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He had grown a second shadow. And much like his first, this new one prowled after him, draped in the blackest of cloaks. A silhouette that licked at his heel yet bothered not to address him. No growls, no roars, no threats of pyromania. Today, she simply chose to be a cold, black entity stalking in his wake. Emiya preferred to ignore the sinister duplication, for now, taking his time to stretch across one end of Chaldea to the other to carry out his task. The Master had confessed to Emiya that something or someone had been dipping too regularly into their shared mana supply, drinking to fill something bottomless and leaving the Master to thirst weakly. It was clear the Master was suffering due to this glutton of a servant; Emiya spied the sheen of sweat that broke out across their forehead during dinner. The tremble of limbs as they stood and sat and reached for the cutlery. It was selfish – cruel. Emiya would put a stop to it. He chose this morning to corner the Master, demanding to know why they hadn’t addressed this act of sedition. Weakly, the Master had reminded their archer that planting the seed of betrayal among their servants would do more harm than not. Especially when considering the overly devoted natures of some heroic spirits that viewed such treasons as death worthy.
As of now, and not including Mash as she was a demi-servant, the Master happened upon eleven heroic spirits.
A single archer, himself. Two berserkers being that of Tamamo Cat and Caligula. Another lonely class servant, only it was a saber this time. One who so happened to be Artoria, King of Knights. Emiya couldn’t forget those two rather bothersome and loud lancers, Cú Chulainn and Romulus. The Master had somehow also managed to summon a second Cú Chulainn, only this one was older, calmer, and of the caster class. That Cú Chulainn (or CasCu as he called himself) shared the caster class with two others, William Shakespeare and Leonardo Da Vinci. The Master was missing an assassin from their collection of the classes, and Boudica alone held the title of rider.
But then again, why stew over the lack of an assassin when an avenger hounded your halls?
Emiya did not overlook the fact that Jalter, the one who had decided to tail him all morning, could be the very culprit the archer was hunting for. She was the newest servant. One that was devilish and detached at times. Jalter was of true Machiavellian beginnings, from the nature of her spirit origins to the pandemonium cast in Orleans by the fallen saint’s hands. Jalter’s contract with the Master was still lop-sided and poorly established. The witch could certainly devour the Master’s mana supply without so much as a moral thought questioning her loyalties.
Emiya eyed the heavily cloaked servant just off to the side of him, drinking his fill of her while she bitterly returned his disregard. Maybe the archer was speaking out of turn. Truly, Jalter wasn’t as poor of a character as he was making her out to be. There was good in her, Emiya could tell. If Jalter was as rotten as he detailed, the Holy Maiden would have made a mockery of their deal by not following through with her promises. After all, Emiya had returned the cake to her. Jalter had the opportunity to burn him, tarnishing the moment between them forever.
Only, she didn’t.
No longer did her footprints blaze a path onto Chaldean floors – his floors. Nor did the little dragon take to victimising the staff of Chaldea for fun as requested in their deal. If anything, Jalter had stayed remarkably true to her words. An unforeseen outcome, yes, but it led Emiya down a rabbit hole of enticement. Once again, the little dragon had piqued Emiya’s interest. The bowman had no inkling as to why the Dragon Witch had all but simmered her tormenting of the people of Chaldea over his cooking. Emiya may have mastered the art of gastronomy, but for his skills in the kitchen to be enough to cool the charring defiance of a dragon…It sent an unfamiliar rush of delight through him.
“I take it you want something?” Emiya said, coming to a stop in both pursuit and his dismissing of Jalter’s presence. “You’ve been a thorn in my side all morning.”
Jalter returned the archer’s slight with a nasty look. “Breakfast was a disgrace. You let that Britannian bitch seize control of your kitchen again.”
Emiya raised a brow at her, “I had impressing matters to tend to this morning. Besides, there is nothing wrong with Boudica’s cooking. You’re simply picky.”
“I demand retribution, Archer.” The Witch said, and the line of her mouth sunk into a deep scowl. “For attempting to poison me with her sludge, the head of that unskilled rider will do.”
Ah. Boudica must have made her special cinnamon and banana porridge for breakfast. A shame that Emiya missed it. Unlike Jalter who had a rather strong dislike of bananas, the counter guardian enjoyed the simplicities of the meal. The flavour was sweet, subtle, and the dish itself was heavy and warm and sat comfortably in your stomach until late afternoon. Perfect for the bitter, slow mornings Chaldea only had to offer.
