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(no subject)

Who: Avenger, Waver, Saber, Bazett
When: 26 Jan
Where: Along the castle
What: Avenger has half of his powers back, everything is awful.
Warnings: Violence, loss of autonomy

[Waver had walked away from the fight at the castle. He had only dared to go near it when his circuits cleared some - the first time in months

Once there, he had found his suit folded neatly in a chest, alongside his beloved red coat, and yellow scarf. Putting them back on felt more powerful than having his magecraft back. He was himself again, for the first time in months. Not entirely, there were little naggling things in his head, but he'd take what he could get.

He fiddles with his scarf as he leaves the building again, taking no time to explore. His patience is still too thin, overriding curiosity. He can head back to his house and see what his limits are.]

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[ The black mud has surrounded the area around the small storage house and some of the forest around it, and while there are large patches of bare ground it hasn't touched yet, it doesn't seem to be losing steam.

It's not aiming for Waver specifically, but it will probably swallow him as part of the landscape.

The patch of dirt the magus is standing on slowly grows smaller as it seeps densely over the dirt. ]

[There are two options. Storehouse, or being swallowed up by this. Neither is a good option.

It is with great trepidation that he jumps from patch of bare land to bare land, as if he's doing nothing more but playing hopscotch.

With one very, very last, unbalanced leap, he makes it to the door, although he doesn't dare go in. He has a chance if he can scale the roof though, and he pauses in all of his other thoughts to try and find a foothold.]

[ Each time he jumps from one patch of bare land to another, it shrinks slowly. By the time Waver makes it to the door, they're very small patches left.

The blackness laps at his foot as he pauses to think and consider if there are any reachable footholds.

It burns. ]

FUCK!

[Elegance is never his domain when it comes to situations like this. Waver opens the storehouse door without a moment's more hesitation, lingering in the threshhold. There are windows, he can climb out of those and onto the roof. That'll do.]

[ When the storehouse door swings open and Waver steps inside after some hesitation on the threshold, he is greeted with the sight of Avenger sitting poor-postured against one of the crates and the majority of the storehouse covered with... the same black ooze that was outside. It's everywhere. The air is heavy with it.

At Waver's entrance and elaborate swearing, the Servant blinks and stirs, focus broken.

He stares, a noticeably disgruntled look on his face. ]

The hell, Waver?

[One little part of Waver, still confident, cheers I knew it! in the back of his mind. God, if only this was some sort of mystery story, and it could wrap up neatly from here.

The rest of Waver, far, far more practically, knows this will end poorly.]

I could ask the same of you!

[ Avenger folds his arms across his bare chest, continuing to stare. More pitch black strands of mud drip from the ceiling, dripping down and landing on some of the wooden crates.

His eyes narrow; Waver had his powers back himself, didn't he? That explained it. He'd known that those who could sense prana in any amount and got too close to this location, would notice but. This was annoying. ]

What are you even doing here, magus?

[Waver glances up, trying to note where the ceiling is weakest, so that he can avoid those areas.]

--Following something that caught my interest. I'll happily go now.

[ Avenger quirks an eyebrow, stillness residing inside him and keeping him quiet. It's ill-suited to him. ]

You mean, you noticed a concentration of prana and came to see what's up.

[ His paranoia is starting to act up. ]

Essentially.

[That silence bodes ill. The control it takes not to open up his circuits says everything Waver needs to know about the situation.]

[ Avenger's forehead crinkles for a moment. ]

And what will ya' do with what you've seen here?

[ It's not said accusingly. It's on the toneless side, but it suggests lying will fly even worst than telling the truth would. ]

[Well the truth is that Saber's en route to deal with the problem, but Waver can't say that. That'll get him a slow death. Then again, lying probably will too.]

I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them about this erm - liquid.

[ Avenger's face flattens. Waver, you are bad at lying and given they're on an island outside of their dimensions being turned into diary tales, 'unbelievable' is a moot point. A poor excuse at the best. ]

Really? [ The corner of his mouth turns up. ] This is the contents of the Holy Grail.

[ Rather weakened and distilled since he's at half power, but hey. ]

...

[If Waver's at half power, Avenger must be too. Which means that the contents of the Grail is (was?) even more hideous. He sucks in a breath, then breathes out.]

No one would believe me if I told them that.

[But it'd explain everything, he adds mentally.]

[ The accumulated crimes and sins of humans throughout the ages are hideous, indeed. ]

Liar.

[ Again, he remarks without an accusing tone, but calm and bored. He's disinterested in his attempts to find an out. He chuckles, delighted with the repulsion Waver feels towards the dark muck. ]

Bazett would. She saw it in her world, she told me herself.

[A liar in retrospect only. He's contact Bazett immediately if it wasn't a surefire risk.

The only thing Waver can do right now is stand calmly, hands in the pockets of his coat. There's a level, calm gaze at Avenger, as if this is just a pleasant run in.]

[ Avenger's patient. He doesn't want other people here, but if Waver shuts up and does nothing, the urge to harm him like he wants to harm most humans can be curbed for a bit. The dark muck covering the floor doesn't seeped towards the doorway yet.

