Chapter Text
There are things that are unforgettable, things that a person remembers no matter how many times they are summoned and killed. Those things are sensations, the pull of mana, the feeling of being not there to there, the process of going from memory to existing. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, yet at the same time it doesn’t hurt, and that’s terrifying because it should. It’s indescribable, unknowable, and utterly unforgettable.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne’s first real, definite sensation was the cool air on his skin and the chill of the stone floor he was on. Even before fully materializing, he was kneeling before his master. Before his lord. His first breaths were used to speak his first words. “I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Knight of Fianna, also known as Diarmuid of the Love Spot. I ask you, are you my Master?”
The man in front of him was middle aged, balding, cold eyed, and was in what looked to be an expensive suit. The command seals on his hand were blood red, violently obvious against his pale skin. He straightened, smiling, and said “You may rise, Knight of Fianna. I am Lord Alexander Humphrey, and I am your Master.”
Diarmuid rose, his head slightly tilted. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must ask, is there something unusual about this summons?” He couldn’t place it, but he knew, just knew that something was going on.
Alexander smiled. “You are forgiven. I have summoned you a year before the Holy Grail War officially starts.”
Diarmuid blinked, “Why? Knight classes like me are not usually summoned this early.”
Alexander’s smile widened, just a hair. “I have a mission for you, Diarmuid. A simple one, hopefully.” He picked up a table from the desk beside him and turned it on and flipped it so Diarmuid could see it. It showed a woman’s face, tanned skin, black hair, teal eyes. Not beautiful, not ugly, but slightly too pretty to be considered plain. “This,” Alexander said, “is Saran Secada. She’s an alchemist who specializes in potions, not just potions, but one designed specifically for mages. I’ve also heard rumors that she has designed potions with the Holy Grail War in mind.” His eyes glinted. “Potions designed for Servants.”
There was a pit opening up in Diarmuid’s stomach. What was to be his mission? Capture her, kill her? A sourness in the back of his throat told him that it was not going to be good. Either way, he was a knight, sworn to the man in front of him. He would carry out his orders without complaint.
“Today,” Alexander continued, “I am having a meeting with Ms. Secada. I will persuade her to spend the next year in my mansion, making these potions for me in preparation for next years war. I will need you to keep her safe during that time. Our opponents will no doubt ferret out that I’ve hired her, and may try to eliminate her.”
Diarmuid bowed, keeping the relief off his face. Keeping someone safe was a noble mission. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Delightful. You will need to stay in spirit form for now, the places we must go through are public.”
“Of course, my lord.”
. . .
Saran Secada rushed out of the shop, newly rented suit stuffed unceremoniously into a bag. They skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and glanced around. Taxi or walk, taxi or walk. Walking would take longer, but taking a taxi would mean human interaction. They sent another glance down the street and decided. It was too crowded, a taxi might mean less interaction. Saran leaned forward and waved a hand wildly.
A minute passed.
Two minutes.
Saran started to tap their foot impatiently.
At three minutes a taxi caught the hint pulled up beside the sidewalk. Saran yanked open the door, jumped in, rattled off their address, and pushed money into the taxi man’s hands. The amusement that the taxi showed up on the third minute disappeared in the terror of the chance that the taxi man would try to strike up a conversation. Thankfully, the taxi man said nothing, either picking up on Saran’s impatience, or being declined to talk himself. Saran couldn’t care either way.
Four minutes before Saran started to worry, the taxi pulled up to their flat. They jumped out with their cargo, unlocked the door, and rushed in. Past the receiving room where they conducted business, past the lab, with all it’s pipes and containers, straight into the bedroom. They wasted no time yanking their clothes off, and no time pulling the suit on. With two minutes to spare, they walked into the bathroom.
The suit was slightly too big, and wrinkled, but Saran didn’t care. Their hair was a rat’s nest, and they yanked a brush through it halfheartedly before giving up. They looked at themselves in the mirror. Did they look like a professional? Or did they look like an idiot who nearly blew up their own lab and then spent the whole night cleaning up the mess? Again.
“Nothing for it,” They muttered as they yanked on their gloves. They looked at the mirror again. Turquoise eyes stared back at them, frank, unafraid, and completely uncaring. They sighed and ran a hand through their hair. It caught on a tangle half way through. “Okay, today’s the day. Today you make history. Today you change the world. Today is the day you get to find out if you were right.” They paused, “Oh, today’s also the day that you make a lot of money, that’s probably important.” The eyes in the mirror glared at them. “Yeah, talking to myself again, bad habit.” They adjusted their coat, exited the bathroom, grabbed the briefcase off their bed, and left the bedroom.
