"So," Lord El-Melloi II said, standing watch over the electric tea kettle and waiting for it to just go off already. Giving off the impression that he wasn't a man who lived off of cigars, bad take out, and stiff drinks was effort enough, but entertaining the winner of the 5th Holy Grail War's...assistant? Protege? Whatever the fuck Gray was to him? stung in a way that he had predicted, and begrudged being forced to go through all the same.
Fucking Marisbilly. Why he was back at Clock Tower was a mystery that El-Melloi II didn't like and was going to get to the bottom of. Why his Dr. Roman was here was easier. The head of Clock Tower had demaned El-Melloi II entertain the man while the meeting with Marisbilly was happening, and that was a demand that couldn't be contested. (It could, but the results would not be worth it.)
The anger didn't show on El-Melloi II's face. It couldn't, he had parked the thing by the window, and knew that his reflection was visible where Dr. Roman was. A few years ago, when El-Melloi II had just gotten his office, he had made the mistake of grimmacing into the window while dealing with a particular mage and nearly lost his job for doing so.
"Do you actually want a guided tour around a department that the Clock Tower would scrap in a second if they felt they had to, or do you mind if I just make you a cup of tea, point you to the library, and we can enjoy our days in silence?"
Marisbilly Animusphere was a busy man. As one of the great Lords of the Clock Tower, in charge of Astronomy, he was understandably occupied. Although rarely he could be found in this organization. It was a mystery why he decided to report himself as the winner, and not just say somebody else won as was the original plan. But the original planned included leaving nobody alive. And facing children as Masters, he might have no scruples but something tug Marisbilly to not be so ruthless in front of him.
The man with a name now. A mouthful name. Romani Archaman. A name that would make him more flustered when he developed his emotions enough to feel such thing. Doctor Roman, Marisbilly had said, despite he was only a medical student doing his thesis. A young man who couldn't be older than twenty. He sat staring at the smoking man calmly. He hadn't changed that much since his wish yet. He had a perpetual pleasant smile and patience even if the chimney prickled his nose. He hadn't yet decided if he liked, disliked or tolerate that smell.
Lord El Melloi II. He didn't know him. But Marisbilly seemed to trust him enough to put him in his hands while he and Professor Lev Lainur took care of their affairs.
"Uhh, If you don't mind," Romani started, scratching the back of his head in an apologetic manner. His hair was short for the medical practice in the University, but he was planning to grow it again in the future. Marisbilly said it was good because it meant he developed a preference. His first one after Japanese sweets and books about romanticism. "I'm curious." That's the easiest emotion to grasp. Admittedly, he was curious about the magi of this era, even with his current lack of magic circuits. "It's my first time without Professor Lev or Marisbilly." He didn't bat an eyelash at the casual way he addressed the Lord of the Animusphere.
He didn't press, nevertheless, he simply observed him and waited what he'd say or do. He could take the tea offer, or the library one. He loved books. Silence also looked like an attractive choice. When everything was new, there were no bad options.
There was a heavy sigh embedded in the words. Waver was glad the kettle went off when it did, the sound of steam escaping the spout coupled with the click of the little lever one pressed down on to start the boil cycle. Wordlessly, he poured the steaming water into one of the teacups, and then the other. Each already had a teabag in it (black tea, hardly anything special). As the tea brewed, the heady air of Irish breakfast tea (strong, stout, meant to wake one up) filled the air. Satisfied that the cups were full without being dangerously so, El-Melloi II handed one over to his temporary charge.
"Sugar bowl's on the table over there," he gestured to a coffee table parked between two sofas. Those were used for meetings, or else as a landing zone for throwing Flat about. The area saw a fair amount of use during the school year. "If you want milk or cream, I'll need to run to the department's refridgerator."
The mini-fridge was one of the few mundane things in the department, but it was practical.
El-Melloi II did nothing to his own cup, he simply held it in his hands and waited for a response to his question. I'm curious wasn't a decision between option A or option B. His face remained impassive, wondering why there hadn't been a straight forward choice yet. Was it actually so hard to figure out if one wanted to be alone for an afternoon or not?
A little prompting never went awry though. "Or did you have a third option in mind?"
Roman watched as if this domestic ritual was a mysterious, exotic ceremony he had never witnessed before; and he hadn't. When he ruled as king, the food was taken from the kitchens to his chambers; besides and neither Marisbilly nor he cooked so they had hired help or went to cafes for breakfast.
Ah. He couldn't help but wonder if this was all right. His gloved hands itched. He felt like he should help him somehow, but he didn't know how. All his life he knew what to do, guided by God's voice, simply following his Master or the whims of the World, but now... he felt exposed and alone without instructions. A strange fluttering sensation started at the pit of his stomach, making his mouth dry. Anxiety that he mistook it for hunger.
"Oh," he managed to utter, glancing at the gestured table. Should he stand? Yes, he rose and went to pick the sugar and bring it to them. He usually poured too many spoonfuls in his drinks, Marisbilly had suggested him to be careful with that, so he would limit himself to just three. "No, that's fine. This will get us covered," he said as he grabbed the sugar. "Thank you."
He poured the three promised spoonfuls and stirred the tea, waiting until it cooled a little before he started drinking. He was caught in the flavor. Different from the heavily fragrant tea Marisbilly exported from India and the bitterness of the green tea of Japan. Everything was so new. He had probably tasted many flavors as King but, even then, he hadn't thought about developing preferences until this life. As Roman drank, Lord El Melloi asked again. His eyes widened slightly as if he was surprised about something.
He had a choice. It was a realization that hit him slowly. Another man who wasn't Marisbilly was asking for his opinion and he had to think and choose without God's revelation telling him which option is the ideal one.
Uhhh.
He lowered the tea. Roman looked at him as if he weighed his options. This man was probably busy and with a schedule that was interrupted by his arrival. He was probably wishing to get back to it over entertaining a meddlesome guest, he didn't want to upset him and demand him his attention while his heart was somewhere else. However, if he locked himself in the library, he would also be unable to learn about the modern world. That wasn't something from the books.
He needed to experience it.
"I want to know you better," Roman answered, choosing the third option he had proposed, "I think it'll be the best if I just accompany you in your routine if you don't mind." He hoped that didn't sound invasive. This was more pragmatic than a tour. He sighed, and admitted, just to assuage any concern he is some kind of spy of an enemy faction he didn't understand. "I'll be honest, I'm just a normal man, so I don't know any of the politics that must weight among the Clock Tower Lords." It didn't mean Roman was ignorant of Marisbilly's caution with his fellows and rivals. "I'm just trying to help Marisbilly in his objective to guarantee the protection of humanity's future."