The tendrils of darkness drip down from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip.

After awhile; ]

There's only one Servant on this island besides me.

[ ...

That wasn't a question. ]

[Waver only nods. There's no point in lying about that, especially since he doesn't know if Avenger and Saber have interacted before. Saying no could be even more of a problem.

The dripping is like watching a wax house melt.]

Saber possesses an anti-fortress Noble Phantasm. I'm guessing she can't use it to its full extent right now, huh.

[ Avenger muses idly, for a moment wandering off topic to think. Saber's at half power too and that holy sword uses up a lot of energy.

It's dark inside the storehouse. Outside, all the visible patches of bare land have been covered up by the black mud. The edges of the mud don't extent into the forest, instead pooling around the small building. He rests his lower jaw on one hand.

He smiles. It's not a kind smile. ]

Didn't you say it yourself, Waver? You destroyed the Grail once. [ Avenger's paranoid. He's something that should be destroyed after all, he knows that well enough himself. So; ] I'm guessing you aren't adverse to making an second try of it here.

Circumstances really aren't in my favour, are they? I don't have access to a third of the people that helped, and there's no denying I'm an ineffective magus on my best days.

[Waver has no idea where Saber is, why she's taking so long, or even if Excalibur can stand up to this mud. He's still not touching any of it, but only barely. That's not a comfort, that means the agony is being drawn out.]

Nope, they sure ain't.

[ Something in the storehouse creaks slightly. Avenger regards Waver, still with that unpleasant smile on his face. ] Well, that's awfully convenient. Hmm.

[ For the Servant, that is. ]

[Waver doesn't dare try to place where that creak came from. Maybe the roof?

Not important. Whatever comes next is.]

[ The Servant dematerializes, vanishing from the spot where he had been seated on the stone floor.

And before Waver even has the time necessary to process what just happened, there are two hands craved with curses pressing against his back and shoving him right over into the mud surrounding him. ]

You expressed a wish to learn more 'bout the workings of the Grail. I never got around to taking ya' up on that, did I? [ Not that Waver will be fit to answer.

Because it will feel like his brain is currently exploding and his skin is melting off. ]

Don't take too long now.

[ In a rational person's mind, the train of logically protecting themselves by making a strong point does not immediately arrive at murder station, and make a stop to kill somebody at the drop of a hat.

But Avenger is not rational, he's feeling a weird mixture of cocky and threatened, and it's not like the death will stick for more than a day. So it seems like a reasonable action to take. ]

Edited 2013-06-27 20:45 (UTC)

[There are two thoughts Waver manages to have before the mud washes over him entirely. The first is that the stuff feels like being forced into a pool of warm vomit. The second is that he is definitely going to die - if not from Avenger, then from suffocation.

Which, some tiny, clinging, rational part of him adds would be preferable to being awash and drowning in this, this.

There's no words for this. It is every emotion Waver's had about Clock Tower taking to the extremes, every niggling self doubt, every murmur of corruption, every news broadcast, anything, everything, that could be constructed as negative, turned to the highest setting. This was in the Grail.

The attempt to cling to words - even vague ones like this - fails, after a few precious minutes of trying. Or seconds. Whatever, there's no sense of time here. That or too much of Waver has slipped away.

Could be either, could be neither, and that disappears too.]

Edited 2013-06-27 20:59 (UTC)

[ DIE DIE DIE

this is nonsensical and maddened, it's full of pain and hatred that overrides everything else with condemnations of dirtiness and crimes, it squeezes, wraps tightly, digests what was once Waver and devours him whole and it hurts it hurts it hurts

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

it burns, it's lonely, it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts its existence hurt, existing hurt, it hated it hated it hated it hated. The negativity, the happiness, the sorrow, the humans, the sinners, the saints, the lovers, the murderers, the scholars, it hated them all this is misery, and, fear and vice and centuries of war in the name of men this is greed and false statement, and theft, and robbery this is rape and arson and bombing for sport

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

existence is pain, is toil, is hatred, is vanity, is disgusting, is selfishness, is bitter, is hunger, is cold, is misery, is filthy, is desolate agony that had no beginning and will have no ending even when the sun goes out and all the world is drenched in darkness and will continue even past that as long as a whisper of the world of man endures

the voices scream it hates; its own ugliness, its rotten state, its dirtiness, its vileness it was evil dirty laughable horrid vile rotten putrid it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it wants the humans to die die die

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

there is nothing but blood and rot and ugliness and tiny pointless decaying creatures that have no purpose but to expire unhappily. there is no hope and there will be no respite. there can be no atonement for crimes, there are only those who must bear the punishment for all so others may be happy in their place. the voice are screaming. there are penalties for living that must be paid, life penalty, death penalty, crime penalty, greedy penalty, incorrect penalty, this must be done IT IS DONE

but still it demanded atonement atone atone atone atone for self atone atone for self atone for self atone for self atone for self atone for self

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

There were no words for it, this hell

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

It crushes any chance of individual thought. ]

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