arcanarumlogs | I've got dirty laundry on them all [closed]

Rather than answer the message sent to him, Derek simply makes his way towards the beach while finishing his rounds in the other districts. Arya and Sansa are safe at home, with Stiles nearby. He has no immediate need to return, and a moment away from the madness of the island-- god, he did not enjoy that particular adventure in the least, but it was better than the three ghosts-- with someone that is thankfully logical is something he's fairly certain he needs right now.

His newly acquired tail flicks in agitation, once, as he makes his way down the beach. It's cold, but he has no intentions of going out into the water. Not unless it's to drown himself in frustration.

"Waver."

"Glad the cold hasn't deterred you from your work," he comments dryly, making no comment on the tail. He hopes then that Derek will make no similiar remarks on the sudden change in his hair length - from his waist now only to his shoulder, a few shades lighter and etched with grays. Only the last part might look natural to him, especially after being on the island and all the stress it has brought, but no matter.

"I've heard you've gotten a second flatmate. How's that situation going?"

"She's Sansa's younger sister. They both seem to believe the story about us being bannermen from the North, at least."

Derek does notice the difference in Waver's appearance, but he opts not to comment on it as well. There's no real point in it-- these are just annoying, superficial changes that they can both pretend didn't happen, if only when it's just the two of them. The moment that Stiles sees him, he knows he's going to hear endless laughter until he chucks the teenager out into the snow.

"I'm worried about what might happen if more of their family or even their enemies show up, though."

Best to get the smaller topics out of the way, before they begin with the ones that Waver contacted him for.

"I've watched the show, I do have an inkling of the potential problems if more individuals from that particular world show up." The books were a time commitment he didn't have - a pitiful excuse, but ultimately true - and there were only a few characters he'd welcome here. "Ultimately though, it's something we can plan since we, in our way, know what happens.

"But on the topic of enemies. There's one arrival that," he starts, then stops to let out a short, sharp laugh. "Recall how Stiles got to this island first and you all came tumbling after?"

He only offers Waver a sound of agreement and confirmation, since there's much more important things to worry about than the Starks or their enemies. All that mattered there was that they had knowledge of the series, show or books or otherwise. So long as they kept ahead of things, they should have been fine.

Hopefully.

Inclining his head a little, he looks out on the water while taking in the tone of Waver's laugh. "I take it Ryuunosuke's arrival broke the dam."

"Mm," Waver says. The next part rolls off his tongue too easily. "I believe that I mentioned during the explanation of how to handle him that the Holy Grail had some level of taint to it, although we were unsure of what it was or how it came to be.

"My questions on the matter have been answered. The problem is that it has a physical form as a servant and the Rulers have decided that the corruption - Avenger - is to become Satan on this island."

Derek slowly turns to look at him.

And he stares.

"Worst part is that Avenger is concerningly easy to get on with," he snorts, eyes still fixed on the water. "Threw me completely, given that I basically blew him up back home."

"And I thought an embodiment of Cthulhu was bad," Derek starts, staring at him still. "But now, we have Satan."

He turns back to stare at the water, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and exhaling sharply.

"And as far as controlling him, I've got nothing." He kicks at the sand, sending particles flying. "If Rider was still here, we could brain storm, but the truth is that I beat that corruption by a hair back home and that was with an entire army of magi at my back and me working primarily as a strategist rather than in actual combat."

"I suppose the benefit is that he's here without whatever abilities he had before, and isn't Satan yet." Trying for optimistic, he taps the toe of his boot into the sand, closing his eyes and tipping his head back all the way. "Unfortunately, you have a pack of depowered werewolves instead of an army of magi."

"Mm." It's an agreement, because Derek is so very right, and Waver ran out of ways to try and make the siutation favour them days ago. Lost somewhere in the madness of being small, perhaps.

"Any thoughts on what to do then?"

"Other than hoping someone shows up with a similarly blasphemous denizen, but in a more holy sense?" The question is dry, and Derek can't help but sigh as he considers it. There's so very few options at their disposal right now. "Tell me about him."

"Here, I repeat what I was told, and am unable to vouch for how much it is true," Waver says, digging for the explanation he was given and translating it into his own words. "Avenger was summoned to the Third Holy Grail War - the one before mine - by the Einzbern, one of the founding families of the ritual. He claims to have no particular identity as a heroic spirit, although I call bullshit. Anyway, he replaced the class of Berserker, but was found to be a weak servant and taken out of the war very early. However, his presence lingered so that he impacted the next two wars, including chosen masters and summoned servants."