The archer tatted his tongue, “again, there is nothing wrong with our Rider’s cooking. If you do not like Boudica’s choice of ingredients, that is something you have to politely bring up with her. Now, I have to take care of something important. Be on your way, little dragon.”
Emiya turned his back on her and continued with his mission. Yes, Jalter may be unstable and rather vehement at times, however, Emiya was oddly certain that the fallen saint was not his culprit. That now out of the way, Emiya had rounded off a small list of possible offenders, the casters and berserkers currently held the top place of that list considering their respective natures when consuming mana. Before being passively interrupted by Jalter, Emiya was on his way to speak with Da Vinci on the matter.
“You bastard. You would go back on your word so easily? I forbid it.” The dragon snapped, storming to seize the counter guardian’s full attention. “I am hungry, so I have come to you as promised. Therefore, you honour your words and tend to my needs. Or do you wish to burn for your transgressions against me?”
Emiya stood dumbfounded for a moment.
“Have you really not eaten since last night?”
“What do you think, idiot?”
Emiya blinked a few times and before his mind could catch up to his tongue, he loosely answered her. “I think you’re the idiot, idiot. You’ve been following me all morning and haven’t said a word about needing to eat. Jesus, it’s nearly lunchtime, Jalter.”
A mad blush lit the saint’s face. “No, you’re the idiot, idiot! Why else would I waste my time watching you pace around these damned halls? You are to feed me at once, or I am to blaze you where you stand – idiot!”
Emiya groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re such a troublesome dragon.”
While his words were harsh, Emiya felt weighed down by his guilt. Jalter had stuck to the conditions of their deal and exercised a lot of restraint lately when interacting with both staff and heroes of Chaldea. And not once in the three weeks since their arrangement was made had there been an incident of theft involving the Holy Maid or her flaming tracks, nor had she rudely hounded the archer for her promised meals as Emiya had suspected.
Perhaps it was time Emiya stayed true to his.
Especially considering the fact that the poor thing hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
“Come,” Emiya said, his tone low and defeated. “We’ll go get something to eat before you waste away or attempt to end my life.”
The Master would have to wait just a few more hours. Hopeful as the morning stretched into mid-afternoon, and everyone grew a talkative stomach, Emiya would have had better luck finding and singling out the culprit within the cafeteria.
Jalter made a noise as if agreeing on the latter of the two outcomes Emiya had suggested but did not comment further until the pair drew back to the comforts of the kitchen. When parting the cafeteria doors, Emiya directed the Saint to the very table that saw witness to their devilry all those nights ago. However, Jalter simply ignored his words and persisted to shadow the archer until they were both well into the domain of the kitchen. Despite the events of that morning and the current company he kept, Emiya felt a sense of serenity possessed him. To the archer, nothing could beat the soothe a broken or worn spirit quite like the homely air of a kitchen freshly used. Boudica and Tamamo must have finished the preparation needed for the lunchtime rush just before Emiya and Jalter stumbled their way in.
“Any requests?”
The Witch had taken to sitting atop the counter, the one place Emiya has specially asked her not to perch upon. Nonchalantly, Jalter had crossed her legs at the knee and the archer kept his sights firmly high so as to not catch a glimpse of bare thigh.
Jalter leaned back upon the counter, thinking to herself for a moment.
Once deciding, she nodded to herself and sharply answered.
“That dish you made the other day. The name escapes me. But they were alike to pancakes, yet not sweet.” Jalter said. “It was dressed with many different sauces as well. But this time, you are to put more of the white sauce on top. Ah, the dish had a crunch to it, too. Be sure to make it crunchy. Extra crunchy, even.”
Emiya paused in thought – okonomiyaki? That is what she decided upon. It was a rather simple dish. However, it did match well with a number of sides, and it took but a handful of minutes to whip up. It amused the archer, if slightly, that the Saint had stubbornly refused a simple meal such as porridge only to wait nearly half the day for something as equally plain as okonomiyaki. But being that Emiya also had not eaten the whole day due to his chase, the sides he had planned to marry the dish with would serve well to excite the palette.
“Understood. Whatever the little dragon wants, the little dragon gets.”
Emiya collected his black apron from the draw, tied a neat bow from behind to secure the cloth, and began his mastery. He sorted after his ingredients – a few eggs, half a cabbage, the shallots, a small bowl of panko, a tablespoon of sesame seeds, and the required sauces (reminding himself to dress the okonomiyaki with extra Kewpie mayo at the end). Emiya decided against incorporating the element of meat or seafood, considering the hour of the day, and the number of side dishes he intended to cook, the archer thought best to keep the main cuisine as light as possible.
