[ kaveh's sigh chases itself around the room like a cat for its tail. alhaitham's fingers trace the ephemeral outlines of a pair of hands that he cannot remember, of a gesture long-since lost to time. she would have put her hands here, he knew, just like so. the slant of the letters are like marks on a map. the very gaps between the words measure the size of a hand, the slender edge of a finger, the careful press of a palm just so to avoid the smudge of ink. you could learn a lot about a person through their hands. you couldn't do much without them.
kaveh, the architect, would know. alhaitham had known since the very beginning that kaveh's hands were not meant to wield a sword. it does not mean, however, that the world is kind enough to allow him to exist without one. whether a servant was meant for direct confrontation or not does not mean that a piece cannot be used in such a fashion - it merely meant that there were better, alternate uses. like designing and bringing to life a door that opened the sealed vault of a repository older than anything the city, with its limited history, could afford. but kaveh could do it. kaveh was far older, and this is his city.
the cat stirs. alhaitham's other hand gently rests upon the lush carpet of its orange fur. finally, the green of his gaze flickers up. ]
I am not needed in the streets; you are aware of this. For you to insist upon it must be the manifestation of your tendency to never say what you really mean. [ alhaitham's eyebrow quirks. ] You are bored, and you desire company.
[ servants are those who have left a mark in history. either heroes, villains, communal workers who benefit society one way or another. kaveh is one with no mystery. he is a recent servant, even, barely a century old. he is on the weaker side. he is a man whose name is still fresh on the tongues of sumeran people, who speak of his achievements, who teach newer kshahrewar students of his contributions to sumeru, to the world of architecture, to the arts. he is known. his life is written in books penned by people who knew of him, or have once talked to him.
he is the renowned kaveh, light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect.
he is a caster-class servant.
he is not, of all things, bored. he does not desire company. the absurdity of the statements show on his face, because kaveh has never been one known to hide certain emotions. if he is insulted, sumeru will know. if he finds himself offended, teyvat will know. he is a rishboland tiger that bites if you look at him the wrong way. he is a cat whose tail has been stepped on. ]
Are you out of your mind?! [ and his voice, too, chases itself around the room. it scares the poor little cat, who rises and hides at the noise. ] Have you forgotten this is a war?! Am I supposed to sabotage my own Master, and withhold information to myself? Should I watch you walk into the market next time you decide to see the light of the day, and pretend you're not running into an enemy territory? I'm not your enemy! We're supposed to work together! Ugh!
[ the knife through the heart is a temptation truly hard to resist. ]
Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. It is just my luck to be stuck with such an unreasonable Master. Maybe I should go back there by myself and get ambushed. Spare me the trouble of having to listen to you.
[ with the screeching of a small banshee, alhaitham thinks. the cat in his lap looks up, affronted, its little orange ears pulled back as it surveys the latest mess in the living room. working together, withholding information, terrible luck. the latter, alhaitham knows, is true. even the briefest cursory scan of kaveh's statistics implies that some deity or spirit has found disfavour in the architect, because there is little to no other way that particular statistic should have been so low. it had been one of the first things alhaitham had asked when the spirit congealed from the throne of heroes; the answer had been much like this - kaveh expending energy through sound and motion, and alhaitham, observing.
the sound will need to continue, or so alhaitham knows. the ending of the light of the kshahrewar is a story that each and every man, woman or child in sumeru knows by heart. the light had died the day the light extinguished - or so the fable goes, a country crafted and made and saved and set free, to the sacrifice of something that should never have been lost in the first place. this, alhaitham knows. one did not need to live a tragedy to feel its echoes. kaveh's face morphs, and alhaitham breathes out, the quirk of his eyebrow like a punctuation mark in itself. ]
I see. Then, I have overestimated your capabilities. [ alhaitham looks back to his book. he, once again, begins to read. ] I had thought a Servant capable of running a single errand on their own; perhaps the stories left out the individuals who held your hand like a nursemaid while you became legend.
[ there is always room to question and wonder: such is the cycle of what it means to be alive. there is, too, an unspoken argument that has not once been said, but it lingers on the minds of those involved in such barbarity.
how human are servants?
in their current state, perhaps not at all. beings with such extraordinary powers, defying reason and logic. they do not die when they are killed. they appear and disappear at will. ever so unhuman-like, and yet. yet what truly makes someone human is their ability to feel. it is the emotions they experience, whether they grief when sad, whether they smile when happy. and kaveh, ever honest, ever so transparent with his feelings; kaveh, who wears his heart on his sleeves, feels far more than most do.
he grieves when he's sad. he smiles when he's happy. he frowns when insulted, and alhaitham's house echoes. sound flows with ever so much ease. the gradual cracks of a heart betrayed. ]
You could have summoned anyone else, then. [ what the books about his life and feats never said is: that kaveh, sumeru's master architect, is made of glass. that he is stubborn, that he does not go down without a fight, that he is ever so prideful, and yet he aims to please. that kaveh holds himself at such high standards, but may slip if met with someone else's doubt.
that his own master thinks less of him is, ever against his will, just a tad hurtful. it is not a feeling he wishes to agree with. ] Think of me what you will, then. What does it matter to me? You will lose the only chance you have at winning this war, but I will be summoned another time, in another age, and serve a Master far more cooperative. It won't be my loss!