They stopped to salute the lab, it deserved it, putting up with their numerous mistakes, and left. Hopefully they would come back a whole lot richer.
. . .
“This is the place.” His lord’s thoughts were clear in his mind, and Diarmuid scoped out the building, looking for any potential enemies. There were none. The place, a coffee shop it looked like, was busy. Saran Secada sat at one of the tables outside, briefcase at her feet, cup on the table, staring at a notebook in front of her, absentmindedly playing with a pencil.
“I see no enemies, my lord.”
“Good.” Alexander walked towards the empty seat by Saran and tapped on the table. “This seat open?”
The alchemist didn’t look up, her reply was immediate. “No. Piss off.”
Diarmuid bristled, but Alexander laughed. “That’s no way to treat a client.”
The woman looked up. She was different then her picture, Diarmuid noticed, her eyes were fiercer, brighter, though that may of just been the bags under them. Her hair was longer, snarled and matted. She looked wrong in that suit, like she was playing a role she wasn’t used to. “I do not think she cares much about her pride, my lord.”
“At least not pride in her appearance. Her mind, however, and her work, that is what she’ll take pride in.”
“My apologies, good sir,” she didn’t sound very apologetic. She set her pencil down, and closed her notebook. She smiled a strained smile. “I wasn’t expecting you for another five minutes.”
“I try my best to be early.” Alexander sat down. “Do you have the goods with you?”
“Of course.” She drained her drink, and pulled the briefcase onto the table. She flicked open the locks and then picked up one of the bundles of bubble wrap. She unwrapped it, and set the vial on the table. The glass was thick and reflected the light. Diarmuid could just make out a substance in it.
Alexander picked it up. “The mana potion, I presume?” Saran nodded, and Alexander asked his next question, “Why is the glass so thick?”
She smiled, and this time it was a true smile, “For protection, mostly, but also because the potion is more potent if it hasn’t been exposed to air before it’s use.”
“Wouldn’t there already be air in the bottle.”
She waved a hand. “That air is already . . . tainted isn’t the best word for it, but it is an accurate description. No,wait, it has absorbed the potion’s energy. The air in that bottle is more like the potion then actual air.” She took back the bottle, wrapped it up, and then leaned forward. Her grin was inching towards a bit maniacal now. “But that’s not what you’re here to see. You’re a Master, correct? You should really think of wearing gloves, your seals are kind of obvious. You want to see the mana boost potion.” Pacing the mana potion bundle back in the briefcase, then she pulled out the other package, unwrapped it, and placed it one the table.
This vial looked the same as the other one, thick, glinting in the light. But the glass was a bit more opaque and scuffed. There was definitely something in there, Diarmuid could sense it.
“Mana boost?” Alexander asked, fingers twitching.
“Oh course. You put the potion on whatever you’re channeling mana into, and it supercharges the mana you’re sending in. Twice the power with the same amount of effort. Be it an iron pipe, or a Servant, all you need to do is apply the potion, and then apply your mana. Even if the mana transfer is subconscious.”
“Amazing. Does it work?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Does it work?”
She started to scowl. “Of course it works, I wouldn’t be selling it otherwise.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it hasn’t exploded yet, that’s how I know!”
“I - What?” Alexander seemed taken aback, and Diarmuid was, concerned. Concerned was a good word for it.
Saran sighed, and then started to explain in the tone of someone lecturing a child. “I know because it hasn’t exploded yet. The process is very delicate, if you don’t get it right, it explodes. The fact that it is sitting in front of you is proof that it works.” She stared at him, then said, “I see that you are not convinced.” She reached out, plucked the potion from his limp fingers, and started to wrap it. “If you can not be convinced then I’m afraid that we cannot do business.” She shoved the potion in the briefcase, snapped it shut, placed a five dollar bill on the table, stood, and glared at Alexander. “Good day to you, sir.”
. . .
It stunned him, their outburst did, but honestly, what had he expected? Better question, what had they expected? They knew better than anyone that most people could not understand their techniques. They turned to leave, took two steps, and then Alexander’s next words stopped her. “My apologies.” They turned to see him standing, half bowed. “I see that I have offended you, I mean no disrespect.”