Emiya had found himself craving tofu upon the trip back to the cafeteria. Therefore, Hiyayakko would be on the menu. The chilli and ginger combination might be something Jalter developed a liking to. The avenger enjoyed zesty flavours; Emiya just hoped the freshness from the raw ginger didn’t make Jalter turn her nose up to the dish. However, for now, it was simply something new for her to try. To compensate for the possibility of the meal being met with detest, Emiya stuck to side dishes he already knew the Saint was quite fond of. Such dishes being a mixture of fiery foods such as a small portion of spicy bean sprouts, and deeply flavourful, salty wonders like ohitashi. Of course, Emiya paired their meal with a bowl of rice. For drinks, however, the archer shooed Jalter off the counter and instructed her to set the table, and to choose whatever drink she felt like for the two of them to share. There was some mutiny over his request. The threat of hellfire and a second death, some whining and dirty looks directed at him. But Emiya smoothed out her homicide-hungry temper by promising Jalter that she may help prepare their meal if she was quick enough with her other chores.
It was enduring, really, how fascinated the little dragon was with watching him move around the kitchen, floating from one meal to the next. Her eyes forever cast him in their golden glow as he worked.
Amazing, how speedy the avenger was when she wanted something. Before the archer could blink, both the table was formed, and two glasses were poured and awaiting them.
Jalter made a fuss about wanting an apron while Emiya declared that if she didn’t shed herself of her heavy armour, tie her hair, and wash her hands first, there would be no need for an apron because she would simply not be anywhere near the food. They bickered and snapped at each other until the Dragon Witch erupted in a blaze of cool, wine-dark flames, and her metallic amour all but melted from her figure.
Emiya was quick to grow quiet after that. As of that moment, the Witch wore nothing but a slip dress and high boots. It fitted tight around her chest but was open and of a low cut at the back. Emiya looked away, suddenly becoming extremely enthralled with the kitchen sink.
“I want my apron.”
“Right. So, I’ve heard. Wash your hands first and I’ll think about it.”
“I want my apron. Now.”
Emiya pressed his lips into a tight line and busied himself by searching for a free apron that might fit her. Just as this morning, the counter guardian was graced with a rather futile hunt. With an annoyed huff, Emiya snatched up one of his spare aprons. A simple deep red coloured one with black straps. Nothing special, really, he just hoped it wasn’t too long on her.
They met by the sink as Jalter had actually listened to him and decided to practice basic culinary hygiene.
“My hands are terribly soapy and wet.” The Holy Maiden informed Emiya, glancing back at him over her bare shoulder. “Tie it for me.”
It was clear she wasn’t asking. And all at once, the archer lost his bravado. Emiya suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone with his hands. But he wouldn’t tell her no – he couldn’t, actually. Just as his boldness had abandoned him, so had Emiya’s tongue.
Nervously, he wet his lips and inched closer to the Saint until there was barely a foot between them. If either of them moved too brashly, Jalter would be pressed flat against his chest. Not wanting that situation to unfold, Emiya’s next handful of movements was careful, calm. Out of respect, the archer announced each of his actions, briefly pausing between each to give the little dragon enough time to oppose to where he was putting his hands. Jalter didn’t seem to care, she let the archer do what he needed while she continued to mess about in the sink.
Only when coming so close to the Witch, did Emiya finally grasp the height difference between them. Jalter was a rather petite creature, short and small, lacking true tallness even for a woman. It reminded Emiya slightly of Saber and her equally small structure – if not smaller. Only, Jalter possessed an hourglass figure with her sated chest and full thighs. Saber was…Less blessed in such areas. Not that it was Emiya’s place to say – no. Especially considering when Romulus had mistakenly spoken upon the King of Knight’s absence of development, there had been blood. And lots of it, too.
Once the neck of the apron was over her head and adjusted so it wouldn’t fall too low, Emiya tautly raised his hands up to collect a handful of Jalter’s unkempt locks. It was in his way, and the archer feared he might knot it into a bow when tying the back straps of the apron.
“Would you like me to attempt to tame this ridiculous mane of yours now or…?” Emiya trailed off, meeting Jalter’s eyes in the reflection of wall tiles, seeking either approval – or the slightest hint of discomfort over their close proximity. Jalter lazily half shrugged, oddly neutral about the archer’s manhandling her.