"You're welcome," was the response, plain and automatic. It was a nice thing to hear though, as manners were often not the forte of magi. However, as El-Melloi II observed Roman going for the sugar bowl, he had to stop.The doctor was using how much sugar in his tea?
El-Melloi II counted each spoonfull, and three felt like a painfully high number. Usually only hummingbirds required that much sweetness in their drink, and while El-Melloi II's eyebrows rose up to communicate his judgemental thought process, the rest of him remained calm.
When he realized how high his eyebrows were going, he elected to sip at the tea, bringing everything back to normal. It was a fairly bitter brew, something-something-that-suits-you Reines would remark. Thank God Reines wasn't here now, she'd find the whole scene unfolding in her adopted brother's office to be a great show.
The little gremlin wasn't present though, and El-Melloi II's student senses weren't tingling either. It was strange, especially since it meant Flat wasn't up to some nonsense either. Flat was always up to nonsense.
I want to know you better felt so weird and formal and like a contract. El-Melloi II didn't like the phrasing, but Roman's recovery was smooth. Worse, to be sure, as going through his planned day with a shadow was not on the books, but it was honest. El-Melloi II could appreciate honest, especially when one was suddenly running with magi after...well. Not.
"All I was going to do today was grade papers," El-Melloi II said, gesturing at the large stack of midterms that sat on his desk. "If you want me to actually sit and give you an introduction to politics, then you need to settle in for a long discussion."
He paused, then added: "I will suggest you consider this for the future though: No one actually reveals their true goals to another mage, unless they want to get beaten to the punch. Even if it's high minded and comes off as noble."
Due to Marisbilly spoiling him and his appetite, Roman developed a sweet tooth. Of course he knew what was healthy or not, however, his body could take that intake. It was a newborn's body adjusting to the new mortality in a sense. And Roman himself remained oblivious to the older man's judgmental gesture, he savored his sweetened tea and struggle with the temptation of pour one last spoonful in the dark drink.
It was probably a slip of the tongue, a memory of what Marisbilly had requested him the day of his summoning that seemed like a natural petition to Roman. He didn't notice any tension, even if he was trying to be observant, human emotions were hard to distinguish. Marie had complained he seemed like a natural airhead who was incapable to read the air and warned him about causing trouble to her father.
"Oh, I don't want that at all," Roman laughed heartily. "The politics lessons, I mean, that'll be just a thorny bitter chat, I can tell," he clarified quickly. He really had no interest to join the Clock Tower, so he wasn't looking forward to getting a lecture about politics. "I don't mind if you grade the papers as long as I can help you." His eyes seemed to gleam instead for something as trivial as that. "How do you evaluate your students? Do you have a general standard they have to meet or is case by case on their individual development?" This man was a teacher too, so Marisbilly had told him. So he had future magi generations under his charge. Maybe he was too aggressive in his curiosity, he bowed his head apologetically. "Wah, was I too rude? I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I was told sometimes I run my mouth..."
He was quiet before, but now he seemed to be eager to talk and ask more questions. He was curious and had sometimes the emotional restraint of a child.
Roman assented after Waver warned him, but the implication didn't register fully at least not emotionally. Certainly, rationally he could understand that Marisbilly would prefer privacy and that courts politics, or how they are called now, required a delicate hand.
Even so--
"I don't mind if I'm 'beaten to the punch'," he answered without missing a beat, "If I aim to assist someone to protect civilization and there is another person, or several of them, who do a better job and is capable to help protect people's future, I'll gladly welcome this." There-was-no-need-to-measure-against-each-other. That was he meant.
Wasn't this man a teacher? A teacher's job is to make a student eventually independent enough to not require their lessons, right? So in that line of thinking, he probably would understand what he meant better than Marisbilly would.
"It would be, yes," El-Melloi II agreed with a darkness that suggested how fond he truly was of mage politics. They were one of the worst parts of this job, and there were an awful lot of worst parts to be had. There were lists he had come up with in his downtime about ranks and whatnot, but...no. Those were the most private of thoughts that no one would ever hear.
At the mention of helping to grade though, the grumpy professor simply shook his head to decline the offer. "You are correct that their evaluation primarily comes from individual development, along with certain rubrics for say, knowing how to string two sentences together. But because that same individual development determines the mark, there's no way for you to meaningfully evaluate the paper. You don't know them or have a measure of where they were at the start of the semester."
If Roman was worried about being too rude, that response ought to demonstrate that no, it was nothing at all in El-Melloi II's eyes. The bluntness was not charming. It didn't win him allies. How the hell this man was considered one of the most eligible professors in the Clock Tower was to be forever a mystery.
That idealism though. El-Melloi II sighed as he sank into the chair behind his desk. It'd be destroyed soon enough, and he was unsure if it was his job to do it, or to let the dreams endure for just a little longer. El-Melloi II knew the world of magi too well. He was Waver Velvet once, a more self centered version of this idealist.
"Well, that's a healthy perspective to have," he said finally, after evaluating the best way to respond. "Most magi you meet won't share that point of view. I'm sure you are aware that there is a certain territorial aspect that most mage families have, due to the goal to reach the Root."
El-Melloi II was too critical, in the end. Which meant that his nature was to pick apart, pick apart, pick apart. "Whatever this goal is, you'll need to make sure that you find enough community oriented magi, doctor. I'll be amazed to see how many you end up with."
In that, there was polite curiosity. He actually would like to know, if only for his own edification.
"That's why you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Roman dismissed the topic, just because of his dark semblance. "Professor Lev would surely supply anything I need to know." Lev was definitely the 'straight man' of the trio when they were together. Marisbilly had some flights of fancies himself, although different from those of Roman's.
"You might be right about that," Roman agreed that the best one who would grade them is Waver. "But if you feel like sharing something that frustrates you or makes you proud, I'm here. I'm studying too in order to act as a counselor and help with people's stress in Chaldea." When Chaldea was officially established, right now, even if the building was there, he hadn't stepped inside it yet. He could tell this man probably had a lot to shoulder. He probably listened to many concerns every day, but did anyone listen to his?
