain, Agravain and Gaheris, son of Lot, husband of Lynette.” The magus’ brows furrowed as the words were said, nothing more than a moment of self-doubt before she returned to smiling at the blond. “Or was it Lyonesse? Tennyson writes of one, the classics of another.” A bookworm by nature and a lover of myths and legends at heart Grainne had come across his story, he was a knight of the round table after all. He may not have been a native of Ireland, but she did have a scope beyond that. Of course it wasn’t too great, which explained why she felt unsure of some details. If he asked her about his own feats, she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to answer. “But yeah, I remember you.”
It hadn’t been a particularly eventful meeting, but meetings weren’t supposed to be. Not the ones she had. An unfortunate part of the building in general was that one tended to meet the most interesting people when they had to be somewhere else entirely. Names had been exchanged, that might have been it. She’d been more shocked at his height and age, she’d expected a gallant, towering man. But obviously things weren’t always what they seemed.
Not that she minded much. In fact she found Gareth to be an altogether agreeable young man. Awfully accommodating too, he didn’t need to do anything for her. Just because she was a Master didn’t necessarily mean that she was to be waited on after all, she was an agent like anyone else at Chaldea so to be treated so courteously by a young man she barely knew was flattering. She grinned; about to tell him that whatever he had planned sounded wonderful and that she would love to join him.
Until she realized that he’d referred to her as madame.
“Am I old enough for that now?” A bout of forced laughter passed her lips as she shook a hand dismissively, if she could make him feel a little bad at the blunder she’d be pleased. If not, then it didn’t matter. “No matter that sounds like a real treat, Sir Gareth.” She was about to stand up and suggest they go to the kitchen so she could see how it was done when she was alerted to a sweet voiced someone entering the room. Odd, she didn’t think that she wouldn’t notice another person. Nevertheless she turned to look at this new person.
Petite, at least in comparison to the other two people in the room, with the most interesting shade of blue for hair and an odd way of dressing. Either a very traditional magus or a caster class servant, either would be somewhat interesting in her opinion. Especially the former if it meant that they had awfully little to do with the Association. That would be an interesting change, and it would probably mean that they were one of the more bearable magi around. Her eyes rested on the ID card presented, she found it odd that there was one to begin with (especially when the stranger seemed so young) but she wasn’t going to dwell too much on it, after all she was in no position to judge. She had just spent the last few hours eating chips and reading after all.
“I’m Grainne, Grainne ni Conghaile, I assume you’re familiar with my friend here.” She gestured towards Gareth, she assumed that the woman’s boldness had been due to some sort of bond with Gareth. She could only speak for herself when she said that she couldn’t recall meeting this girl for the life of her. The brunette opted to not let such a thing bother her and instead turned her attention to the offer of drink, call it stereotypical but there was nothing like a drink with some interesting people.
“If you’d like to drink with us, I’d enjoy that very much. May I ask for your name?”
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Post by King Atlas on Apr 10, 2016 2:48:32 GMT
 "'Sir' my ass."Yet another voice interrupted as Atlas materialized, Poseidon already in hand, but fortunately donned in his bartender garb. That iself was a hint that Atlas wasn't here to instinctively have a fight. That being said, he was here to put Gareth through the wringer. It was so painfully obvious to Atlas that this man was looking to score. Even if the man did not know it himself, that much was obvious! He had a sworn duty as a man bored out of his skull to completely ruin it! Which was why Atlas waved his Trident, aiming two light swats at the top of Gareth's cranium. And now it was time to completely destroy whatever reputation Gareth had built up. Because really, this guy was a terrible son of a bitch who had completely lied to him. "I ran into King Arthur and asked her. Yes, her. She didn't remember a Gareth amongst the Round Table." Part of him still found it strange that King Arthur was actually a girl, but there were weirder things in existence, he supposed. Besides, it was actually true! Arthur had told him that she had never heard of any Gareth loser, and that's what this man was; a total loser. Their "fight" if it could have been called that, was proof enough. Then there was the lady who was there bragging about what she had available for them to drink. "And whiskey? That's the best you have? At least my stash has cobras in it." To prove his point, Atlas called a bottle of whiskey from his room into his hand. Sure enough, there was a floating King Cobra inside, coiled up like a snake charmer had managed to capture its attention. He was pretty sure it was dead, but it was also impressive that he was completely unconcerned with waving around blatantly illegal contraband.
tags: Gráinne , Gareth , signy notes: cockblock on all fronts |
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