[ it won't, no — but kaveh, dear kaveh, will still find room to carry that insufferable guilt. that this loss is, above all else, his fault. ]
[ in song and legend, it has not been forgotten that kaveh of the kshahrewar died young. they forget, however, what it means for a creature to die young. a lifespan is a long and meandering thing. only through existence do you have the requisite opportunity to meet with experience and the requisite time to learn from them. there are those who are met with both in the little time that they have, a vivid trailing comet of a lifespan much like the flare of a distant star, fueling the brilliance of their existence through the sustenance of their very soul - until that, too, burns to nothing. you could be a legend by doing so. unilaterally, humanity wishes to believe that those that chase the flame and live by the flame and die by the flame do not regret it.
but kaveh of the kshahrewar died young; a soul cannot mature though the brilliance of flame alone. alhaitham looks to him, and knows him to be young. for the entire world to be balanced on a single keystone, for a life lived to only have mattered in the starstruck moment of singularity: only a life that has seen but a single starburst would think in wins and losses, in that war has anything for its participants save for loss. but most importantly, kaveh implies interchangeability. the replacement of one soul for another weighed on the balance of scales, the need to hold an ephemeral victory hostage, and the pride of a war horse's shimmied toss of head. it doesn't fit, alhaitham thinks, as he finally looks up from his book. it's as if the first time alhaitham has seen kaveh, really seen him, standing there in sullen defiance in the middle of his living room.
illogical, inconsistent, insecure. slowly, alhaitham closes his book. his creator's journal rasps against the skin of his hand, just so, whispered leather and aged paper. ]
If you'd prefer, I would be pleased to send you back, so long as you have fulfilled the contract as stipulated. Summoning a Servant takes a great deal of energy. As this is the last war to be fought over the Holy Grail, [ says he, having never explained this before and likely never will again, ] the exact measure needed to win said war will be exponentially more than previous ones. If you are not interest in the task, you will not be asked to continue to perform it. [ alhaitham gently shifts the orange tabby from his lap. the cat trills in something like sleepy confusion, little legs carrying its weight as it slips back onto the floor. he unspools from his seat, and rises to his full height. alhaitham crosses the room in a few, directed strides - he pours a glass of water from himself from the jug.
ice clinks. ] However, you have mistaken my intentions. I do not intend to win this war; I merely do not intend to lose.
kaveh of the kshahrewar died young, and nary a soul really knows what it is that extinguished such a burning flame. there are those, more knowledgeable on the life of their dearest architect, that say it had been a quiet, lonesome death, much like his father's. an accident.
some others, who were then allowed to create a world within their minds, speak of grandeur, that he died fighting, a man and his trusted toolbox that fought valiantly to protect its master. a man who does not die without a fight; literally, metaphorically.
kaveh, who has such little interest in giving the final word on what made sumeru ever so dark for the weeks following his passing, thinks instead that guilt kills. the weight of regret is crushing. the heart can only break so many times, into so many pieces. that one's mind is their biggest enemy. geniuses, after all, know how to think, but are not immune to thoughts of much somber nature. they are all, in the end, still human.
he has unfinished business. he is, after all, a servant who answers the grail's call. for all of his martyrdom and deficit of blood, even kaveh, too, wishes to want. ]
Whatever your intentions are, you can't summon a new Servant mid war. You'll need me, or you won't have anyone at all.
[ the words have weight. they should not.
kaveh looks out the stained-glass windows. being aware of himself has always made him uncomfortable, even now. ]
Just— I don't want to waste this opportunity. If you have chosen me, then there's a reason for it that you haven't told me. If you allowed the Grail to choose, then it means I'm the one most compatible to serve you. I don't know what your deal or goals are, but it doesn't hurt to be cooperative. If not me, then who will be by your side?
[ the glass of water clinks in his had. alhaitham sips it, low and slow. kaveh's words soothes his bite. it becomes clear, alhaitham thinks, that the legends have not told the full story - that both kaveh and alhaitham have words that neither of them have exchanged. this is not unusual. in a partnership, there is no obligation to share each and every thought behind decisions made. unnecessary transparency leads to friction; open communication does not always lead to understanding. and alhaitham has the means and the power; he does not, however, have the time. he thinks of what an immortal servant would know of it; knows that the question in itself is in bad faith. kaveh, as a servant, has less time than alhaitham has and will ever have. but that is only contingent on them banking on a loss.
it's kaveh's final words that ring out. 'by your side', he says, as a man who fought alone, with nothing but a toolbox and a claymore at his side. kaveh's story was of a folk hero that fought without, and despite, the will of the people. it is not unusual for heroes to be sung after the fact. alhaitham's gaze flits up, and over his countertop. he observes the servant standing in the middle of his living room.
it doesn't fit, alhaitham thinks. but that's beside the point. ]
Caster, I did not summon you to be my companion, nor am I in need of one. [ this is where alhaitham begins, at the confluence of misunderstandings. but what he begins with is a question: ] Did you read through the book that I had you retrieve?
[ no. of course not. companionship is, he thinks, a luxury. his mother had once told him of it, through a leather-bound diary. kaveh has lived a short life, and died never truly understanding the meaning of her tales.
companionship, then, he thought, would be something to offer to a master he would serve, and nurture the trust in that selfsame connection. it is not.
kaveh has lived and died without being privy to what good companionship brings, and how to obtain it. who should he seek it in, and what purpose does it truly serve? it is so much easier to live a life by one's lonesome. there are no expectations to be met. there are no hearts to concern oneself about. there is only you, as there was only kaveh.
perhaps here, still, is the same.
his eyes lose their strength. ]
... No. I don't know the language. [ because there is no point in lying. ] Am I to expect to be told about it, or you won't bother?
[ as if the wilting of a flower. alhaitham knows little about them. his creator kept jasmines. even hundreds of years into the rot and the decay and the fear shown in a mere handful of dust, the scent lingers between its pages. alhaitham had scented it when his fingers flipped through the first few entries; his fingertips are now dyed with it, stained, across time and place and beyond all intention. it poses the question: was he meant to notice, or was it a mere slip of sentimentality, the side-effect of a life well-lived?
alhaitham wouldn't know either of those things. neither would this servant.
the cant of alhaitham's head is acquiescence. an answer for an answer: ]
Do you always expect to be told things without having asked the right questions? [ alhaitham's cupboard contains exactly two glasses. he brings out the other one. he fills it to the brim. the clink of ice is like a cue unto itself. ] I would expect you to in the future. Even in the case that the language is not one that you are familiar with, the shape of the words, the age of the paper, and the illustrations within contains contextual clues for you to make educated guesses. Or are you not an educated man, capable of verifying for yourself what you have decided to trust?
[ because kaveh, being kaveh, feels for other people. because kaveh, who bleeds endlessly for everyone else and never for himself, hurts for them, too. because kaveh found room to give a part of himself to his master, but learns to regret it a moment after.
insufferable, he thinks. the inadequacy of his own feelings is sickening. it is, he knows, second-hand embarrassment at himself. it is a lesson learned.