He'll let Derek connect the dots concerning Ryuunoske, he trusts Derek is that smart. "He exists shortly after the Fifth Holy Grail War, by some abuse of magic, meaning that he comes from a slightly different timeline than I do, although I imagine he's manipulating time somehow to remain materialized. Regardless, his recollection of the Fourth Holy Grail War means that the events I've gone through up until the fifth are the same, so the level of threat he is is far, far greater than Ryuunoske.

"There is also the detail that the role I was given by the Powers that Be makes deals with the devil at the cost of his soul."

Derek is, indeed, smart enough to connect the dots.

He's also smart enough to realize exactly what this combination of denizens is going to mean for Waver. Great. One of the most competent people on the island, and one that he actually likes to a degree and also trusts, is at risk of making a deal with the devil.

Fantastic.

"And now we're stuck with him, in a position where he could have just as much of an impact on things. If not moreso, because the level of intelligence on this island is pretty damn questionable most days, nevermind anyone else's denizens that're in a similar position."

"And he is smart, even without servant abilities or transforming into Satan. It's one of the reasons I've been unable to factor him in - his motives are ambiguous at best.

"Admittedly, I haven't even been calculating my personal circumstances into the equation yet," he breathes out, shoving hands into coat pockets and balling them into fists where no one can see. "The stories of Jack of Kent always have him win, but I know this place well enough to refuse to believe that'll hold true. I don't like considering my chances."

"You'll have us to back you up," he inclines his head towards Waver as he speaks, brows twitching downwards briefly. "Not the greatest backup when we're in the dark the way we are, but if anything we can hopefully make sure that Waver of Kent still wins in the end."

It's still dry commentary, but Christ. This is ridiculous. At least with Ryuunosuke they knew the ground they were standing on, even if they weren't sure about the path. With this, they didn't know if they were standing on quicksand or solid ground.

He has to snort at the name flipping, because it's the only laughable part of the whole situation. "Christ, Derek, I was born in London. Don't give the story any power like that."

It's not a reprimand, it really isn't, although the laugh that he wants to accompany it dies in his throat. The entire situation with Ryuunoske was about patterns - hell, the entire island is about patterns. But the point of Avenger is that he doesn't have those, and Waver hates it. "I guess the only solution I have left is to drink heavily."

"Considering our current positions, the stories already have power." As if to emphasize his words, his tail flicks behind him, short and sharp in agitation. It's otherwise still, sitting at rest behind his thighs like an otherwise calm wolf's tail would.

There's an advantage there, somewhere, to the stories having power. He'll figure it out eventually, he just needs the time for it.

A snort leaves him at that, and he shrugs his shoulders, fanning his jacket out in the process as he does. Honestly, at this point, that sounds like the only option they really have. "Could have a eureka moment while you're drunk off your ass."

Waver holds out both of his hands, and in a twinkling of silver dust, a six pack of stout appears, bottle opener tucked in as well.

"If only--" he snorts, pulling one bottle out and offering it to Derek. "Care to join me? Better to drunken brainstorm with two."

Derek eyes the six pack thoughtfully, as if actually considering the merits of getting drunk on the beach with a teacher-mage on Fairy Tale Prison Isle.

He accepts the proffered bottle, regarding it before releasing another snort and tipping it towards Waver so that the cap can be removed. "At this point, I'm up for it. And it actually won't take an entire liquor store's worth of booze to get me to that point."

Waver pops the cap, smirking at the comment. "Don't tell me that crazy werewolf abilities means that you metabolize alcohol to the point where you cannot get intoxicated."

And then he opens his own bottle and takes a long sip. "In which case, that's the most useless ability I've ever heard of."

"Crazy werewolf abilities mean that I metabolize alcohol to the point where I cannot get intoxicated, unless I'm fed enough alcohol to give a white rhino alcohol poisoning." Derek can smell the alcohol the moment the cap is popped, and deems that it's probably not going to take too much to actually get him tipsy. Thank god for that.

He takes a long swig, himself, nose scrunching afterwards. "It helps if the proof is absurdly high, though."

"Like I said. Useless,," he snorts, barely flinching at the bitterness of the drink. "Never mind expensive if you do want to get drunk.

"I'm sure I would summon up some scotch though. S'about the only harder liquor I have knowledge about, and only because my best friend consumes alarming quantities of it."