"I know that," Roman said, confirming what Waver tried to explain. Even Marisbilly had explained this to him. His family too had their own means to reach the Root. "Men are fated to transcend this world, Lord El Melloi," he added quietly, it was brief, but his voice was perfectly intoned rather than the more nasal pitch so characteristic of him, "And leave not even their records behind." All men, not just magi, not just a few magi, someday that would become a reality. "Ahh, well, I suppose it's fine if it starts like this," he finished in his usual voice. He was unconcerned about the Root, but even he wasn't so carelessly to admit that when it was such hot topic with modern magi.
Community-oriented magi? Now there was an idea, but those were things somebody else took care of. Roman would assist Marisbilly by choice, even though he could just do anything else he wanted. He would help as a simple doctor too.
"By the way, what about you?" It wasn't his place to invite people, Marisbilly did that, but Marisbilly had never denied him anything. "Wouldn't you like to visit Chaldea one day?"
Lev was involved with this? Well, that was interesting to know. El-Melloi II filed that fact in the back of his brain. For all the grumpiness in him, there was still a spark of curiosity, and it was doubtless that the Clock Tower rumor mill would be starting up soon. Better to get ahead of that curve and have the closest version of the truth of...whatever these three were up to. Involving a non-mage was always step one of something that would probably end up in getting a sealing designation. "It'd be for the best. Anything I have to offer would be very biased."
The word salty might not have been in use yet, but it would be applicable. At the mention of stress though, El-Melloi II paused, tilting his head slightly. "Is the focus of your medical practice in psychology then?"
Logic said it would have to be if he was looking at stress and what caused it. This...Chaldea, thing. It sounded too like a caldera, a volcano. Was that an intentional metaphor? El-Melloi II hoped not. The confusion and consideration meant he only flinched at being called El-Melloi without the appropriate numeral after it, and even forgot to correct the young man in front of him.
He didn't miss the sudden foray into something serious though. If this guy wasn't a mage, he was...something. El-Melloi II couldn't put a finger on it, but the change stuck out. "...Right," he managed, one hand moving to rest on top of the stack of papers. "I'm pretty sure that's a debate to have with cultural heritage people, not myself."
A museum curator or an archivist would probably have some opinions. He moved the first paper atop the stack onto his lap and...it was Flat's. Of course it was. His eyes went from the paper to Roman.
"You keep saying the word Chaldea without giving it context, doctor. How much of it are you allowed to explain?"
Lord El-Melloi II had held onto his anger for six hours. The only reason he had waited was to ensure that his fury was directed to one person and one person alone. This hidden identity nonsense didn't apply to him, he was still human in all the ways it counted, and there were about twenty five things that weren't to be overheard anyway. He knew Roman before this, and Caster he may be, Lord El-Melloi II was still a mage. He didn't trust anyone else.
He shouldn't have trusted Roman. True enough, the Chaldea project meant that outside of their inital meeting, there had been little contact between the two, but Lord El-Melloi II had concluded that day with a fairly high opinion of the young man who had sat and plays video games in his office the entire day. Hell, it had been a highlight of the month, what with Flat making a work of art explode in the British Museum, followed by Luvia and Rin having a bigger and stupider fight than normal.
There were angry footsteps that announced his presences in the all too sterile Chaldea corridors. The few staff that passed by gave the man they knew as Caster a wide berth, red hot rage being projected from every angle of Lord El-Melloi II. There was no point hiding it. He entered Chaldea's control room and took a moment to ensure that there was no one around. Privacy was important, not only for Lord El-Melloi II, but likely Dr. Roman as well. Of that, Lord El-Melloi II had no doubt.
"Roman," he said, intoning the doctor's name in a deep voice that hid none of his displeasure. "We need to speak."
That same intonation made it clear that this discussion would happen, or else consequences would be dire.
The control room was empty and darkened when Waver entered, all but a single screen were offline. And over that beeping control panel, there was the sleeping form of one Romani Archaman. He had stayed late trying to figure out some coordinates, and, honestly just to make sure next time he would operate the equipment faster. Near his right elbow, there were two empty energy drinks, while another had slipped past the panel and was currently beside his foot.
If he had gotten any sleep in the past week, perhaps he wouldn't need to resort to them. If he hadn't been so stubborn, he would have gone to bed as he had promised to Da Vinci last night. But instead, he had to make an embarrassment of himself and was awoke by the sudden intrusion and mention of his name.
"Eh? Leonardo-What? Are we under attack?!" He stirred with a bolt and frantically looked around. The control room was empty and a familiar man was looking (glaring?) at his direction. "Oh, uh, uhh--- Lord El Melloi II?" He stared dumbfounded because honestly, that sight should be impossible right now. With Chaldea isolated from the world. And the world--
"I must be still dreaming," he muttered with a bitter smile, reaching to pinch his cheek. He had to wake up. No times for daydreaming about playing video games.
"I assure you," Lord El-Melloi II replied in a stern, clipped tone. "You are most certaintly not dreaming, and I am most certaintly not above taking advantage of this nonsense of having the abilities of a Heroic Spirit to demonstrate that fact."
The response that Roman gave was instructive on many levels. First and foremost, it gave an idea of close co-worker relationships within Chaldea (DaVinci had been...interesting). Secondly, it suggested a certain level of being left alone to do late nights and fall asleep in the office that was painfully familiar. But the question about attack, that made clear the situation might be more threatening than anything Lord El-Melloi II had come to understand so far.
His eyes drifted to the good doctor's stash of long since consumed energy drinks. The man was surely was wise enough not to survive off of those and those alone, right?
The pinching had hurt, therefore he wasn't dreaming. This had to be a joke. The work of a shapeshifting Servant? Did they have one of those with a high Self-Modification skill? His grogginess wasn't helping him to think clearly. "H-How-- It shouldn't be possible," Roman pointed out plainly. Wait-- did he just say Heroic Spirit? He glanced over his shoulder and tapped a key to notice there was a Registered Saint Graph (well, two, but Chaldea had his hidden under lock) in the Control Room. His eyes widened. "T-That's impossible! How are you a Servant?!"
He was probably was confused as Waver was for the time being. Of course, there were explanations that immediately came after his fatigue made him overreact. One was that he was a Guardian, but such wasn't the case when he read the clear name of the registered Spirit. Roman sighed heavily. "Oh, you're an irregularity." A Heroic Spirit inhabiting a human vessel who wasn't a Ruler? That was new but, he could roll with it.
