ic inbox (kenos)

[gravings]

I will definitely put something here this time

Comments

[epiprocta]

[ They both know it's not so simple. Even if Gray has Add back, and even if he knows she could probably wipe the floor with him eight different ways, he still can't help thinking she's always at risk of dying against. Not that he's worried for her or anything. (He is.) But it just hadn't felt right, thinking that Gray was vulnerable, and he doesn't want it to happen again. Ever.

A sentiment that comes across maybe just the slightest in the way he thumps her back once more before quickly pulling his hand away to grab up the basket instead. ]

Mm. I'll drop the basket off when I'm done.

[ It's his way of saying thanks. (???) Also, it's probably only going to take him a few days at most to demolish all these pies. Disgusting. ]

Later, then.

[ And with that unceremonious farewell, he's off. At least Gray can rest easy knowing she'll be keeping him well-fed for a while. ]

[salvageable]

[ Help, this would have been so much easier if Dokja had asked about food preferences from D. But like... what's something that is universally liked? What soup can't possibly be hated? ]

Chicken noodle soup.

[ You know. For sick people. ]

[gravings]

[ Like............. she doesn't have a big appetite so she wouldn't complain about just chicken noodle soup for dinner, but. ]

Do you think that will be enough for him?

[erbe]

He's weird.

[She'll leave it at that as she tears another piece of bread to soak in the stew broth. It's warm, rich, and salty. The potatoes and carrots are soft. The meat is tender. It's good enough that even miss "I have to watch my figure" Tohsaka gets up for a bowl of seconds.]

[gravings]

[ Weird?? Eustace?? Perish the thought. If they were talking about someone else (Mordred)(Gen) Gray would be content to let Rin's comment sit as subjective truth, but she feels an obligation to speak up for Eustace's honor. ]

He did a lot to look after me when we first met. And actually, he lives in this house too.

[ Just. For Rin's information. ]

[salvageable]

[ Scratches his cheek as he thinks about this... ]

... He's a skinny guy, so I don't think he'll need too much.

[ Or does that mean they have to feed him more?? ]

[uproared]

[ There are flashes before the memory settles. Glimpses of a coronation, a crown placed upon a helmeted head, followed by weeks of celebration and feasting. Later, of a false king on a stolen throne, eternally clad in armour, giving orders to their court. Then, finally, to a prison in all but name, a broken woman left to ruminate over her sins alone, until an unwelcome intrusion breaks the silence. Though the halls of Camelot shine just as bright for their new king, the same can't be said for its former queen.

"A proposal, Guinevere." Gloved fingers reach out to cup a pale, trembling chin, and Mordred seems more amused than offended when Guinevere immediately jerks away from her touch. "Unlike Arthur, I am nothing if not merciful. Even a traitorous harlot has a place at my side. Become my queen, and be free of this persecution."

Refusing to be cowed by the obvious threat, Guinevere offers only a defiant glare in response.

"What is this nonsense you speak of?"

Mordred pauses, as if she might strike the other woman down for her impudence. Then, laughing, she removes her helmet.

"As much nonsense as your games of playing husband and wife."

Seeing her husband's face staring back at her, Guinevere's expression freezes halfway between fear and despair, hatred morphing into realization, then horror — all while Mordred openly gloats over her stunned reaction, arms cast wide as if waiting for applause from an invisible audience.

"That's right," she says, her contemptuous sneer making a mockery of the king's serene features. "My father broke your marriage long before you ever did. So, which will it be, Guinevere? Whatever shred of dignity you still possess," this punctuated by another laugh, "or your life? You have until sundown to decide."

With a final mocking bow, Mordred redons her helmet and takes her leave, closing the door behind her. Only then does Guinevere allow herself to sink slowly to the floor, quietly sobbing into her hands as Mordred leans against the wall and listens with satisfaction. ]

[gravings]

[ ... Dokja knows the guy better than she does. She'll just keep some bread, cheese, and other snackables on hand, just in case. ]

Alright. I can help you prepare it tomorrow.

[ And she guesses that's all there is to it?? She is feeling a little anxious already, but (she figures) this is Dokja's ship to sail. ]

[gravings]

[ On the other end of things, a memory starts up all at once.

