Iwannabeyours
Crusader Lord
Neziul
BaconHer messenger bag refilled with toys and a few extra goodies, Scarlett would study the bridge as she had been consigned to do, for Leon had taken Elise and Conner and left her - never having noticed that she was inside the house; seamlessly, she’d swapped herself for an Alchemical Doll, and set up her workshop while she took care of things remotely. However, she would have thought Leon smart enough to realize something was off, when the Doll so brazenly approached Mordred without an inkling of fear.
It was true that Scarlett, herself, didn’t fear Mordred or her blade, but she was fully understanding of the Master/Servant difference in power. To so boldly challenge the Rebellious Knight was a fool’s errand, even for other Servants - surely, something was amiss. And, yet, Leon was blind -- Ignorant, and arrogant -- to it, focusing solely on his driving need to be a hero.
Scarlett had to wonder, if anyone had ever told him, “Heroism is the shortest lived profession.” before?
However, beyond the growing affirmation that her Captain would lead her into death, either on purpose or out of pure incompetence, Scarlett had over concerns.
“Celtchar, do you despise me?”
Shuffling along beside his Master, Celtchar would say: "Eh. I dislike your tactics and stubbornness, but you’re alright enough as far as Mages go."
“That doesn't answer the question,” Scarlett says.
"You’re looking for a direct answer then? Alright…" Celtchar said, before looking her dead-on. "I despise just about everyone, honestly. But…not you. So no."
“Curious,” Scarlett says. “Next question, then. Same honesty,” she says, “Would you stab me to fuel your Noble Phantasm, if that's the best option? I've rationalized that it involves blood. So, I ask, would you?”
"The hell? No. Then, my Noble Phantasm would just keep pointing at you until I doused it in poison. That’s why its effective. When it consumes blood, it gets laser focused on someone. Using it on you would mean it’d kill you as fast as possible to drink more," Celtchar said. "...Though, I have used it on myself. Just a pinprick to wake it up."
“Sounds like laser-targeting,” Scarlett says, “I could paint a Servant in my blood, then you stab me, and have another target to go for. Relentlessly, of course.”
"I’m gonna say no to that tactic before you do something dumb that makes me kill you by accident, instead of on-purpose," Celtchar said, rolling his eyes.
“If you even could,” Scarlett says, pointing to her right.
Across from them, on another rooftop, was another Scarlett; hood up, and giving a suppressed wave, in mirror to the Scarlett before Celtchar. They were 100% identical, down to the visible weight and girth of her messenger bag.
“If I'm immortal, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, “Could you kill me, if it helped you become strong enough to get Orson from killing me on purpose as a pawn, or Leon by accident of being his useless self?”
"Its not a question of wanting to kill you, really," Celtchar said, scratching the back of his neck. "I know I’m not big and famous for an Ulster hero but…at least read my damn legend. I’m a knight that fucks up, and I already wound up killing the one thing I shouldn’t have in life," Celtchar would keep walking, before gently tugging on Scarlett’s cheek as if she were a toddler, not even looking at her. "Best you keep not telling me which one’s really you. …But if I get all emotional and hold a doll dying and you laugh at me, I will kick your ass. You and your dolls."
“Thank you,” Scarlett says, as the other came over, and hugged his back. “Now, I know, I can trust you with my life,” she smiled, a sad, yet beautiful smile of hope and internal validation.“I’m a little like a wolf pup, I guess - to reuse that analogy; growling at everything bigger than me, gnaw at the leg of the powerful...”
Scarlett chuckled, “Such a queer relationship we have, as Master and Servant. Heee.... ruff~!”
Dissolving, the Doll would cease to hug Celtchar, but whisper, “Take care of her. She’s never this open. Perhaps, this is your redemption?” before an assortment of items fell onto the roof: a liter bag of blood, a single lens camera, a small loudspeaker, and a rather hefty crystal that had grown a sort of nervous system-like structure to attach it all together.
Sighing, the old gray knight of Ulster would say: "Not interested in redemption I don’t deserve. I just wanna save the damn world for once and kick back once its done."