He waited until the awkwardness subsided to greet him.
"I apologize for the delay, but welcome to Chaldea," he said with a sheepish smile, "I'm sure you have many questions."
"I can give you the summary of my questions, or the numerical list," he responded. Roman's reaction was not reassuring. In fact, it only fed into the anger that had built up in the pit of Lord El-Melloi II's stomach and threatened to finally explode. The young man (he was still younger than El-Melloi II was) reacted with grogginess and the word irregularity. The latter was just rude, all things considered.
"The summary is simple, Dr. Roman. What the fuck?"
Lord El-Melloi II folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Roman with the same kind of look he would usually afix Flat with after something tremendously stupid happened. And yet, Flat was unpredictable. Roman probably needed to know at least one thing, and it was with a moment of relenting his anger that Lord El-Melloi II added something simple.
Of course, he wasn't all that reassuring, Roman still couldn't read the air. He still had certain emotional hurdles he never grew out from. Still, he tried to be as friendly as possible, thinking this must be very confusing. No, he realized the poor man must be more confused than he was.
What had been Da Vinci doing if she hadn't filled him in with anything? He nodded and wished his Master was here instead, the Master should be the one who handled Servants, not Roman. But this was a special case.
"I see," he answered while the system registered the name automatically, "But I'm not speaking with Zhuge Liang, right? You're Lord El Melloi II." He wanted a confirmation, but he was certain that his familiarity and his anger wouldn't make sense, he would just function as a Servant. "This is the first time we summoned uh, should I call you a Half Servant or maybe would you prefer a Pseudo Servant?" he asked nervously, knowing this wouldn't be very comforting. He just opted to be sincere here, it was more efficient that way.
In truth, Lord El-Melloi II had only half listened to DaVinci's explanation. There had been too much internal processing of what was going on for him to offer the servant his full, undivided attention. It would prove to be a mistake in retrospect, but Lord El-Melloi II's usual foresight was clouded by simply coming to grips with the situation he found himself pulled into.
Summoned into.
"Whatever you want to call it is irrelevant. My understanding is that I have his abilities and my own body, make up the vocabulary as you wish," Lord El-Melloi II replied hotly. He reached into his coat pocket, praying that his cigar case would still be there. If he was summoned to the end of the world without that? He'd happily change class and become a Berserker instead.
"Was this Chaldea's end goal, Roman? All three of you, before this...this disaster or whatever the fuck you're calling it?"
Roman nodded, thinking on the matter briefly. "Pseudo Servant would be the best," he declared and less confusing to not overlap the label with Demi Servant which was another matter entirely. Ah-- His smile waned when he was asked about Chaldea goal.
He cleared his throat. "This organization was established with one purpose in mind," he announced, his soft voice made it less dramatic than should be, "We're here to ensure the preservation of human civilization. At least that was the original goal of the late director."
It was natural to be suspicious, he understood that very well. "Something has... happened in the past which has put the future at stake, that's why we're trying to fix that." That was the simplest explanation. "Heroic Spirits were," he paused, looking at him tiredly. "I suppose you wouldn't know, but their original purpose wasn't to be summoned to fight against each other for the sake of human greed, they were supposed to be summoned to save the world when the human order is in danger."
A month passed with failed summons. It was what Lord El-Melloi II would consider the very end of his attempts, as he felt himself growing more and more morose at each failure. And then, as if knowing this was a last ditch attempt, Iskandar responded.
Not his Iskandar, but the young man who would become the King of Conquerors. The difference didn't matter to Lord El-Melloi II. His king was here, and moreover, his king wanted him around. Wanted his opinions, his advice, relied on him. They were as any king and close advisor, and if that was as close as Lord El-Melloi II could ever get to seeing Iskandar again, then he was a very happy man indeed.
Well, in most ways. There was still that little bit of heartache that the man who stood beside Waver hadn't quite responded as expected, but to complain at all felt like he was ungrateful for the way Fate had turned out. There was also the fact that with Alexander present, Lord El-Melloi II had seemingly dropped every other relationship in Chaldea in order to make up for lost time. Like anyone with a new dating partner, really, which spoke ill of him.
Realizing that he was behaving that way was humbling after Alexander was the one to point it out (he was so keen eyed, even at his current age), Lord El-Melloi II knew he had to do an apology tour. And that? That began with Roman.
Approaching the control room (he thought it was where the good doctor was), he called out simply, "Roman? You here?"
Roman had tried to do some damage control after the summons failed. He gave a number of excuses, from bad machine calibration, to the lack of a specific catalyst or any link from that hero to Chaldea which was what was wrong. Neither were complete lies. But when he finally succeeded, he felt a burden to be lifted from his shoulders. Although, that was probably not the king he remembered, the shadows dissipated from El Melloi II's face.
He didn't begrudge his neglect. Roman would never demand his time when he seemed to be in a bittersweet sort of state of bliss, trying to play advisor to the Heroic Spirit he admired so much. Besides, he was a busy man. Chaldea demanded his undivided attention more than it looked, and, despite the siren's call to slack, he had no measurement when came to his dedication to his work.
There were also the dreams that visited him every night. They began innocently first: he was in a cafe with Marisbilly and Lev, the one they used to frequent that was close to the heart of the Clock Tower. He didn't remember what they were discussing, but suddenly Marisbilly stopped talking and Lev stared at him for a long time. He uttered a strange number before it faded to black. The dream repeated itself the following night and the other, and for all month, the same number. Sometimes he wrote it down slept walking, using a scrap of paper on his nightstand. He realized it now. Those were coordinates.
When Lord El Melloi seeks him out, the control room is empty except for Roman. He's glued to the chair, eyes scanning the screen, he's attempting to pinpoint where these coordinates lead him. Maybe is just meaningless, but just to satisfy his curiosity. Before he presses enter, he hears a familiar voice. Quickly, he rises and drops what he's doing, a smile tugs on his lips to welcome the Caster Pseudo Servant.
"Oh, Lord El Melloi II, good afternoon...?" Tone unsure, eyes saunter down his wristwatch. "What can I do for you?"
There is comfort in the fact Roman is where he suspected. Roman is reliable, as much as he is a total dork, and it feels reassuring to have that. Alexander is young and wild and unpredictable, and for all the whirlwind it has been, both physically and emotionally, there is a call to well, balance things for a bit. There are few better counterbalances than Roman.