Why do you persist?

The unnervingly even tone of a girl masked in armor resounds in Gray's head. Gray's body is weak, the mana in the air so thin as to be close to void. An army of skeleton soldiers surges forward. Gray's scythe sweeps the closest away with sluggish effort, as if she were swinging through molasses.

An arduous battle in a miserable place. As dark and gloomy as the underworld. The earth bulges down on them as if threatening to swallow them. Sounds of steel crack behind Gray, sounds of others engaged in other fights, but she only has eyes for the girl in armor ahead of her with the regal bearing of royalty.

"I have something to ask you," Gray gasps between desperate swings. "Are you really the mind of King Arthur?"

Yes, the voice allows. I am the will of the king that was. I am a husk, a remnant. I exist only to preserve this information.

Fear. Confusion. An impression of arrays and formulas flit through Gray, leaving her with the thought that the person in front of her is more divine spirit than human.

Time blurs. The battle grows more dire. Yet Gray persists in probing the Husk King.

"Have you always been here?"

Blank surprise from the expressionless figure. And then, a voice. A real voice from the armored girl's lips. "... I." The word is a rumble through the earth. "Ten years ago, I awakened in this place along with you." The voice falls lower. "Actually, I think it would be better for you to run. To escape to the ends of the earth."

The Husk King's voice is so low as to encircle the ground beneath Gray's feet.

"However, you returned. Against all reason, you returned. So there is only one course of action. I will contain you here."

A dark spear manifests in the masked king's hand, its thorns severe and alien. As the dark Rhongomyniad levels at Gray, she hastily raises her scythe.

The sound of a crack splits into her ears as the immense force of the spear consumes her. ]

[uproared]

[ It doesn't matter how unfamiliar the armour is, that the figure leads an army of bone instead of flesh: even in a dream, even only as a part of his whole, Mordred knows her father anywhere. If she were more than an observer, she would doubtless interfere, but today, she has no choice except to be a silent witness. To watch Gray weaken with each passing second, the air itself conspiring against her. To listen when she finds the strength to question the would-be arbiter of her fate. To grow rigid as the will of Arthur finally speaks aloud, wishing for Gray to live, yet offering her only death.

To wake up with phantom pain coursing through her body, the dream ending almost the same way her life did. Blindly, she stumbles outside whatever abandoned building she's holed up inside, and retches, half expecting to see blood stain the ground in front of her instead of just the former contents of her stomach.

Later that day, a visibly annoyed Mordred barges into Gray's house; loudly smacking her hand against the nearest wall to draw attention to her presence. (Hopefully Gray has given up on whatever expectation of privacy she still had, if she ever had any illusions of such to begin with.) Looking slightly disheveled, she glares at the other girl; her voice still hoarse from earlier. ]

Don't show me weird dreams, idiot mouse. [ Did she really come all this way just to complain? ]

[gravings]

[ While Mordred is retching, Gray awakens with nothing but an abrupt opening of her eyes and sweat beading her forehead. The scene that played out in her sleep wasn't a dream so much as a memory; she knows it not as someone who could now be called a Master, but as someone who's already been called a Sibyl. The remnant memories of the dead have plagued her sleeping hours all her life.

But it's rare indeed that the memories feature someone she knows in the present, and in the few times it's happened before, the spirits have been in close proximity. Not so this time with Mordred; Gray can feel that the knight is far away with a clarity that's still new to her. The magical bond that connects them as Master and Servant is astounding. She would have liked something like it to keep track of her old mentor in London.

In any case, she's unable to go back to sleep so she starts her morning early. She wonders if she should discuss what she saw with Mordred or if that would only deepen the invasion of privacy... but in the end, Mordred herself forces the issue by forcing her way into Gray's house.

Gray looks up from where she's quietly sat in the living room, brushing out a fluffy gray cat. Even though there's no one else around, she is still vigilantly hooded. Gray stares at Mordred, processing what she's said. And then it clicks. Maybe Mordred saw a memory too...? ]

What did you see?