They blinked. Huh. He seemed sincere, but you could never tell with people. Fine. A test then. “Come with me. I’ll show you it works.”
They turned again and started to walk. The coffee shop wasn’t far from their place, it was part of why they chose the apartment after all. They could bear human company for a 24 hour coffee shop. Especially when they were walking the fine line of exhaustion induced giddiness and caffeinated energy. A fine line they had not managed to reach today.
The door, they’d reached the door. They tapped on it. The landlady was due to stop by sometime today to complain about the explosion, and they did not want to deal with that right now. Not at least until they had a nap. There was no answer, good. They unlocked the door and stepped inside and aside. Alexander has followed them in, and after a second or so, they shut and locked the door again. “Now, Good sir,” they said as they placed the briefcase on the table and opened it up. “Summon your Servant.” They unwrapped the mana boost vial and set it on the table.
“Excuse me?”
Did he think they were an idiot? “You want to see the mana boost in action. To make sure that it works as it is intended to. The best way to do that would be to summon your Servant.” They were searching the cabinets now, and finally they pulled out a brush that suited them. They tested the tip, the feeling of power and danger assaulted their senses. It would do.
There was a moment’s pause, then, “Lancer, materialize.”
“Of course, my lord.” A decidedly Irish voice.
Saran turned to see the Servant, Lancer, materialize. Tall, pale skin, dark hair, amber eyes, spot under one of them, body tight suit that could not be comfortable. “Now,” they proclaimed, waving the brush. “This will not hurt. The only dangerous part about this potion is the creation. It either works or it doesn’t. No more, no less.” And it would work. “Now, where is the area you supply mana at?”
Alexander blink, Lancer looked confused, looked at his Master. “Well, his face, I guess.” Alexander said.
“Delightful. This shouldn’t hurt one bit.” They walked over to the table and opened up the potion. The cork made a satisfying pop as it did so. The potion was potent, they could feel the power brush across their skin. They sank the brush in, swirled once and held it up. The Servant glanced nervously at his Master again. They smiled at him. “Cheer up. I said it wouldn’t hurt.” They took another step forward, then placed the tip of the brush against Lancer’s forehead. One line down from hairline to chin, another from temple to temple, across the eyelids, two more from the corner of each eye, down to the chin like tear tracks. It wasn’t a rune, not really, but it was close enough. Besides, it wasn’t the rune that mattered, it was the intent. Strong, powerful, a conduit that strengthened what it received.
They stepped back, grinning like a warrior who had just claimed victory. “Feel different?”
Lancer took a deep breath, blinked in surprise. “Yes I do, I feel,” he hesitated, “Stronger.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow, looked at Saran. “Impressive. How many do you have in stock? How long does the effect last?”
They smirked. Wiped the brush on the edges of the vial, and stoppered it up an sat it on the table. “Not many,” they said, gesturing with the brush, “The process is difficult and dangerous. The effect lasts for twenty four hours. If used wisely, the bottle can be used for a week. After that, the potion loses its potency. The rune isn’t important when using, but the intention is. If you draw the rune but you’re not intent on it working, it will be a dud.”
“How does that work?”
They shrugged. Hell if they knew. “Trade secret.”
Alexander smiled. “I’m amazed. May I offer you something? Better than our original agreement, I’m sure.”
“Huh?” Saran didn’t like his smile. Mages were always thinking of something unpleasant when they smiled like that. “Go ahead.”
“A year tenure at my mansion. For a year you will work for me and supply me with these mana boosts and mana potions. Each will be paid for, your supplies will be paid for. Anything you need will be given to you. After the year, you can leave.” He was still smiling, such a gentle smile.
They didn’t believe him. Something that good came with strings attached. And they doubted he would just let them go when the war started. No way. And if they didn’t agree? Well, there was nothing stopping him from kidnapping them. God, how they hated people. “Your patronage is a kind offer,” they tried their best not to spit out the words, “I will be delighted to accept.”
“Wonderful.” Alexander looked like a kid who’d just gotten into the candy jar. Lancer hadn’t stopped staring at them, shocked at something. “Our planes leaves tonight. Goodbye, Ms. Secada.” He turned to leave, Lancer started to dematerialize.
“One last thing before you go,” Saran said, fingers gripping their brush tightly, “My pronouns are they and them. Remember that.”
“Of course.” He left.
The brush snapped in their grip.