(kaveh is, despite all, still new at being a servant, too. this is, he has not told his master, his first grail war. he's not a strong servant. he's not known in the past, nor do masters tend to rely on the grail to provide them a servant. the ins and outs are a mystery to him, and he behaves as he did when life flowed through his body. he is considerate. he is exhaustingly kind.
this, too, is new. alhaitham is not a client he could argue and refuse to keep working with. they are bound by something far deeper than that.)
the sigh that escapes him is heavy, and it sinks in the living room. it is unexpected, and finds that even in death there has been new sides of him to be seen. the reluctance of his steps show. ]
Forgive me for being considerate and not wanting to overstep my boundaries, then. [ kaveh bites back, first. he always does. ] I'll make sure to remember I'm allowed to peek into every aspect of your life before I consult you. Should I rummage through your belongings after we're done talking here?
Yes. [ for the first time, the lilt of alhaitham's eyebrow suggests something like amusement. the smile is a small one, carved into the corners of his lips. kaveh drags his steps. a cat would have sympathised. but alhaitham waits with uncharacteristic patience until his steps take him to the counter proper, before he puts kaveh's glass of water before him.
it is, in fact, a mere glass of water. but the slant of sunlight catches the refraction of the glass. at this angle, with its precise placement, and taking into consideration kaveh's point of view, alhaitham has scattered light into a prism; the delicate shiver of a rainbow splays across the countertop.
a shrug. ] In fact, you should look through everything you are able to find. You cannot make a decision to trust me without evidence. Similarly, you cannot mistrust me without concrete proof. If there is something that I wish for you not to look into, you will know.
[ the cant of his head is a sentence on its own. ] Drink.
[ for the first time, kaveh finds room to wonder if his master is, in fact, mad.
there had been moments before where he wondered, instead, if everything that leaves his mouth is a mockery. that he simply chooses to taunt his servant for the sake of it, because he enjoys riling up a heroic spirit. other times, he had simply found alhaitham hard to understand, a man who sees the world much differently from everyone else. in a way, there, kaveh found room to relate. the idea came with strong opposition from his heart, who holds too much pride on its own.
kaveh is given permission to step through a door that he had then thought to be locked, permission to enter a room and study the way it is built. it is a trust-fall. it is words spoken with the reassurance of a man who knows kaveh will not find anything of ill-intent.
he reaches for the rainbow-prism of his glass, and does not drink it. servants have no need for nourishment the way humans do, and mana, alhaitham already provides him with abundance.
[ kaveh takes the glass of water. the rainbow shifts across his skin, a little wavering seven-fold fan of light trembling as if on the surface of an endless sea. that's the thing with perspectives. kaveh, the hero, was an etude for the solo performance of a solitary man. that is merely another way of saying that his ideals didn't resonate with anyone enough to spur them to action until he had died for them. kaveh had died without companionship. it had taken alhaitham the third day to ask himself thus: what would trust look like for a person who has never had a reason to exercise it?
the question is one that alhaitham has been expecting since the beginning of this debacle. the pages of it weighs in the crook of his arms as he looks down, the green-red of his eyes tracing the aged vellum for its hooks and creases. alhaitham places the book back onto the counter. he allows the light from kaveh's glass to shimmer over it. the colour of the vellum refracts. brown, becomes green, becomes gold.
this time, alhaitham's smile is a hook of a thing. ]
A fragment of my creator's memories. It documents her lived experiences three hundred years ago as she pieced together the bones that make up this farce of a war. You will use it to build for me what I am searching for.
[ the journal is a part of someone's heart left behind. it is not for prying eyes.
kaveh feels his heart sink, and he chooses to ignore it. the glass is freezing cold against his fingers, suddenly. servants do not breathe, but kaveh has his stuck in his throat. it is a series of reactions in accordance to the words that leave alhaitham's mouth. ]
... I can't.
[ there is no elaboration just yet. the length of his fingers tighten their grip on the glass of prism-like water. it is not written on any books that tell the story of his life and accomplishments that kaveh, light of kshahrewar, when ridden with anxiety, twiddles his thumbs as a tell. the glass prevents him from doing so, but they still meet, and find comfort in each other.
kaveh steels himself, and shakes his head. low, slowly. carefully. ]
I can't use that particular skill, for some reason. Or rather, I don't remember how to. [ the irony is like poison, and it decays him from inside out. ] She doesn't happen to have any other long-lost journals scattered out there, does she? I will find them. Maybe one of them will be of help.
alhaitham looks. the cant of his head is that of a creature having discovered a new shape of a puzzle. he considers the irony of the premise: a homunculus without his memory, paired with a servant who remembers less. the greater grail is clockwork. in its uninteresting in its predictability. you will only summon a servant missing part of its memory if you were actively corrupting the flow of data from the throne of heroes to the leyline of this reality, or if the servant was already dispositioned towards forgetting. that alhaitham and his servant share the same concern needs to be a coincidence, but even coincidences can be manufactured.
in turn, alhaitham observes the fidget of kaveh's hands against the glass. ]
Have you had pomegranate?
[ apropos of nothing, this is the question that comes. ]
it is disorientating, if only because kaveh wonders, for a moment, if forgetfulness is the least of his problems. his fingers relax around the length of the glass, and the blood-red of his eyes meet alhaitham.
he blinks. once, twice. it's easy to overthink words and actions into a world of fantasy, with no claim and proof and evidence of its credibility. it would be ever so easy to assume that alhaitham, aware of the budding anxiety suffocating his own servant right in front of him, would choose to deviate from the main topic. it would be easy to force care into another person.
but kaveh, for all of his idealism, is a scholar all the same. ]
Huh. Uh. Yes, I have. [ tighnari, he remembers, would always bring him new fruits he discovered. pomegranates had been one of them. ] Why do you ask?