"I..." he says, trying not to be distracted by the screen. "I wanted to come and apologize. I haven't seen you much."
And I feel bad about it. That much is evident, and Lord El-Melloi II moves to stand perpendicular to the console, hip resting against it. He sighs, a little weary, a lot embarrassed.
Roman's green eyes open wide, visibly taken aback by the honest apology. He fidgets his coat, feeling bad about showing his surprise. It's not Lord El Melloi II's fault, but he's used to not expect things from people. He doesn't think anyone owned him anything and maybe that's the problem. It's not a healthy way of life, but it's one that has managed to keep him mostly sane.
"Uh, well, you didn't have to-" he finally says, giving him a helpless smile, "But I'm glad you did." He thinks so, that warmth he experiences is surely gratitude. He gestures for him to sit on a close chair, one placed at Roman's right.
"You looked so content that I think everyone who knows you wouldn't begrudge your actions."
Lord El-Melloi II isn't terribly shocked that an apology is fairly new to Roman. Not because all of Chaldea takes him for granted (but they do), but mostly because he's the kind shrug it all off as no big deal, no apology needed. All the more reason to say something, in his estimation.
He flops into the chair with all the grace and elegance of a much younger man, the chair rolling a few feet backwards from the flop's power. With a begrudging groan, he scoots the chair back over, shaking his head a little.
"You didn't do it on purpose," Roman assures him, waving his hand far too quickly. He's accepted the apology already, no need for the poor man to continue to beat himself up over so little.
He chokes a laugh to Lord El Melloi's undignified seating. He's acting a few decades younger, maybe he feels that way too. He wishes he's brought something more than his secret stash of energy drinks and he can't offer those.
Roman sags on the command chair, nodding as he answers: "Your brows don't wrinkle as much and there's less frowning." So maybe he's caught a few smiles too, but he doesn't want to worry him. His grouchy reputation must remain intact.
"...I will admit, I'm aware of the less frowning." Fuck, he did smile around Alexander. It was impossible not to. Charming youth skill be damned, it was still his king, still Iskandar, and he was here! And that made everything else feel so much easier in comparison. God, he was still worried about his students, but...but if he had his king then there could be even more hope.
Quietly, Lord El-Melloi II's eyes went to Roman's screen, curious and worried in equal measure.
"Oh, good, Ritsuka was wondering about that briefly," Roman chuckles lightly. Some were first worried he got sick to behave so giddy in his El Melloi II-ish way. "I'm glad you could summon him at last," happiness is a contagious thing, it makes him smile from the bottom of his heart. There's still something he'd want to ask him about how he reconnected with his Servant but it's too late.
He's taken aback for a split of a second by the switch. His eyes flicker at the screen, giving a helpless shrug.
"Er, no more than the usual," he answers vaguely, "Why are you asking?" Does he look more tired?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Clock Tower, circa 2007
Fucking Marisbilly. Why he was back at Clock Tower was a mystery that El-Melloi II didn't like and was going to get to the bottom of. Why his Dr. Roman was here was easier. The head of Clock Tower had demaned El-Melloi II entertain the man while the meeting with Marisbilly was happening, and that was a demand that couldn't be contested. (It could, but the results would not be worth it.)
The anger didn't show on El-Melloi II's face. It couldn't, he had parked the thing by the window, and knew that his reflection was visible where Dr. Roman was. A few years ago, when El-Melloi II had just gotten his office, he had made the mistake of grimmacing into the window while dealing with a particular mage and nearly lost his job for doing so.
"Do you actually want a guided tour around a department that the Clock Tower would scrap in a second if they felt they had to, or do you mind if I just make you a cup of tea, point you to the library, and we can enjoy our days in silence?"
/AUing this
The man with a name now. A mouthful name. Romani Archaman. A name that would make him more flustered when he developed his emotions enough to feel such thing. Doctor Roman, Marisbilly had said, despite he was only a medical student doing his thesis. A young man who couldn't be older than twenty. He sat staring at the smoking man calmly. He hadn't changed that much since his wish yet. He had a perpetual pleasant smile and patience even if the chimney prickled his nose. He hadn't yet decided if he liked, disliked or tolerate that smell.
Lord El Melloi II. He didn't know him. But Marisbilly seemed to trust him enough to put him in his hands while he and Professor Lev Lainur took care of their affairs.
"Uhh, If you don't mind," Romani started, scratching the back of his head in an apologetic manner. His hair was short for the medical practice in the University, but he was planning to grow it again in the future. Marisbilly said it was good because it meant he developed a preference. His first one after Japanese sweets and books about romanticism. "I'm curious." That's the easiest emotion to grasp. Admittedly, he was curious about the magi of this era, even with his current lack of magic circuits. "It's my first time without Professor Lev or Marisbilly." He didn't bat an eyelash at the casual way he addressed the Lord of the Animusphere.
He didn't press, nevertheless, he simply observed him and waited what he'd say or do. He could take the tea offer, or the library one. He loved books. Silence also looked like an attractive choice. When everything was new, there were no bad options.
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There was a heavy sigh embedded in the words. Waver was glad the kettle went off when it did, the sound of steam escaping the spout coupled with the click of the little lever one pressed down on to start the boil cycle. Wordlessly, he poured the steaming water into one of the teacups, and then the other. Each already had a teabag in it (black tea, hardly anything special). As the tea brewed, the heady air of Irish breakfast tea (strong, stout, meant to wake one up) filled the air. Satisfied that the cups were full without being dangerously so, El-Melloi II handed one over to his temporary charge.
"Sugar bowl's on the table over there," he gestured to a coffee table parked between two sofas. Those were used for meetings, or else as a landing zone for throwing Flat about. The area saw a fair amount of use during the school year. "If you want milk or cream, I'll need to run to the department's refridgerator."
The mini-fridge was one of the few mundane things in the department, but it was practical.
El-Melloi II did nothing to his own cup, he simply held it in his hands and waited for a response to his question. I'm curious wasn't a decision between option A or option B. His face remained impassive, wondering why there hadn't been a straight forward choice yet. Was it actually so hard to figure out if one wanted to be alone for an afternoon or not?
A little prompting never went awry though. "Or did you have a third option in mind?"
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Ah. He couldn't help but wonder if this was all right. His gloved hands itched. He felt like he should help him somehow, but he didn't know how. All his life he knew what to do, guided by God's voice, simply following his Master or the whims of the World, but now... he felt exposed and alone without instructions. A strange fluttering sensation started at the pit of his stomach, making his mouth dry. Anxiety that he mistook it for hunger.