"Whenever someone in the pack turned twenty-one, we would get together and chip in money so that they could at least get tipsy, if not drunk." Derek is used to harder stuff, but even then some of his lycanthropy took the edge off of it in a way. It's... something of a relief to experience right now, much as he hates his humanity.

Still, it keeps him from lingering on the fact that when he turned 21, it was just him and Laura.

"Scotch is one of the top five we usually get."

"Twenty-o--" Waver stops himself, only to roll his eyes. "Yes, right, American drinking age. You people."

And with no more prompting, a particularly expensive looking bottle that Waver has seen Rin reach for time and again appears in the sand beside the six pack. If Derek wants an actual glass, he can wish that up himself.

"It's a nice birthday gesture though. Remind me, however, to never become a werewolf. I think the inability to get easily intoxicated would drive me mad."

"Americans," Derek agrees, almost indulging. He sees the bottle appear next to the pack, but doesn't go for it yet. He'll stick to what he's drinking right now, for the time being. There's no movement to wish up a glass to go with the bottle, and instead he just looks out on the water for a bit.

As he takes another drink, he chuckles into his bottle.

"Unless another variety of werewolf gets the ability to Bite, you'll be fine here. Only Alphas can turn people, where we're from, and I, one, probably can't do that right now, and two, don't turn people against their will."

"I'm glad that you consider consent in the equation. Er. That isn't sarcasm." Because it could be taken as such, and he'd really rather avoid that.

The entire madness of summoning liquor like this does make him pause though, and he finishes the last of his bottle before remarking on it. "I've seen this ability with alcoholic summoning before."

Unable to stop himself, Derek has to lower his bottle so that he can laugh, abrupt and amused. It's better than choking on the liquor he was trying to drink, because lack of sarcasm or not it's... funny in an awful sort of way. The only bite he's ever given out against someone's will had been Victoria, though that was validated in its way.

"Really," he collects himself easily, though, with a quiet snort before he tips back the rest of the bottle. He considers what to do with it, but then decides, you know. Why not?

He draws his arm back, in perfect baseball form, and pitches it a fair distance into the surf.

"Really," Waver nods, registerting that he can hear - but not see - the splash. There's no way he'll beat that distance, but he tries anyway.

"At one point during the Holy Grail War, Rider decided that he and the two other kings - Gilgamesh and King Arthur - should sit down and have a reasonable discussion about who should win, as to avoid bloodshed. He went into one of the liquor stores, stole a barrel of red wine, then proceeded to ride up to the location where King Arthur was staying and invite himself in."

It's a ridiculous memory, and Waver remembers the exact confused look that he and the Einzbern homunculus exchanged upon Rider's arrival. "Anyway, Gilgamesh shows up a few minutes later, tastes the wine, and proceeds complain that it's hardly worthy of kings. He reaches into his Noble Phantasm - that's a weapon or ability that symbolizes a hero's legend - and instead of pulling out an endless rain of swords, he takes out wine apparently brewed by the gods themselves."

If anything, it's something of a release to be flinging bottles into the surf. So, even if their distances don't match, it's going to at least be a good way to vent.

Derek listens to Waver's story as he reaches to take another bottle of beer, saving the scotch for now. He pops the cap, dropping it into the case so it doesn't wind up under someone's foot, and takes a drink as he tries to imagine Rider barging in to steal some wine. Honestly, from what he saw? The image is strangely clear to him.

But then he snorts into his drink a little at the description of Gilgamesh. Well, that's one way to do it, he guesses. Especially considering he's drinking alcohol that'd been materialized in a... similar enough way. "How'd Rider take that?"

"Free alcohol?" Waver snorts, taking a second beer bottle and opening it. "He drank it, obviously, and the three proceeded to have a serious discussion about leadership and what it means to be a king.

"It was disrupted by another one of the servants - Assassin - making an attack. Presumably on either myself or Saber's master, but I've never been sure. It provoked Rider enough to draw out his ultimate manifestation of his legend - the King's Guard, and."

Waver takes a sip of the beer, not sure if there's a way to put into words what it was like to stand in that vastness, surrounded by tens of thousands of other heroic spirits, all caught up in Rider's glory. "Well, when you have a bunch of assassins on an open plain against an entire standing army, let's just say the odds are in the army's favour. With that seen to, the evening continued with manifested wine and more arguments."

I've got dirty laundry on them all [closed]

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