[ kaveh lifts his eyes. his eyes, alhaitham thinks, are in a constant flux of motion. the indignant roll of them as kaveh swept into the room, the flicker down as the weight of his emotions fell short, the widening of such in hope, and the cooler pinks as said hope congealed. now, kaveh looks up. the refraction of the light from the glass dances gold across kaveh's knuckles and splashes a bright swathe across kaveh's cheek. the servant's eyes are a liquid red. nascent rubies still-sleeping within the mantle of teyvat's crust dream of such a colour. for a brief moment, the fidgeting of his hands seem to cease.
in answer, alhaitham opens his fridge. he takes out a pomegranate. in truth, he is not fond of the fruit. the dasher who delivered alhaitham's groceries had slipped it in with the other fruits as thanks for alhaitham's tendency to calculate his tips based on a livable city wage. the fruit is work to pick apart for very little reward. the taste is sharp and the seeds more so. he cracks open the pomegranate with his bare hands. alhaitham places one glistening wax and garnet half of the chambered fruit onto the counter, and the other into kaveh's hand. ]
Pick at that if you have to bother your hands with something to do. [ is what alhaitham says. and then: ] She has only kept the one journal. I remember enough to ascertain as such. Were you known for deficits in memory in your life?
[ yes, kaveh thinks. it would be ever so easy to assume.
the fruit is foreign on his hands. the seeds are still an enchanting red, and it grounds kaveh. times change. nature breathes. the world remains the one he has always loved. it is, still, breath-takingly gorgeous.
he exhales, pulls up a plate, and begins to peel at the seeds. for a moment, kaveh feels human again. ]
No. [ he begins with slow, measured words. it was ever so easy for kaveh to lose himself in his projects, in his thoughts, create a world of his own that existed simultaneously as the world outside. it was always so very easy to lose track of time, to concentrate on something for so long that he would give up hygiene, food, sleep.
but never once, kaveh recalls, that had ever led of holes in his memory. not once has he forgotten anything. ]
It's not that I can't remember it. It's more like... like that information in particular is being kept from me. I can only assume something in my summoning didn't go quite as right.
[ kaveh begins to pick at the fruit. the air is equal parts sweet and acrid for it. alhaitham considers the premise. ]
No. [ he says. the word is a statement unto itself. 'no' is a full sentence. it bears no elaboration. but alhaitham hears the curl of the question before it can be voiced. he continues, in that selfsame tone: ] Nothing in the summoning went wrong. Or, put more accurately, I cannot have summoned incorrectly.
[ alhaitham looks to his servant. ] Consider this example. Are you aware of modern plumbing principles?
[ ever so certain, with no room for errors. kaveh would learn to trust that confidence. not yet, not now. now, kaveh furrows his brows, as though alhaitham's words are said in jest, at the wrong time and during the wrong conversation. he wonders, for a moment, if alhaitham is just socially awkward, in some way.
he brings one of the seeds to his mouth, and tastes it. despite all the years that have gone since his passing, the fruits are the same as he remembers. ]
... To some extent. It depends how much it has changed since my time, I guess? [ that, and the grail hasn't quite imparted him with that sort of knowledge. ] How does it apply to this?
[ it is common language enough, alhaitham thinks. ]
Plumbing evolves. The history of plumbing stems from the mere creation of slanted tiled spaces that carry waste water down a gully; it evolved them into simple, slanted drainage to carry waste water down basic clay pipes, carried only via the power of gravity. Since then, improvements have been made incrementally in each and every shape and form: tapered pipes to prevent sediment build-up, perfect joint sockets to prevent leakage, a sophisticated understanding of water pressure and s-shaped piping to prevent the back-lash of gas build-up.
[ the green of alhaitham's eyes stand only to accentuate the rust-red of his iris. it burns like something terribly inhuman as he assesses, first, the light playing across his book, and second, the set of kaveh's gaze. ] But through it all, the fundamentals have not changed: water enters a pipe, and exits the other end.
[ the lazy flick of alhaitham's wrist. he goes on: ]
In this analogy, the Grail is the piping. Over hundreds of years, the quality of the magic circuits built into the Greater Grail has gained sophistication, its formulae have been tweaked, its base components stripped down and reapplied through the hands of masters. It has gained in efficiency and accuracy both. The mana that travels from the Throne of Heroes to the Grail activation sequence runs through fine pipes the size and consistency of spider webbing. But, I assert: no matter how complex the system has grown, the fundamentals have not changed. Mana enters a pipe, and exits the other end.
[ bloodless, with the confidence of immovable stone: ] I am the pipe. Human hands can create a faulty arrangement of pipes, but the pipe itself cannot be wrong. You cannot fault stone for having been carved into its shape; you cannot fault the flow of wind across the valley. I cannot be faulted, because I am not capable of making that mistake.
Therefore, if there has been a mistake, it could only have occurred in two place: at the source itself, within the Throne of Heroes, or in the translation of your mana to this current era.
[ kaveh listens, and somewhere along the way, builds the opinion that alhaitham enjoys talking, especially when it is to explain something. not in the way a person who places themselves wiser and smarter than another does, to show off their wits and set a distance between them. he does so in the way someone who enjoys sharing knowledge does to aid another into understanding.
it is a lot of words to reach the simple conclusion that from him, there had been no fault, errors, or mistakes. it is a long explanation to say, simply, that the problem lies either at the very source, or in the leylines that flow beneath sumeru.
(kaveh finds room to wonder, then, if alhaitham has said all of this so that he is not misunderstood. so kaveh does not assume that alhaitham is of unchallenged confidence, arrogance, and ignorance. so that his line of thought is understood, and his servant does not think ill of him.
in a way, it works as intended.)
the pomegranate is set down. the seeds are pealed, and his hands calm. ] I suppose that if the problem had come from the Throne, then it's possible that I wouldn't even have the skill. I do, it's just... not accessible, currently. Which means the issue could be with the leylines. Maybe something in here is purposely blocking that information from me.
[ it is, kaveh finds, much like standing in front of a closed door. he knows something lies beyond it, but neither does he have the keys, nor does he know where to find them. where would he even begin searching? ]
Wouldn't it be easier to try and recreate her steps, instead of recalling a memory in its entirety? I still have my Territory Creation skill, you know. It wouldn't hurt to try.