"Oh," he managed to utter, glancing at the gestured table. Should he stand? Yes, he rose and went to pick the sugar and bring it to them. He usually poured too many spoonfuls in his drinks, Marisbilly had suggested him to be careful with that, so he would limit himself to just three. "No, that's fine. This will get us covered," he said as he grabbed the sugar. "Thank you."
He poured the three promised spoonfuls and stirred the tea, waiting until it cooled a little before he started drinking. He was caught in the flavor. Different from the heavily fragrant tea Marisbilly exported from India and the bitterness of the green tea of Japan. Everything was so new. He had probably tasted many flavors as King but, even then, he hadn't thought about developing preferences until this life. As Roman drank, Lord El Melloi asked again. His eyes widened slightly as if he was surprised about something.
He had a choice. It was a realization that hit him slowly. Another man who wasn't Marisbilly was asking for his opinion and he had to think and choose without God's revelation telling him which option is the ideal one.
Uhhh.
He lowered the tea. Roman looked at him as if he weighed his options. This man was probably busy and with a schedule that was interrupted by his arrival. He was probably wishing to get back to it over entertaining a meddlesome guest, he didn't want to upset him and demand him his attention while his heart was somewhere else. However, if he locked himself in the library, he would also be unable to learn about the modern world. That wasn't something from the books.
He needed to experience it.
"I want to know you better," Roman answered, choosing the third option he had proposed, "I think it'll be the best if I just accompany you in your routine if you don't mind." He hoped that didn't sound invasive. This was more pragmatic than a tour. He sighed, and admitted, just to assuage any concern he is some kind of spy of an enemy faction he didn't understand. "I'll be honest, I'm just a normal man, so I don't know any of the politics that must weight among the Clock Tower Lords." It didn't mean Roman was ignorant of Marisbilly's caution with his fellows and rivals. "I'm just trying to help Marisbilly in his objective to guarantee the protection of humanity's future."
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El-Melloi II counted each spoonfull, and three felt like a painfully high number. Usually only hummingbirds required that much sweetness in their drink, and while El-Melloi II's eyebrows rose up to communicate his judgemental thought process, the rest of him remained calm.
When he realized how high his eyebrows were going, he elected to sip at the tea, bringing everything back to normal. It was a fairly bitter brew, something-something-that-suits-you Reines would remark. Thank God Reines wasn't here now, she'd find the whole scene unfolding in her adopted brother's office to be a great show.
The little gremlin wasn't present though, and El-Melloi II's student senses weren't tingling either. It was strange, especially since it meant Flat wasn't up to some nonsense either. Flat was always up to nonsense.
I want to know you better felt so weird and formal and like a contract. El-Melloi II didn't like the phrasing, but Roman's recovery was smooth. Worse, to be sure, as going through his planned day with a shadow was not on the books, but it was honest. El-Melloi II could appreciate honest, especially when one was suddenly running with magi after...well. Not.
"All I was going to do today was grade papers," El-Melloi II said, gesturing at the large stack of midterms that sat on his desk. "If you want me to actually sit and give you an introduction to politics, then you need to settle in for a long discussion."
He paused, then added: "I will suggest you consider this for the future though: No one actually reveals their true goals to another mage, unless they want to get beaten to the punch. Even if it's high minded and comes off as noble."
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It was probably a slip of the tongue, a memory of what Marisbilly had requested him the day of his summoning that seemed like a natural petition to Roman. He didn't notice any tension, even if he was trying to be observant, human emotions were hard to distinguish. Marie had complained he seemed like a natural airhead who was incapable to read the air and warned him about causing trouble to her father.
"Oh, I don't want that at all," Roman laughed heartily. "The politics lessons, I mean, that'll be just a thorny bitter chat, I can tell," he clarified quickly. He really had no interest to join the Clock Tower, so he wasn't looking forward to getting a lecture about politics. "I don't mind if you grade the papers as long as I can help you." His eyes seemed to gleam instead for something as trivial as that. "How do you evaluate your students? Do you have a general standard they have to meet or is case by case on their individual development?" This man was a teacher too, so Marisbilly had told him. So he had future magi generations under his charge. Maybe he was too aggressive in his curiosity, he bowed his head apologetically. "Wah, was I too rude? I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I was told sometimes I run my mouth..."
He was quiet before, but now he seemed to be eager to talk and ask more questions. He was curious and had sometimes the emotional restraint of a child.
Roman assented after Waver warned him, but the implication didn't register fully at least not emotionally. Certainly, rationally he could understand that Marisbilly would prefer privacy and that courts politics, or how they are called now, required a delicate hand.
Even so--
"I don't mind if I'm 'beaten to the punch'," he answered without missing a beat, "If I aim to assist someone to protect civilization and there is another person, or several of them, who do a better job and is capable to help protect people's future, I'll gladly welcome this." There-was-no-need-to-measure-against-each-other. That was he meant.
Wasn't this man a teacher? A teacher's job is to make a student eventually independent enough to not require their lessons, right? So in that line of thinking, he probably would understand what he meant better than Marisbilly would.
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At the mention of helping to grade though, the grumpy professor simply shook his head to decline the offer. "You are correct that their evaluation primarily comes from individual development, along with certain rubrics for say, knowing how to string two sentences together. But because that same individual development determines the mark, there's no way for you to meaningfully evaluate the paper. You don't know them or have a measure of where they were at the start of the semester."
If Roman was worried about being too rude, that response ought to demonstrate that no, it was nothing at all in El-Melloi II's eyes. The bluntness was not charming. It didn't win him allies. How the hell this man was considered one of the most eligible professors in the Clock Tower was to be forever a mystery.
That idealism though. El-Melloi II sighed as he sank into the chair behind his desk. It'd be destroyed soon enough, and he was unsure if it was his job to do it, or to let the dreams endure for just a little longer. El-Melloi II knew the world of magi too well. He was Waver Velvet once, a more self centered version of this idealist.
"Well, that's a healthy perspective to have," he said finally, after evaluating the best way to respond. "Most magi you meet won't share that point of view. I'm sure you are aware that there is a certain territorial aspect that most mage families have, due to the goal to reach the Root."
