solas_ion | ☘ 051; [video; dated the morning of 10/8]

Current Music: Stranger

☘ 051; [video; dated the morning of 10/8]

[Cu Chulainn wasn't sure when he'd become aware that something was wrong. Wait...no, that wasn't entirely true. On some level, he'd become aware on October eighth, when 'yesterday' was October eleventh. He'd spent the entire day of the eighth fishing--but he'd also spent the eighth talking to Mitsuzuri at the flower shop. And he'd also spent it talking to Emiya--]

['Lancer, what do you think about the situation right now? Or, why are you still in this world?']

[Well, obviously. Servant Lancer had a Master, therefore he existed. It wasn't 'why' or even 'how' that bothered him. Even if the situation wasn't normal, the Hound of Ulster would do as he pleased. The restarting of the Holy Grail War was of no concern to him.]

['There's no need to hate the enemy.']

[A town full of Servants was a town full of natural opponents, even if they were all living peacefully. The way that Cu Chulainn lived dictated that there was no need to hate someone on the opposite side of things. Long ago, hadn't he fought and killed someone he couldn't have hated if he tried?]

[Yes...and that brought him back to the issue. Someone he couldn't hate was responsible for the endlessly repeating four halcyon days, and Emiya had asked for his help. Only the spear which inverted causality could counter the 'Answerer', Fragarach. A lance which killed its target before it was swung and a sword which canceled its target's attack for a deadly counter.]

[In short, mutually assured destruction.]

[And that, he determined upon waking up, was why there was a deep pain running from his shoulder through his chest as though something had tried to cut him in half.]

[Right. This was Johto--scattered memories were coming back in a rush that gave Lancer a terrible headache. But headache or no, he was alive. Again. Beside him was a Lucario, growling in what sounded like a litany of complaints.]

...I hear you, I hear you, I'm sorry. Thanks for taking care of things--I'll make it up to you, okay?

[That pain from a legendary blade turned a lot sharper as he cautiously sat up. It looked like his left arm would be pretty useless for a while, but luckily it didn't seem to be actively bleeding. Lancer noted he'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble with a wound like that on a human body.]

[But for now, there were other things to see to. Listening carefully to his Lucario recounting events of the past week, the former Servant reached for his Pokegear.]

[video]

Hey. [Lancer looked exhausted, pushing disheveled and untied hair back out of his eyes--wait, was that blood on his face?]

I'm getting the idea of what's been going on from Tyrfing; ground's still shaking, all that stuff. Anybody figure out what's behind it yet? [The Lucario in question handed Lancer a cup of coffee, which he accepted with a grateful but hesitant smile and a muttered 'thanks'.]

[Sighing, he looked back to the Pokegear. It was probably some measure of paranoia speaking, but he had to know for certain:]

And...look, I know this is gonna sound like I've gone crazy, but can somebody tell me what the date is?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[For a brief moment, she takes on an almost wistful look — though the way she's averting her eyes slightly might have as much to do with the wiping of the blood as it is any sort of shyness.]

I don't think so. An unlikely story...is rather what I'm sure many people must've thought about me, when I arrived not so long ago.

If it would be of some help to speak about it...perhaps it's not such a very great help, but sometimes it's a comfort simply to know someone is there to listen, if you should like.

Seems a little weird to go and drop everything on somebody I just met.

[He shrugged with just his right shoulder, a smirk crossing his face.]

First things first, since that's the case: you can call me Lancer.

[...Well, despite the rocky start, he seems nice enough!]

Is that Mister Lancer, may I ask? Or perhaps Lord? I shouldn't like to do you the discourtesy of lacking your title, if need be.

Nah, ain't anything like that. 'Lancer' is the only title I have these days, so you can just use that on its own.

[He was certainly friendly if nothing else.]

So what's your name?

I am Miss Meridiana Everett, of London. Of course, it's a...far distant London from what most expect, I think.

[She smiles.]

Mi— ah, Lancer... [Jumping straight to using names without any sort of title or formality is throwing her for a momentary loop, evidently. Hence the slight stumble.] It's very good to meet you, and I should be happy to hear your tale, if you like.

Pleasure's all mine, and don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure I'm from somewhere a little unusual myself.

[Medieval Ireland was kinda wacky, yanno.]