[ kaveh thinks. alhaitham waits. the answer is no more illuminating, though it provides the basis for eliminating a few of the more unlikely theories. gone is the potential of the throne having erased a core component in order to self-correct. gone is the potential of a missing energy or memory source gated behind the mysteries of this world. gone is the potential of missing magic circuits or a skill translated poorly in an era where feats of heroes have been replaced by feats of technology. the block, alhaitham thinks, is akin to that of a closed door. a password-locked file. a window that has long-since been sealed. kaveh is a home without a key. this, alhaitham is capable of understanding.
the green of his gaze flits. kaveh's hands are steady. slowly, then, alhaitham shakes his head. ]
Easier, but less effective. [ ease is not alhaitham's major concern - completion is. holistically, a memory either exists or does not. it is a binary in motion, not a what-if statement. it ought not require reconstruction. but theory has never been enough to understand the complexities of a mind. alhaitham is its facsimile; there is, then, nothing more to it.
the explanation comes, no more and no less than what is warranted: ] I have its pieces. I require its reconstruction. To that end, you were not summoned for the purpose of winning the war.
[ however, alhaitham looks. the tilt of his head is that of a bird upon its perch, claws curling around the wood of its stand as it considers a mote of light against a window. ]
However, should you desire it, I am amenable to a negotiation.
[ no, he was not. this, kaveh has already deduced from his master's lack of enthusiasm in engaging another master, or even acknowledging their presence.
what mages do not realize, most of the time, is this: that summoning is not an one-way street. a master may prepare a dome of catalysts to find within the throne the one heroic spirit they desire, but that spirit still has the autonomy to simply say: i refuse. 'master' and 'servant' are empty titles, rid of the meaning that are attached to the words. a servant may obey; keyword is may, not must.
servants who answer the grail's call all have one thing in common: desire. want. greed. perhaps regret. perhaps unfinished business. in this, there is no distinction between those who live and those who have died. one does not participate in the grail war without the desire to win. kaveh hadn't been exempt from this.
alhaitham has, and therein lies the problem. his fingers twitch, but are not brought together. ]
I do have a wish for the Grail. And if I can't recall how to use that skill until then, you could always just wish that upon the Grail too. [ it is an idea, and the very last resource. it would depend on how patient alhaitham is. it would rely on putting everything at stake.
kaveh raises the vermillion red of his eyes, and meets alhaitham's greens. ] But as my Master, if reconstructing a memory is your first priority, then I will dedicate my time and skills to see it to completion. Surely there's something we can do to help me remember.
[ the stick and the carrot. the basic principles of a hundred years' worth of thaumaturgical development and magecraft creation boiled down to these two, simple principles. the spirits from the throne of heroes could not be moved for less, or move. this, alhaitham knows. they, too, were once human. perhaps that is what gave them their flaw, that their deeds and accomplishments were superimposed upon the fabric of their humanity and distilled down to the mere essence of their flaws. where history saw monuments to progress, humanity only ever saw themselves. this, too, is a flaw in humanity, but alhaitham knows that he is not beyond it. after all, he had been created by human hands, and humans only know how to create things that reflect themselves.
the journal had been proof. between its pages lay words that run along the grain of the building blocks of alhaitham's own circuitry, the same cadence of his thoughts and the tone espoused. the building blocks of alhaitham lives within these pages; he is a mere formula-made-form. the prospect fascinates him. it is, after all, another flaw.
observe-
this is what alhaitham says, with some faint echo of what could be construed as amusement: ]
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kaveh, the architect, would know. alhaitham had known since the very beginning that kaveh's hands were not meant to wield a sword. it does not mean, however, that the world is kind enough to allow him to exist without one. whether a servant was meant for direct confrontation or not does not mean that a piece cannot be used in such a fashion - it merely meant that there were better, alternate uses. like designing and bringing to life a door that opened the sealed vault of a repository older than anything the city, with its limited history, could afford. but kaveh could do it. kaveh was far older, and this is his city.
the cat stirs. alhaitham's other hand gently rests upon the lush carpet of its orange fur. finally, the green of his gaze flickers up. ]
I am not needed in the streets; you are aware of this. For you to insist upon it must be the manifestation of your tendency to never say what you really mean. [ alhaitham's eyebrow quirks. ] You are bored, and you desire company.
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he is the renowned kaveh, light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect.
he is a caster-class servant.
he is not, of all things, bored. he does not desire company. the absurdity of the statements show on his face, because kaveh has never been one known to hide certain emotions. if he is insulted, sumeru will know. if he finds himself offended, teyvat will know. he is a rishboland tiger that bites if you look at him the wrong way. he is a cat whose tail has been stepped on. ]
Are you out of your mind?! [ and his voice, too, chases itself around the room. it scares the poor little cat, who rises and hides at the noise. ] Have you forgotten this is a war?! Am I supposed to sabotage my own Master, and withhold information to myself? Should I watch you walk into the market next time you decide to see the light of the day, and pretend you're not running into an enemy territory? I'm not your enemy! We're supposed to work together! Ugh!
[ the knife through the heart is a temptation truly hard to resist. ]
Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. It is just my luck to be stuck with such an unreasonable Master. Maybe I should go back there by myself and get ambushed. Spare me the trouble of having to listen to you.
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the sound will need to continue, or so alhaitham knows. the ending of the light of the kshahrewar is a story that each and every man, woman or child in sumeru knows by heart. the light had died the day the light extinguished - or so the fable goes, a country crafted and made and saved and set free, to the sacrifice of something that should never have been lost in the first place. this, alhaitham knows. one did not need to live a tragedy to feel its echoes. kaveh's face morphs, and alhaitham breathes out, the quirk of his eyebrow like a punctuation mark in itself. ]
I see. Then, I have overestimated your capabilities. [ alhaitham looks back to his book. he, once again, begins to read. ] I had thought a Servant capable of running a single errand on their own; perhaps the stories left out the individuals who held your hand like a nursemaid while you became legend.
