Chapter Text
Pour the wine and raise a cup
Drink up, brothers, you know how
And spill a drop for Orpheus
Wherever he is now…
—”We Raise Our Cups,” Hadestown
[16:43:42] magimoonshine47: hey, has anyone heard from romance?
[16:44:04] magimoonshine47: it's just, everyone else i know is fine even though i guess it's 2019 now...
[16:44:32] magimoonshine47: but i used to see that guy everywhere, all the time, and it says he hasn't posted in
[16:44:35] magimoonshine47: uh
[16:45:12] magimoonshine47: like, a couple of weeks now.
[16:47:32] mariHEARTluvr: ...o sh*t good point i havn't seen him either
[16:48:22] mariHEARTluvr: u mean @archromance, rite?
[16:49:48] mariHEARTluvr: what if sumthing happend 2 him?
[16:53:21] magimoonshine47: ... maybe he's got too much to do at work?
The conversation really did start organically, although Merlin may be guilty of nudging it a little. Well, it’s his website, after all, even if most people consider it Magi*Mari’s; he has every right, doesn’t he? Merlin watches people talk, mildly worried speculation scrolling down the screen with no further intervention necessary, and he draws a knee up to rest his chin on it, smiling to himself.
This is a start: this is a truth. The man is not forgotten.
Here, a small assortment of humans with the barest of magic potential discuss the missing member of their cadre, one Romani Archaman, even if most of them don’t know him by that name. Here, the thought of the man is a living thing, even if only a whisper of it: quicksilver impressions of someone who had skated through a hundred hundred lives, touching down here and there to dispense words of enthusiasm or to correct a point of trivia.
As a tactic, it makes up in volume what it lacks in precision.
Merlin casts his net wide, dips in and out of daydreams. Every time he settles back in his solid body and his solid tower, his hands are a little more full of starstuff, fuzzy twinkles like the tiniest of fairy lights caught in cotton candy. These ephemeralities are the easiest to gather, passing thoughts of people who don't know to look for a trespasser, even one as lightfooted as he is.
The rest is going to take a little while longer.
A few of the staff at Chaldea are Magi*Mari fans, too, and that isn’t an accident by any stretch of the imagination. Merlin treads gently here, borrowing impressions of the good Doctor and his gloved hands gesturing animatedly as he talks about cuteness and positivity and Magi*Mari's charm points. Merlin's pretty much flattered, even if he already knows he did a good job designing his adorable alter ego. Humans still surprise him, every now and then.
In a few hours, or when his hands are full, or both, Merlin pushes back from the array of flowers that mimic a computer, tossing what he's gathered of dreams into the air to watch it sparkle and spin. Here a thought of green eyes, there a passing notion on how weird it is he wears gloves all the time. It's a start.
—It's a start with nowhere to put it except in one of the trees, and that might have interesting consequences. Oops. Merlin tucks the fragile recollections into the crook of one arm and beckons to the laptop with his other hand. The screen projects more properly, visible from here.
Time to beg a favor from Leonardo da Vinci. He sketches flicker-quick letters in the air instead of bothering to type, humming absently at bundled memories while he does.
...email is probably less suspicious than Chaldea's intranet, right? Right.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: potential singularity!
importance: high [!]
hey! now that i have your attention
can i borrow a coffin? you've got plenty, right?
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: re: potential singularity!
You most certainly may not! How did you get this address?
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: re: re: potential singularity!
pleaaaaaase? i only need it for three months, tops. Ritsuka's the only one using them right now, you could lock one off for me. i wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important.
There is a long, long pause, while Merlin ponders how risky it would be to go ahead anyway. The thing about the coffins is – they're integrally linked to the leyshift mechanisms, which means they're designed to recall people who have been flung far and wide. Chaldea verifies the existence of its Master every minute she is gone. And Romani Archaman has leyshifted before – somewhere, Chaldea knows how he is put together. In short, there's really no better way to re-verify his existence.
It would just be very messy and a waste of a lot of hard work if someone tried to use the same coffin Merlin was using, so he's trying to head that off at the pass. Why isn't Da Vinci answering? –Oh, she's trying to trace the email domain. In retrospect, Merlin supposes he should have identified himself somehow, before slipping into a reasonably secret inbox.
Oh well. Look, she's answering him anyway. If he can actually access Chaldea's systems, he is free to make use of one of the Klein coffins. Coffin 4, if he pleases. Fourth from the left, not from the right. Merlin can see the face she's making from here, and it's well worth the extra trouble. He'll call that bluff, thank you, and see how she takes it. “Home you go,” he says, tapping his collection of romance and remembrances till it chimes with the memory of a laugh. “One, two, and...”
Three goes unsaid as Merlin condenses all his focus, out of all the dreams and sights he sees, and into one narrow channel aimed straight at Chaldea. There: the boxy coffin, the soft-glowing panels around it. Here: the tower room, the abundance of flowers, the rich magical force that fills every circuit in Avalon to brimming. There: Caster, Leonardo Da Vinci, bending over Coffin 4, gauntlet tap-tap-tapping against the side. Here: Grand Caster, Merlin, sending a nascent present home, holding the bridge between the disparate magical circuits until all is settled.
Just like transplanting a sprout.
There: Da Vinci, eyes wide for a moment before she sighs thoughtfully and checks the monitors.
Merlin watches long enough to see that she has slapped a bright yellow Out of Order sign on the coffin and locked it firmly before he withdraws. That'll do.
Da Vinci emails him a minute or two later, this time with an invitation to Chaldea's intranet messenger, as if he couldn't have done it himself. Well, it's the thought that counts!
ldavinci started a private message!
ldavinci: So! Are you going to explain to me why Coffin 4 has decided to smell like nostalgia and oxidizing copper?
ldavinci: Not that I don't have my own ideas already, but if you'd like to make a good impression, I am graciously allowing you this second chance!
sagerose: hahaha, is that what it smells like? i'm not clairsentant.
ldavinci: You’re not very helpful, either. And will you keep your pseudonyms straight?
sagerose: not a chance. anyway, it's a present! happy birthday!
ldavinci: It's still January, you know.
sagerose: that's why you can't unwrap it yet. i'm still working on it, okay? you have to promise not to peek! ☆
Merlin peeks. Da Vinci is trying to pretend she's not smiling. She is muttering something about unicode standards.
ldavinci: Can I help?
It's less fun when she's not arguing with him. And when it comes to details beyond the surface-level impressions, the puddled footsteps left behind– Da Vinci is going to be, quite honestly, one of his best modern sources. An artist, who has always had a sharp eye for the realities of the things she sees; a Caster, the best magical adept at Chaldea Merlin can ask for.
Someone who has worked beside Romani, so closely the shadows behind them were shared.
sagerose: i'll visit you later, okay?
ldavinci: Knock first!
He leaves it at that, and waits for her to sleep.