[ She doesn't get up, but there's plenty of room on the couch she's on and the adjacent one. Gray figures Mordred will sit if she wants to, regardless of an invitation or lack thereof. Gray should probably be more reactive about Mordred barging in, but it is something she expects more than ever now. ]

[uproared]

[ Cat..................... her entire mood shifting, Mordred plops down cross-legged on the couch beside Gray, reaching over to pet the kitty. ]

My father. Part of him, at least. [ As if he doesn't already haunt her waking moments enough. The cat bunts against her hand, and she focuses her full attention on it instead of Gray; rubbing the side of its cheek gently. ] "The will of the king that was". ... This isn't me praising you at all, but it's a little impressive that you stood up to him despite your disadvantage. But just a little. Medium impressive at most.

[gravings]

[ Gray doesn't stop the cat from stretching over to soak up Mordred's attention. She didn't expect Mordred to like cats, but maybe it makes sense given the body they share.

She looks over at Mordred, unconsciously staring as it dawns on her that Mordred saw not just a memory, but a memory of Gray's. It's a strange reversal; usually Gray is the only one impeding on other people's private memories. She isn't sure how she feels about it, but it's probably fair to say this is some measure of karma at play.

Her head tips as she tries to recall what exactly Mordred might have seen, and how embarrassing that memory will be in hindsight. Even though the mind of King Arthur was unforgettable, the haze of a year and half's distance puts a different perspective on things. ]

I inconvenienced a lot of people getting there... but if it impressed you, I suppose I can be proud.

[ Medium impressive at most is still pretty darn good. That said, ]

We lost that fight, though. It's a miracle we survived.

[uproared]

I said I wasn't praising you!

[ She protests loudly, but reins herself in when the cat startles, soothing it with chin scritches. ]

It's obvious you lost. You know as well as I do that nothing can stand against that lance. [ Not even her usual except me. Pausing, she gnaws on the inside of her cheek, wondering if Gray even knows why Mordred saw such a sight in the first place. ]

This is my first time forming a contract with someone, but apparently it's common for Masters and Servants to see each other's pasts in dreams. No doubt that applies double to ones with a connection as strong as ours. So don't be surprised if it happens to you as well.

[ Less confidently, said to the top of the cat's head rather than to Gray's face: ] What I mean is... I didn't do it on purpose. My past ain't exactly private, but that doesn't mean yours shouldn't be. [ ... ] I'm still gonna keep bugging you about it if I see something weird, though.

[ Thanks, Mordred. ]

[salvageable]

[ Oh, here comes the instant relief as Dokja's shoulders sag and a grateful smile appears on his face. While he'd only required Gray's presence at the dinner, he won't deny it'll be a huge help to have an extra set of hands preparing dinner. ]

Thanks, Gray. I'll have to ask Eustace about it, too.

[ He says "Eustace" and then winces just a little bit because he heard that Eustace and Gray had a talk about... things...? And now he's reminded of that. ]

[gravings]

[ So memory sharing is common between Masters and Servants. What a strange thing. Gray will have to expect to see Mordred's memories regularly then, probably more than an average Master would. It's a bit daunting to think about, but at the same time she's curious to know more about the Mordred that lived fully as a human, bound to the time and place she was born. Even though the Servant Mordred is fully formed in terms of personality, she's still essentially a ghost.

Gray looks at Mordred's lowered head as she realizes that the other girl is trying to apologize without actually apologizing. A masterful contortion, and actually a bit endearing, but Gray knows better than to say that aloud. ]

There's a high chance you'll keep seeing weird things. I don't mind if it's you seeing them, though. It might be better than trying to explain things in words.

[ As she firmly lacks verbal eloquence, and some things she experienced were simply too complicated for her to explain now in a satisfactory way. There's no doubt that Mordred will see things that were embarrassing for Gray, but those will be things for future Gray to worry about. ]

I saw a memory of yours too, by the way.

[uproared]

Meh, I knew you were gonna be a pain in my ass the first moment I saw you. So if you don't care, then I don't care. Means one less thing for me to worry about.