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how human are servants?
in their current state, perhaps not at all. beings with such extraordinary powers, defying reason and logic. they do not die when they are killed. they appear and disappear at will. ever so unhuman-like, and yet. yet what truly makes someone human is their ability to feel. it is the emotions they experience, whether they grief when sad, whether they smile when happy. and kaveh, ever honest, ever so transparent with his feelings; kaveh, who wears his heart on his sleeves, feels far more than most do.
he grieves when he's sad. he smiles when he's happy. he frowns when insulted, and alhaitham's house echoes. sound flows with ever so much ease. the gradual cracks of a heart betrayed. ]
You could have summoned anyone else, then. [ what the books about his life and feats never said is: that kaveh, sumeru's master architect, is made of glass. that he is stubborn, that he does not go down without a fight, that he is ever so prideful, and yet he aims to please. that kaveh holds himself at such high standards, but may slip if met with someone else's doubt.
that his own master thinks less of him is, ever against his will, just a tad hurtful. it is not a feeling he wishes to agree with. ] Think of me what you will, then. What does it matter to me? You will lose the only chance you have at winning this war, but I will be summoned another time, in another age, and serve a Master far more cooperative. It won't be my loss!
[ it won't, no — but kaveh, dear kaveh, will still find room to carry that insufferable guilt. that this loss is, above all else, his fault. ]
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but kaveh of the kshahrewar died young; a soul cannot mature though the brilliance of flame alone. alhaitham looks to him, and knows him to be young. for the entire world to be balanced on a single keystone, for a life lived to only have mattered in the starstruck moment of singularity: only a life that has seen but a single starburst would think in wins and losses, in that war has anything for its participants save for loss. but most importantly, kaveh implies interchangeability. the replacement of one soul for another weighed on the balance of scales, the need to hold an ephemeral victory hostage, and the pride of a war horse's shimmied toss of head. it doesn't fit, alhaitham thinks, as he finally looks up from his book. it's as if the first time alhaitham has seen kaveh, really seen him, standing there in sullen defiance in the middle of his living room.
illogical, inconsistent, insecure. slowly, alhaitham closes his book. his creator's journal rasps against the skin of his hand, just so, whispered leather and aged paper. ]
If you'd prefer, I would be pleased to send you back, so long as you have fulfilled the contract as stipulated. Summoning a Servant takes a great deal of energy. As this is the last war to be fought over the Holy Grail, [ says he, having never explained this before and likely never will again, ] the exact measure needed to win said war will be exponentially more than previous ones. If you are not interest in the task, you will not be asked to continue to perform it. [ alhaitham gently shifts the orange tabby from his lap. the cat trills in something like sleepy confusion, little legs carrying its weight as it slips back onto the floor. he unspools from his seat, and rises to his full height. alhaitham crosses the room in a few, directed strides - he pours a glass of water from himself from the jug.
ice clinks. ] However, you have mistaken my intentions. I do not intend to win this war; I merely do not intend to lose.
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kaveh of the kshahrewar died young, and nary a soul really knows what it is that extinguished such a burning flame. there are those, more knowledgeable on the life of their dearest architect, that say it had been a quiet, lonesome death, much like his father's. an accident.
some others, who were then allowed to create a world within their minds, speak of grandeur, that he died fighting, a man and his trusted toolbox that fought valiantly to protect its master. a man who does not die without a fight; literally, metaphorically.
kaveh, who has such little interest in giving the final word on what made sumeru ever so dark for the weeks following his passing, thinks instead that guilt kills. the weight of regret is crushing. the heart can only break so many times, into so many pieces. that one's mind is their biggest enemy. geniuses, after all, know how to think, but are not immune to thoughts of much somber nature. they are all, in the end, still human.
he has unfinished business. he is, after all, a servant who answers the grail's call. for all of his martyrdom and deficit of blood, even kaveh, too, wishes to want. ]
Whatever your intentions are, you can't summon a new Servant mid war. You'll need me, or you won't have anyone at all.
[ the words have weight. they should not.
kaveh looks out the stained-glass windows. being aware of himself has always made him uncomfortable, even now. ]
Just— I don't want to waste this opportunity. If you have chosen me, then there's a reason for it that you haven't told me. If you allowed the Grail to choose, then it means I'm the one most compatible to serve you. I don't know what your deal or goals are, but it doesn't hurt to be cooperative. If not me, then who will be by your side?
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it's kaveh's final words that ring out. 'by your side', he says, as a man who fought alone, with nothing but a toolbox and a claymore at his side. kaveh's story was of a folk hero that fought without, and despite, the will of the people. it is not unusual for heroes to be sung after the fact. alhaitham's gaze flits up, and over his countertop. he observes the servant standing in the middle of his living room.
it doesn't fit, alhaitham thinks. but that's beside the point. ]
Caster, I did not summon you to be my companion, nor am I in need of one. [ this is where alhaitham begins, at the confluence of misunderstandings. but what he begins with is a question: ] Did you read through the book that I had you retrieve?
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companionship, then, he thought, would be something to offer to a master he would serve, and nurture the trust in that selfsame connection. it is not.
kaveh has lived and died without being privy to what good companionship brings, and how to obtain it. who should he seek it in, and what purpose does it truly serve? it is so much easier to live a life by one's lonesome. there are no expectations to be met. there are no hearts to concern oneself about. there is only you, as there was only kaveh.
perhaps here, still, is the same.
his eyes lose their strength. ]
... No. I don't know the language. [ because there is no point in lying. ] Am I to expect to be told about it, or you won't bother?
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alhaitham wouldn't know either of those things. neither would this servant.
the cant of alhaitham's head is acquiescence. an answer for an answer: ]
Do you always expect to be told things without having asked the right questions? [ alhaitham's cupboard contains exactly two glasses. he brings out the other one. he fills it to the brim. the clink of ice is like a cue unto itself. ] I would expect you to in the future. Even in the case that the language is not one that you are familiar with, the shape of the words, the age of the paper, and the illustrations within contains contextual clues for you to make educated guesses. Or are you not an educated man, capable of verifying for yourself what you have decided to trust?
[ and then, in that self-same tone: ] Come here.
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insufferable, he thinks. the inadequacy of his own feelings is sickening. it is, he knows, second-hand embarrassment at himself. it is a lesson learned.