“What,” Scarlett asks, collecting her items. “I don’t know why you are talking about redemption, but saving the world is a good way to achieve that”” she says, “Also -- ” Scarlett bonked Celtchar on the head, “ -- I was really cute, just now, and you said nothing,” she admonished, wagging her discoloured hand at him.
A testament to years of self-mutilation to use a weapon that no-one else would...
Not wanting to argue about what her doll said, Celtchar would just lightly bonk her back. "I’ve seen cuter, so work on it a bit before you start expecting praise, Oh Adorable Master."
Scarlett cocked her hands on her hips, and snorted with a firm nod, before she pulled her hood closed, and seemed to tremble a little.
Celtchar would roll his eyes, before pulling her in for a side-hug. "...Alright, I guess it was pretty cute."
Scarlett beamed, popping her hood off her head. “I tricked you,” she seemed... happy.
Celtchar would sigh, before following after her, a wry smile on his face.
Unfortunately, the smile on her face would fall, as she put her attention on the bridge, and reached into her messenger bag. “Time to go to work,” she says, holding a clementine-sized balls of grayish clay, “A bit of C4 to spice things up...” Scarlett pressed a finger to her ear, “Ladies, let’s get ready for our grand opening. Start cooking...”
Across the city blocks she’d traveled, Scarlett would trigger her Alchemical Dolls, and start a steady stream of alchemical production. Dolls to make Dolls, make C4 from looted explosive materials, to ferry materials, and play keep away with the Dragon Tooth Skeletons. It was turning the city into an ant farm with herself as the Queen Ant and her Dolls as the colony.
It had taken her a while to seed them in, but now, she was rolling. Alchemy wasn’t as powerful or all-commanding as Magecraft, but what it lacked in grandiosity, it made up for in subtly. It was just a matter of how skilled the Alchemist was.
“Ready, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, as she moulded the clay into a small goblet. “Let’s win this thing.”
"You got it," the gray knight of Ulster would say, taking his lance from his back and holding it, keeping an eye out for the inevitable stray skeleton or two.
The plan was simple: blow up the bridge, the docks, and the station. She had the bodies to do so with. “If I’m not dead by the end of this,” Scarlett says, “Remind me to make a Doll out of you. That will come in helpful later.”
It was true that Scarlett, herself, didn’t fear Mordred or her blade, but she was fully understanding of the Master/Servant difference in power. To so boldly challenge the Rebellious Knight was a fool’s errand, even for other Servants - surely, something was amiss. And, yet, Leon was blind -- Ignorant, and arrogant -- to it, focusing solely on his driving need to be a hero.
Scarlett had to wonder, if anyone had ever told him, “Heroism is the shortest lived profession.” before?
However, beyond the growing affirmation that her Captain would lead her into death, either on purpose or out of pure incompetence, Scarlett had over concerns.
“Celtchar, do you despise me?”
Shuffling along beside his Master, Celtchar would say: "Eh. I dislike your tactics and stubbornness, but you’re alright enough as far as Mages go."
“That doesn't answer the question,” Scarlett says.
"You’re looking for a direct answer then? Alright…" Celtchar said, before looking her dead-on. "I despise just about everyone, honestly. But…not you. So no."
“Curious,” Scarlett says. “Next question, then. Same honesty,” she says, “Would you stab me to fuel your Noble Phantasm, if that's the best option? I've rationalized that it involves blood. So, I ask, would you?”
"The hell? No. Then, my Noble Phantasm would just keep pointing at you until I doused it in poison. That’s why its effective. When it consumes blood, it gets laser focused on someone. Using it on you would mean it’d kill you as fast as possible to drink more," Celtchar said. "...Though, I have used it on myself. Just a pinprick to wake it up."
“Sounds like laser-targeting,” Scarlett says, “I could paint a Servant in my blood, then you stab me, and have another target to go for. Relentlessly, of course.”
"I’m gonna say no to that tactic before you do something dumb that makes me kill you by accident, instead of on-purpose," Celtchar said, rolling his eyes.