[ Not that she was worried. Now attempting to shake hands with the cat, she frowns when it jumps to the floor to lick itself, and instead stretches her arms out towards the ceiling; pausing to look down when Gray speaks again. ]

Oh, yeah? What was it? [ She sounds curious, but unbothered. She's confident that she has no memories that would embarrass her or be awkward... despite having many, many that would be both. But Gray's the one person who can get away with asking about almost anything in her past. ]

[erbe]

Wait.

[Rin puts her bowl down and closes the distance between them. She leans over to look directly into Gray's face as she asks the question:]

You live in a house with two old men?

[gravings]

[ "I knew you were going to be in the pain in the ass immediately" should really be Gray's line. She watches as Mordred plays off the cat (Fluffy) refusing her handshake, and then watches another cat, a ginger tabby (Norangie), slink into the room with a sideways stare at Mordred.

Gray pauses as she considers how to word things. ]

You were asking Guinevere to marry you.

[ To put things in the nicest possible terms. Mordred attempting to steal away King Arthur's wife was an event known in legend, but viewing it in real time felt considerably more dramatic. She has to pity Guinevere, whose position as the wife of another secret woman Gray truthfully never considered before Mordred's memory. As for Mordred... Gray frowns a little. ]

What would you have done if she'd said yes?

[gravings]

[ Hello... Gray leans back a little as Rin closes in, hood shadowing her head like a partial shield as she withdraws turtle-like into its depths. ]

Um. Yes. Though I don't think they're that old.

[ she is so (half) wrong about that ]

[uproared]

[ "Asking" is putting it kindly, considering the pursuit that followed, but Mordred doesn't flinch at being made to recall how terrible she was to the woman in question. Either because it's so far from the worst thing she did; or, more likely, she just genuinely feels no guilt over her actions. ]

Are you an idiot? I would've married her, obviously. [ She flexes from side to side, making mild grunts of effort, as if this is a totally normal conversation about totally normal things. ] Imagine my father rushing home to see not just his kingdom, but his wife, in my hands. It would have driven him even further into hatred and despair.

But man, you should've seen the look on the bishop's face when I told him. Said he'd curse me with bell, book, and candle. Never knew an old guy could run that fast.

[erbe]

Are you... informally adopted, or is it something else?

[Does Gray have two dads or does Gray have two Daddies?]

[gravings]

[ Whichever memories of Gray's Mordred ends up seeing, Gray can at least be assured that she won't come across any worse than Mordred has with this first one. It's true that Gray is used to mages being bad people, but Mordred might be more incorrigible than a majority of them.

Gray is at least familiar with people marrying purely for political or practical reasons, so she understands the logical point behind Mordred trying to take Guinevere for herself. It's the spiteful side of her logic that Gray can't connect with. Thinking of the Husk King, or even the apparition of Arthur she and Mordred saw that time in the fog, Gray can't imagine Arthur emoting such raw emotions as hatred or despair — even though his facesake Mordred has displayed plenty of hatred, and Gray has felt plenty of despair.

There's a lot Gray could say, but she diplomatically keeps it at: ]

I'm glad we aren't enemies.

[ Even though they technically are, according to the letter of the law. ]

[gravings]

Something else?

[ She is so comfortable spending a lot of time with old gay dudes who are absolutely no threat to her, she has a hard time processing Rin's insinuation. ]

It's a bit hard to say. Mr. Eustace isn't quite my guardian, but he's always supported me. Mr. Dokja... I haven't known as long, but I suppose he's similar. I guess you could say we're like a family.

[ Though it seems a bit presumptuous to put things that way. ]

[uproared]

We are, though. [ She says, lounging on Gray's couch, in Gray's house, in the middle of so-called enemy territory. Hm. ] Anyway, she locked herself up in the Tower of London after that. Once word got out that King Arthur was alive, I gave up my pursuit. I don't know or care what became of her in the end.

[ Her, or anyone else besides Arthur. Finally spotting the newcomer kitty, Mordred slides down onto the floor to meet it; arching her back in a very catlike pose to entreat it to come closer. It's almost impossible to think of more disingenuous scene, but such is the Mordred experience. ]

For a mouse, you sure do like cats.