(kaveh is, despite all, still new at being a servant, too. this is, he has not told his master, his first grail war. he's not a strong servant. he's not known in the past, nor do masters tend to rely on the grail to provide them a servant. the ins and outs are a mystery to him, and he behaves as he did when life flowed through his body. he is considerate. he is exhaustingly kind.
this, too, is new. alhaitham is not a client he could argue and refuse to keep working with. they are bound by something far deeper than that.)
the sigh that escapes him is heavy, and it sinks in the living room. it is unexpected, and finds that even in death there has been new sides of him to be seen. the reluctance of his steps show. ]
Forgive me for being considerate and not wanting to overstep my boundaries, then. [ kaveh bites back, first. he always does. ] I'll make sure to remember I'm allowed to peek into every aspect of your life before I consult you. Should I rummage through your belongings after we're done talking here?
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it is, in fact, a mere glass of water. but the slant of sunlight catches the refraction of the glass. at this angle, with its precise placement, and taking into consideration kaveh's point of view, alhaitham has scattered light into a prism; the delicate shiver of a rainbow splays across the countertop.
a shrug. ] In fact, you should look through everything you are able to find. You cannot make a decision to trust me without evidence. Similarly, you cannot mistrust me without concrete proof. If there is something that I wish for you not to look into, you will know.
[ the cant of his head is a sentence on its own. ] Drink.
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there had been moments before where he wondered, instead, if everything that leaves his mouth is a mockery. that he simply chooses to taunt his servant for the sake of it, because he enjoys riling up a heroic spirit. other times, he had simply found alhaitham hard to understand, a man who sees the world much differently from everyone else. in a way, there, kaveh found room to relate. the idea came with strong opposition from his heart, who holds too much pride on its own.
kaveh is given permission to step through a door that he had then thought to be locked, permission to enter a room and study the way it is built. it is a trust-fall. it is words spoken with the reassurance of a man who knows kaveh will not find anything of ill-intent.
he reaches for the rainbow-prism of his glass, and does not drink it. servants have no need for nourishment the way humans do, and mana, alhaitham already provides him with abundance.
kaveh does not meet his eyes. ]
And? What's the journal about?
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the question is one that alhaitham has been expecting since the beginning of this debacle. the pages of it weighs in the crook of his arms as he looks down, the green-red of his eyes tracing the aged vellum for its hooks and creases. alhaitham places the book back onto the counter. he allows the light from kaveh's glass to shimmer over it. the colour of the vellum refracts. brown, becomes green, becomes gold.
this time, alhaitham's smile is a hook of a thing. ]
A fragment of my creator's memories. It documents her lived experiences three hundred years ago as she pieced together the bones that make up this farce of a war. You will use it to build for me what I am searching for.
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kaveh feels his heart sink, and he chooses to ignore it. the glass is freezing cold against his fingers, suddenly. servants do not breathe, but kaveh has his stuck in his throat. it is a series of reactions in accordance to the words that leave alhaitham's mouth. ]
... I can't.
[ there is no elaboration just yet. the length of his fingers tighten their grip on the glass of prism-like water. it is not written on any books that tell the story of his life and accomplishments that kaveh, light of kshahrewar, when ridden with anxiety, twiddles his thumbs as a tell. the glass prevents him from doing so, but they still meet, and find comfort in each other.
kaveh steels himself, and shakes his head. low, slowly. carefully. ]
I can't use that particular skill, for some reason. Or rather, I don't remember how to. [ the irony is like poison, and it decays him from inside out. ] She doesn't happen to have any other long-lost journals scattered out there, does she? I will find them. Maybe one of them will be of help.
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alhaitham looks. the cant of his head is that of a creature having discovered a new shape of a puzzle. he considers the irony of the premise: a homunculus without his memory, paired with a servant who remembers less. the greater grail is clockwork. in its uninteresting in its predictability. you will only summon a servant missing part of its memory if you were actively corrupting the flow of data from the throne of heroes to the leyline of this reality, or if the servant was already dispositioned towards forgetting. that alhaitham and his servant share the same concern needs to be a coincidence, but even coincidences can be manufactured.
in turn, alhaitham observes the fidget of kaveh's hands against the glass. ]
Have you had pomegranate?
[ apropos of nothing, this is the question that comes. ]
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it is disorientating, if only because kaveh wonders, for a moment, if forgetfulness is the least of his problems. his fingers relax around the length of the glass, and the blood-red of his eyes meet alhaitham.
he blinks. once, twice. it's easy to overthink words and actions into a world of fantasy, with no claim and proof and evidence of its credibility. it would be ever so easy to assume that alhaitham, aware of the budding anxiety suffocating his own servant right in front of him, would choose to deviate from the main topic. it would be easy to force care into another person.
but kaveh, for all of his idealism, is a scholar all the same. ]
Huh. Uh. Yes, I have. [ tighnari, he remembers, would always bring him new fruits he discovered. pomegranates had been one of them. ] Why do you ask?
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in answer, alhaitham opens his fridge. he takes out a pomegranate. in truth, he is not fond of the fruit. the dasher who delivered alhaitham's groceries had slipped it in with the other fruits as thanks for alhaitham's tendency to calculate his tips based on a livable city wage. the fruit is work to pick apart for very little reward. the taste is sharp and the seeds more so. he cracks open the pomegranate with his bare hands. alhaitham places one glistening wax and garnet half of the chambered fruit onto the counter, and the other into kaveh's hand. ]
Pick at that if you have to bother your hands with something to do. [ is what alhaitham says. and then: ] She has only kept the one journal. I remember enough to ascertain as such. Were you known for deficits in memory in your life?
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the fruit is foreign on his hands. the seeds are still an enchanting red, and it grounds kaveh. times change. nature breathes. the world remains the one he has always loved. it is, still, breath-takingly gorgeous.
he exhales, pulls up a plate, and begins to peel at the seeds. for a moment, kaveh feels human again. ]
No. [ he begins with slow, measured words. it was ever so easy for kaveh to lose himself in his projects, in his thoughts, create a world of his own that existed simultaneously as the world outside. it was always so very easy to lose track of time, to concentrate on something for so long that he would give up hygiene, food, sleep.
but never once, kaveh recalls, that had ever led of holes in his memory. not once has he forgotten anything. ]
It's not that I can't remember it. It's more like... like that information in particular is being kept from me. I can only assume something in my summoning didn't go quite as right.