El-Melloi II was too critical, in the end. Which meant that his nature was to pick apart, pick apart, pick apart. "Whatever this goal is, you'll need to make sure that you find enough community oriented magi, doctor. I'll be amazed to see how many you end up with."
In that, there was polite curiosity. He actually would like to know, if only for his own edification.
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"You might be right about that," Roman agreed that the best one who would grade them is Waver. "But if you feel like sharing something that frustrates you or makes you proud, I'm here. I'm studying too in order to act as a counselor and help with people's stress in Chaldea." When Chaldea was officially established, right now, even if the building was there, he hadn't stepped inside it yet. He could tell this man probably had a lot to shoulder. He probably listened to many concerns every day, but did anyone listen to his?
"I know that," Roman said, confirming what Waver tried to explain. Even Marisbilly had explained this to him. His family too had their own means to reach the Root. "Men are fated to transcend this world, Lord El Melloi," he added quietly, it was brief, but his voice was perfectly intoned rather than the more nasal pitch so characteristic of him, "And leave not even their records behind." All men, not just magi, not just a few magi, someday that would become a reality. "Ahh, well, I suppose it's fine if it starts like this," he finished in his usual voice. He was unconcerned about the Root, but even he wasn't so carelessly to admit that when it was such hot topic with modern magi.
Community-oriented magi? Now there was an idea, but those were things somebody else took care of. Roman would assist Marisbilly by choice, even though he could just do anything else he wanted. He would help as a simple doctor too.
"By the way, what about you?" It wasn't his place to invite people, Marisbilly did that, but Marisbilly had never denied him anything. "Wouldn't you like to visit Chaldea one day?"
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The word salty might not have been in use yet, but it would be applicable. At the mention of stress though, El-Melloi II paused, tilting his head slightly. "Is the focus of your medical practice in psychology then?"
Logic said it would have to be if he was looking at stress and what caused it. This...Chaldea, thing. It sounded too like a caldera, a volcano. Was that an intentional metaphor? El-Melloi II hoped not. The confusion and consideration meant he only flinched at being called El-Melloi without the appropriate numeral after it, and even forgot to correct the young man in front of him.
He didn't miss the sudden foray into something serious though. If this guy wasn't a mage, he was...something. El-Melloi II couldn't put a finger on it, but the change stuck out. "...Right," he managed, one hand moving to rest on top of the stack of papers. "I'm pretty sure that's a debate to have with cultural heritage people, not myself."
A museum curator or an archivist would probably have some opinions. He moved the first paper atop the stack onto his lap and...it was Flat's. Of course it was. His eyes went from the paper to Roman.
"You keep saying the word Chaldea without giving it context, doctor. How much of it are you allowed to explain?"
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we should probably do a cut scene from this until the end?
Can do~
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Chaldea, 10 years later
He shouldn't have trusted Roman. True enough, the Chaldea project meant that outside of their inital meeting, there had been little contact between the two, but Lord El-Melloi II had concluded that day with a fairly high opinion of the young man who had sat and plays video games in his office the entire day. Hell, it had been a highlight of the month, what with Flat making a work of art explode in the British Museum, followed by Luvia and Rin having a bigger and stupider fight than normal.
There were angry footsteps that announced his presences in the all too sterile Chaldea corridors. The few staff that passed by gave the man they knew as Caster a wide berth, red hot rage being projected from every angle of Lord El-Melloi II. There was no point hiding it. He entered Chaldea's control room and took a moment to ensure that there was no one around. Privacy was important, not only for Lord El-Melloi II, but likely Dr. Roman as well. Of that, Lord El-Melloi II had no doubt.
"Roman," he said, intoning the doctor's name in a deep voice that hid none of his displeasure. "We need to speak."
That same intonation made it clear that this discussion would happen, or else consequences would be dire.
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If he had gotten any sleep in the past week, perhaps he wouldn't need to resort to them. If he hadn't been so stubborn, he would have gone to bed as he had promised to Da Vinci last night. But instead, he had to make an embarrassment of himself and was awoke by the sudden intrusion and mention of his name.
"Eh? Leonardo-What? Are we under attack?!" He stirred with a bolt and frantically looked around. The control room was empty and a familiar man was looking (glaring?) at his direction. "Oh, uh, uhh--- Lord El Melloi II?" He stared dumbfounded because honestly, that sight should be impossible right now. With Chaldea isolated from the world. And the world--
"I must be still dreaming," he muttered with a bitter smile, reaching to pinch his cheek. He had to wake up. No times for daydreaming about playing video games.
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The response that Roman gave was instructive on many levels. First and foremost, it gave an idea of close co-worker relationships within Chaldea (DaVinci had been...interesting). Secondly, it suggested a certain level of being left alone to do late nights and fall asleep in the office that was painfully familiar. But the question about attack, that made clear the situation might be more threatening than anything Lord El-Melloi II had come to understand so far.
His eyes drifted to the good doctor's stash of long since consumed energy drinks. The man was surely was wise enough not to survive off of those and those alone, right?
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He was probably was confused as Waver was for the time being. Of course, there were explanations that immediately came after his fatigue made him overreact. One was that he was a Guardian, but such wasn't the case when he read the clear name of the registered Spirit. Roman sighed heavily. "Oh, you're an irregularity." A Heroic Spirit inhabiting a human vessel who wasn't a Ruler? That was new but, he could roll with it.
He waited until the awkwardness subsided to greet him.
"I apologize for the delay, but welcome to Chaldea," he said with a sheepish smile, "I'm sure you have many questions."
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"The summary is simple, Dr. Roman. What the fuck?"
Lord El-Melloi II folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Roman with the same kind of look he would usually afix Flat with after something tremendously stupid happened. And yet, Flat was unpredictable. Roman probably needed to know at least one thing, and it was with a moment of relenting his anger that Lord El-Melloi II added something simple.
"Before you ask, it is Zhuge Liang."
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What had been Da Vinci doing if she hadn't filled him in with anything? He nodded and wished his Master was here instead, the Master should be the one who handled Servants, not Roman. But this was a special case.
"I see," he answered while the system registered the name automatically, "But I'm not speaking with Zhuge Liang, right? You're Lord El Melloi II." He wanted a confirmation, but he was certain that his familiarity and his anger wouldn't make sense, he would just function as a Servant. "This is the first time we summoned uh, should I call you a Half Servant or maybe would you prefer a Pseudo Servant?" he asked nervously, knowing this wouldn't be very comforting. He just opted to be sincere here, it was more efficient that way.