Anyway, it's tough to explain. Kinda like...like a really weird dream that goes against logic, that's all I can really call it. The place I was in, it kept repeating these four days over and over. I'd fall asleep on the eleventh and wake up on the eighth.

And just like some weird dream logic, nobody'd question it. Kinda like they didn't even know something was wrong, or didn't want to mention it if they did know.

...damn, I must sound like I've gone nuts, huh? It's fine if you want to call me crazy, I'm thinkin' I just might be.

...I suppose that is a little strange.

[Maybe a lot strange, but it's impolite to call someone crazy, especially when she'd invited this. Besides, couldn't someone have called her equally so when she'd thought it was the wrong year, and wouldn't it have been awful if someone hadn't believed her even though she was certain it was true?]

I see why you might find it disconcerting, then, to discover that today was the eighth. But I really am quite sure that yesterday was the seventh. I recall seeing so on this device of mine, even.

I ain't the sort to call somebody a liar. You say it was the seventh, I'll believe you.

[Lancer thought the situation through, frowning.]

Maybe it really was...just a dream after all.

[The blood on his face and pain in his shoulder said differently. But Cu Chulainn of all people knew the power dreams could have over someone and the real pain they could inflict.]

...This may be an unseemly question to ask, but...

[She kind of glances away again.]

Were you...injured so badly in every occurrence of those four days?

Hey, hey, I'm not so much of a screwup as all that.

[Another one-armed shrug.]

It was actually pretty nice, most of the time.

Oh, I didn't mean to imply —

[...Wait, he said it was fine.]

Well, I...suppose if they were a pleasant four days, at least. I'm sure I might think of four I wouldn't be at all sorry to live over and over again, even in dreams.

Eh...but there's a problem with that.

You have to wake up eventually.

If we're being fantastical, then it wouldn't be wrong to say it's a bit like Cinderella, would it?

The clock strikes midnight, and all the coachmen and footmen turn back into mice and lizards, and the carriage a pumpkin besides.

Cinderella, that's the one with the shoe, right?

[Adapting to 'modern' references wasn't so hard.]

It's a little like that, sure. Even if you're dreaming of paradise, eventually you're gonna have to wake up to go live your life.

[He didn't want to think about the implications of waking someone that might have only been dreaming once more before she died.]

Yes, that's the one! Though I imagine all the talk of dreaming might sound more like Sleeping Beauty, as well.

[Nursery rhymes and fairy tales. They're a Thing We Do.]

...Are you very sorry to have woken up, M— ...Lancer?

Hm? Nah, that kind of thing's bound to end sooner or later, so it doesn't bother me. I was just thinking...maybe I wasn't the only one dreaming, you know?

[No, because that makes no sense.]

Not the only one?

[...]

Then...it's someone else you're concerned for, who's been made to wake up as well.

Sure I am. I make it my job to worry about people I like.

I think that's a fine and charming trait in a gentleman.

[She smiles a little.]

People say we needn't worry for those we've left behind, in coming here. It seems there's some means by which they're...all right. I hope that brings you some comfort, at least.

[Didn't help much, when he was thinking about someone that all logic said must have died.]

[But that was better than nothing. If she was dreaming at all, maybe that was a good sign in itself.]

Yeah, that's always been what I've heard. No point in losin' sleep over it or anything.

...Of course...to merely have it said isn't always enough to calm a worry.

[And there she goes, glancing away again.]

So I think...it may be that it isn't so wrong to worry, either. If one could put away worries so easily...well, I don't think that's likely to be the case for sentiments felt truly and deeply.

Huh...sounds like you got somethin' on your mind yourself, little miss Meridiana.

Really, you should say "Miss Everett"; it's only proper.

[...That said, we've already moved on to given names with the lack of any honorific attached to "Lancer", so...nngh.]

However, it's simply...well. Speaking of things that sound unusual — the year that everyone says it is here, it's more than a century into the future of the year I remember it being. So if that's the case, and so much time has really passed...it's strange to think that by now, everyone I once knew should have passed away.

Ah, sorry, sorry. I was always terrible with formality.

[...hold the fucking medieval communication device.]

Wait...seriously, you too? I mean I'm workin' off a lot longer than a century, but I get the feeling.

[...WELL THAT'S...NEW.]

Why — yes! It's simply astonishing to think the year here is two thousand and fourteen, when as I recall it hasn't even reached nineteen-hundred yet.