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No. [ he says. the word is a statement unto itself. 'no' is a full sentence. it bears no elaboration. but alhaitham hears the curl of the question before it can be voiced. he continues, in that selfsame tone: ] Nothing in the summoning went wrong. Or, put more accurately, I cannot have summoned incorrectly.
[ alhaitham looks to his servant. ] Consider this example. Are you aware of modern plumbing principles?
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he brings one of the seeds to his mouth, and tastes it. despite all the years that have gone since his passing, the fruits are the same as he remembers. ]
... To some extent. It depends how much it has changed since my time, I guess? [ that, and the grail hasn't quite imparted him with that sort of knowledge. ] How does it apply to this?
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Plumbing evolves. The history of plumbing stems from the mere creation of slanted tiled spaces that carry waste water down a gully; it evolved them into simple, slanted drainage to carry waste water down basic clay pipes, carried only via the power of gravity. Since then, improvements have been made incrementally in each and every shape and form: tapered pipes to prevent sediment build-up, perfect joint sockets to prevent leakage, a sophisticated understanding of water pressure and s-shaped piping to prevent the back-lash of gas build-up.
[ the green of alhaitham's eyes stand only to accentuate the rust-red of his iris. it burns like something terribly inhuman as he assesses, first, the light playing across his book, and second, the set of kaveh's gaze. ] But through it all, the fundamentals have not changed: water enters a pipe, and exits the other end.
[ the lazy flick of alhaitham's wrist. he goes on: ]
In this analogy, the Grail is the piping. Over hundreds of years, the quality of the magic circuits built into the Greater Grail has gained sophistication, its formulae have been tweaked, its base components stripped down and reapplied through the hands of masters. It has gained in efficiency and accuracy both. The mana that travels from the Throne of Heroes to the Grail activation sequence runs through fine pipes the size and consistency of spider webbing. But, I assert: no matter how complex the system has grown, the fundamentals have not changed. Mana enters a pipe, and exits the other end.
[ bloodless, with the confidence of immovable stone: ] I am the pipe. Human hands can create a faulty arrangement of pipes, but the pipe itself cannot be wrong. You cannot fault stone for having been carved into its shape; you cannot fault the flow of wind across the valley. I cannot be faulted, because I am not capable of making that mistake.
Therefore, if there has been a mistake, it could only have occurred in two place: at the source itself, within the Throne of Heroes, or in the translation of your mana to this current era.
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it is a lot of words to reach the simple conclusion that from him, there had been no fault, errors, or mistakes. it is a long explanation to say, simply, that the problem lies either at the very source, or in the leylines that flow beneath sumeru.
(kaveh finds room to wonder, then, if alhaitham has said all of this so that he is not misunderstood. so kaveh does not assume that alhaitham is of unchallenged confidence, arrogance, and ignorance. so that his line of thought is understood, and his servant does not think ill of him.
in a way, it works as intended.)
the pomegranate is set down. the seeds are pealed, and his hands calm. ] I suppose that if the problem had come from the Throne, then it's possible that I wouldn't even have the skill. I do, it's just... not accessible, currently. Which means the issue could be with the leylines. Maybe something in here is purposely blocking that information from me.
[ it is, kaveh finds, much like standing in front of a closed door. he knows something lies beyond it, but neither does he have the keys, nor does he know where to find them. where would he even begin searching? ]
Wouldn't it be easier to try and recreate her steps, instead of recalling a memory in its entirety? I still have my Territory Creation skill, you know. It wouldn't hurt to try.
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the green of his gaze flits. kaveh's hands are steady. slowly, then, alhaitham shakes his head. ]
Easier, but less effective. [ ease is not alhaitham's major concern - completion is. holistically, a memory either exists or does not. it is a binary in motion, not a what-if statement. it ought not require reconstruction. but theory has never been enough to understand the complexities of a mind. alhaitham is its facsimile; there is, then, nothing more to it.
the explanation comes, no more and no less than what is warranted: ] I have its pieces. I require its reconstruction. To that end, you were not summoned for the purpose of winning the war.
[ however, alhaitham looks. the tilt of his head is that of a bird upon its perch, claws curling around the wood of its stand as it considers a mote of light against a window. ]
However, should you desire it, I am amenable to a negotiation.
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what mages do not realize, most of the time, is this: that summoning is not an one-way street. a master may prepare a dome of catalysts to find within the throne the one heroic spirit they desire, but that spirit still has the autonomy to simply say: i refuse. 'master' and 'servant' are empty titles, rid of the meaning that are attached to the words. a servant may obey; keyword is may, not must.
servants who answer the grail's call all have one thing in common: desire. want. greed. perhaps regret. perhaps unfinished business. in this, there is no distinction between those who live and those who have died. one does not participate in the grail war without the desire to win. kaveh hadn't been exempt from this.
alhaitham has, and therein lies the problem. his fingers twitch, but are not brought together. ]
I do have a wish for the Grail. And if I can't recall how to use that skill until then, you could always just wish that upon the Grail too. [ it is an idea, and the very last resource. it would depend on how patient alhaitham is. it would rely on putting everything at stake.
kaveh raises the vermillion red of his eyes, and meets alhaitham's greens. ] But as my Master, if reconstructing a memory is your first priority, then I will dedicate my time and skills to see it to completion. Surely there's something we can do to help me remember.
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the journal had been proof. between its pages lay words that run along the grain of the building blocks of alhaitham's own circuitry, the same cadence of his thoughts and the tone espoused. the building blocks of alhaitham lives within these pages; he is a mere formula-made-form. the prospect fascinates him. it is, after all, another flaw.
observe-
this is what alhaitham says, with some faint echo of what could be construed as amusement: ]
You were a poor negotiator in life.
bro..
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fanfic warning i don't know what happened
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