It wasn't like they chose to summon him this way.
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Summoned into.
"Whatever you want to call it is irrelevant. My understanding is that I have his abilities and my own body, make up the vocabulary as you wish," Lord El-Melloi II replied hotly. He reached into his coat pocket, praying that his cigar case would still be there. If he was summoned to the end of the world without that? He'd happily change class and become a Berserker instead.
"Was this Chaldea's end goal, Roman? All three of you, before this...this disaster or whatever the fuck you're calling it?"
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He cleared his throat. "This organization was established with one purpose in mind," he announced, his soft voice made it less dramatic than should be, "We're here to ensure the preservation of human civilization. At least that was the original goal of the late director."
It was natural to be suspicious, he understood that very well. "Something has... happened in the past which has put the future at stake, that's why we're trying to fix that." That was the simplest explanation. "Heroic Spirits were," he paused, looking at him tiredly. "I suppose you wouldn't know, but their original purpose wasn't to be summoned to fight against each other for the sake of human greed, they were supposed to be summoned to save the world when the human order is in danger."
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now starts the AU part
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thanks lost room for a chronology!
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we can timeskip?
And now we jump to the left
yeah I know he's not supposed to be talking with merlin in this au but I can't help but sneak this
shhhh no apologies only magi mari now
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going to bed now even though i want to keep tagging
goodnight!
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DAMN I MISREAD THAT wait
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his farming destiny even follows him in rp
is it a blessing or a curse
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I DIDN'T SEE THIS I'M SORRY.
DON'T WORRY i was in conference exhaustion mode
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Not his Iskandar, but the young man who would become the King of Conquerors. The difference didn't matter to Lord El-Melloi II. His king was here, and moreover, his king wanted him around. Wanted his opinions, his advice, relied on him. They were as any king and close advisor, and if that was as close as Lord El-Melloi II could ever get to seeing Iskandar again, then he was a very happy man indeed.
Well, in most ways. There was still that little bit of heartache that the man who stood beside Waver hadn't quite responded as expected, but to complain at all felt like he was ungrateful for the way Fate had turned out. There was also the fact that with Alexander present, Lord El-Melloi II had seemingly dropped every other relationship in Chaldea in order to make up for lost time. Like anyone with a new dating partner, really, which spoke ill of him.
Realizing that he was behaving that way was humbling after Alexander was the one to point it out (he was so keen eyed, even at his current age), Lord El-Melloi II knew he had to do an apology tour. And that? That began with Roman.
Approaching the control room (he thought it was where the good doctor was), he called out simply, "Roman? You here?"
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He didn't begrudge his neglect. Roman would never demand his time when he seemed to be in a bittersweet sort of state of bliss, trying to play advisor to the Heroic Spirit he admired so much. Besides, he was a busy man. Chaldea demanded his undivided attention more than it looked, and, despite the siren's call to slack, he had no measurement when came to his dedication to his work.
There were also the dreams that visited him every night. They began innocently first: he was in a cafe with Marisbilly and Lev, the one they used to frequent that was close to the heart of the Clock Tower. He didn't remember what they were discussing, but suddenly Marisbilly stopped talking and Lev stared at him for a long time. He uttered a strange number before it faded to black. The dream repeated itself the following night and the other, and for all month, the same number. Sometimes he wrote it down slept walking, using a scrap of paper on his nightstand. He realized it now. Those were coordinates.
When Lord El Melloi seeks him out, the control room is empty except for Roman. He's glued to the chair, eyes scanning the screen, he's attempting to pinpoint where these coordinates lead him. Maybe is just meaningless, but just to satisfy his curiosity. Before he presses enter, he hears a familiar voice. Quickly, he rises and drops what he's doing, a smile tugs on his lips to welcome the Caster Pseudo Servant.
"Oh, Lord El Melloi II, good afternoon...?" Tone unsure, eyes saunter down his wristwatch. "What can I do for you?"
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"I..." he says, trying not to be distracted by the screen. "I wanted to come and apologize. I haven't seen you much."
And I feel bad about it. That much is evident, and Lord El-Melloi II moves to stand perpendicular to the console, hip resting against it. He sighs, a little weary, a lot embarrassed.
"And that's unacceptable to me."
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"Uh, well, you didn't have to-" he finally says, giving him a helpless smile, "But I'm glad you did." He thinks so, that warmth he experiences is surely gratitude. He gestures for him to sit on a close chair, one placed at Roman's right.
"You looked so content that I think everyone who knows you wouldn't begrudge your actions."
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Lord El-Melloi II isn't terribly shocked that an apology is fairly new to Roman. Not because all of Chaldea takes him for granted (but they do), but mostly because he's the kind shrug it all off as no big deal, no apology needed. All the more reason to say something, in his estimation.
He flops into the chair with all the grace and elegance of a much younger man, the chair rolling a few feet backwards from the flop's power. With a begrudging groan, he scoots the chair back over, shaking his head a little.
"Has the change really been that visible?"
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He chokes a laugh to Lord El Melloi's undignified seating. He's acting a few decades younger, maybe he feels that way too. He wishes he's brought something more than his secret stash of energy drinks and he can't offer those.
Roman sags on the command chair, nodding as he answers: "Your brows don't wrinkle as much and there's less frowning." So maybe he's caught a few smiles too, but he doesn't want to worry him. His grouchy reputation must remain intact.
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Quietly, Lord El-Melloi II's eyes went to Roman's screen, curious and worried in equal measure.
"You're not overworking yourself, are you?"
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He's taken aback for a split of a second by the switch. His eyes flicker at the screen, giving a helpless shrug.
"Er, no more than the usual," he answers vaguely, "Why are you asking?" Does he look more tired?
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ff sorry for the delay
you're totally fine!
let's do the training off screen because I have NO IDEA (damn Nasu not showing this)
sounds good nerdy version of eye of the tiger plays in the bg
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SORRY FOR THE DELAY, HOLIDAYS MADNESS
You're good also LOOK SOLOMON DIDN'T RUIN NA CHRISTMAS!
CONGRATS ON THE ANIME BTW! /POMS POMS/
thank you i want to thank fgo dollars for giving me Flat fucking up a porsche and soccer mom waver
lmao fgo dollars are the best dollars, btw I'm on a trip for a week at least
they fund soccer mom waver. also ok gotcha
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sorry lifeeeee got hard
don't ever worry i know you will always return!