“If you even could,” Scarlett says, pointing to her right.
Across from them, on another rooftop, was another Scarlett; hood up, and giving a suppressed wave, in mirror to the Scarlett before Celtchar. They were 100% identical, down to the visible weight and girth of her messenger bag.
“If I'm immortal, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, “Could you kill me, if it helped you become strong enough to get Orson from killing me on purpose as a pawn, or Leon by accident of being his useless self?”
"Its not a question of wanting to kill you, really," Celtchar said, scratching the back of his neck. "I know I’m not big and famous for an Ulster hero but…at least read my damn legend. I’m a knight that fucks up, and I already wound up killing the one thing I shouldn’t have in life," Celtchar would keep walking, before gently tugging on Scarlett’s cheek as if she were a toddler, not even looking at her. "Best you keep not telling me which one’s really you. …But if I get all emotional and hold a doll dying and you laugh at me, I will kick your ass. You and your dolls."
“Thank you,” Scarlett says, as the other came over, and hugged his back. “Now, I know, I can trust you with my life,” she smiled, a sad, yet beautiful smile of hope and internal validation.“I’m a little like a wolf pup, I guess - to reuse that analogy; growling at everything bigger than me, gnaw at the leg of the powerful...”
Scarlett chuckled, “Such a queer relationship we have, as Master and Servant. Heee.... ruff~!”
Dissolving, the Doll would cease to hug Celtchar, but whisper, “Take care of her. She’s never this open. Perhaps, this is your redemption?” before an assortment of items fell onto the roof: a liter bag of blood, a single lens camera, a small loudspeaker, and a rather hefty crystal that had grown a sort of nervous system-like structure to attach it all together.
Sighing, the old gray knight of Ulster would say: "Not interested in redemption I don’t deserve. I just wanna save the damn world for once and kick back once its done."
“What,” Scarlett asks, collecting her items. “I don’t know why you are talking about redemption, but saving the world is a good way to achieve that”” she says, “Also -- ” Scarlett bonked Celtchar on the head, “ -- I was really cute, just now, and you said nothing,” she admonished, wagging her discoloured hand at him.
A testament to years of self-mutilation to use a weapon that no-one else would...
Not wanting to argue about what her doll said, Celtchar would just lightly bonk her back. "I’ve seen cuter, so work on it a bit before you start expecting praise, Oh Adorable Master."
Scarlett cocked her hands on her hips, and snorted with a firm nod, before she pulled her hood closed, and seemed to tremble a little.
Celtchar would roll his eyes, before pulling her in for a side-hug. "...Alright, I guess it was pretty cute."
Scarlett beamed, popping her hood off her head. “I tricked you,” she seemed... happy.
Celtchar would sigh, before following after her, a wry smile on his face.
Unfortunately, the smile on her face would fall, as she put her attention on the bridge, and reached into her messenger bag. “Time to go to work,” she says, holding a clementine-sized balls of grayish clay, “A bit of C4 to spice things up...” Scarlett pressed a finger to her ear, “Ladies, let’s get ready for our grand opening. Start cooking...”
Across the city blocks she’d traveled, Scarlett would trigger her Alchemical Dolls, and start a steady stream of alchemical production. Dolls to make Dolls, make C4 from looted explosive materials, to ferry materials, and play keep away with the Dragon Tooth Skeletons. It was turning the city into an ant farm with herself as the Queen Ant and her Dolls as the colony.
It had taken her a while to seed them in, but now, she was rolling. Alchemy wasn’t as powerful or all-commanding as Magecraft, but what it lacked in grandiosity, it made up for in subtly. It was just a matter of how skilled the Alchemist was.
“Ready, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, as she moulded the clay into a small goblet. “Let’s win this thing.”
"You got it," the gray knight of Ulster would say, taking his lance from his back and holding it, keeping an eye out for the inevitable stray skeleton or two.
The plan was simple: blow up the bridge, the docks, and the station. She had the bodies to do so with. “If I’m not dead by the end of this,” Scarlett says, “Remind me to make a Doll out of you. That will come in helpful later.”