Emiya took it as an unbothered “go for it” and began gathering more of the wild and loose strands of her hair. The Counter Guardian made a small, surprised noise at the back of his throat as he ran his fingers through her mane, doing his best to detangle it without so much as tugging on her. It was soft and thick, dripping down her back like honey. As silver as a full moon on a misty night, if not more. And dear god, he said it before, but the Saint’s hair was as soft as kitten fur, and once brushed out and smooth, was like that of satin sheets.
Emiya gently let his fingers wander down the length of it one last time, before coming to his senses and getting on with his task. He lightly tucked a wisp or two behind Jalter’s ear, as it was at an odd length and would not cooperate with him. The archer’s hands began to twist and layer, pulling some strands over, and some strands under until the beginning of a braid were evident.
“Stop.” Jalter suddenly barked, yanking the whole of her body from Emiya’s reach until she was partly on top of the sink. The witch snapped her head back until she was nastily side-eying the Counter Guardian from over her shoulder. “No braids. No plats. Ever. Understood?”
Emiya, whose hand had automatically slapped to his side, feverishly nodded. Confused he may be, but the way Emiya styled her air before was obviously some sort of a trigger for the Saint.
“Understood.” The archer swore.
Slowly, Jalter eased back into him until they were positioned just as before. Emiya rushed with hands still tender, to unravel the base of the braid. For a moment, he thought hard about the style he should do that would keep the Dragon Witch’s tresses from falling in her face as she cooked. On a whim, Emiya regathered her hair, parting them into two equal bundles of argent thread, then began to tightly twist each bundle separately. Next, he traced a handful of hairpins and ties, then started curling the wound locks into twinning space puns that perched on the very tops of Jalter’s crown, ruling either side of her head. Emiya contorted himself until he could be a proper frontal view of his work.
O, how darling was the sight he found himself looking upon.
“It’s...Erh.” Emiya stumbled, and he could feel his face burn hot with enchantment. “It will do, I guess.”
Jalter suited short hair. It drew more attention to her dove face, rounding her eyes and curtaining her pretty features like the end of the opera – her long lashes took a bow, and her irises flushed with soft, honeyed lighting. The Saint’s cheeks were strikingly more full of colour, conveying her youth and joie de vivre with its warm, pink undertones. Emiya desperately looked the other way, for he was a man that lacked any sort of a poker face when it came to matters that infatuated him.
Finally, Jalter took to drying the wet from her hands.
And Emiya, possessing more fretfully energy than before, sorted after the last two strands of fabric that needed tying from the Dragon Witch’s apron. In the archer’s rush, the back of his knuckles grazed against the small of the Witch’s back. Emiya swallowed, dashing his gaze to meet Jalter’s in their reflection. Again, he encountered that blasé expression, so, Emiya made sure to messily tie the damn bow and be done with it all.
He practically stumbled over himself to create some distance between them.
“While you’re at the sink, wash the rice for me,” Emiya said, slightly coughing in between words to shake the tension from in his throat.
Jalter smirked to herself sleazily, “you sound odd, Archer. Is there a reason for it?”
Despite his best efforts, and extensive amount of self-control, Emiya’s body betrayed him. His throat closed, his tongue knotted, and a red a deep as his armour swept across the entirety of his face. The only blessing to arise during this collapse of lingering bravado was that Jalter had decided to knowingly address Emiya while her back was still turned. Meaning, she was seemingly unaware of Emiya’s mental state dissolving by the second and tangibly seeping out of his pours.
“Jeanne d'Arc – for god’s sake, will you please shut the hell up.” Emiya bit out, pronouncing his misery with the clap of the knife on the chopping board. The poor cabbage would die twice under the archer’s hand if this torment continued any longer.
Fucking witches.
The Fallen Saint dared to cackle at the Counter Guardian’s apparent embarrassment. For whatever reason, bearing witness to the archer coming undone was a great pleasure of hers.
Thankfully, however, the rest of the time spent cooking (or mess-making in Jalter’s case) proceeded with much more grace as a soothing silence washed over the two. Before too long, Emiya and the bothersome dragon found themselves sitting across each other, sharing a meal.
As always, Jalter noised her delight over the meal in slight moans and keens. She took to trying the hiyayakko first, bewildered by the sight of raw tofu bathed in a concoction of soup broths and soy sauce. The cuts of chilli tempted her so, and to the Saint’s pleasure the spicy, cool dish was one she was quite fond of. Emiya openly watched her, as he always found himself doing while Jalter shamelessly devoured his cooking like a starved, half-wild little creature. The Witch tended to ignore the archer while she ate, completely demising his existence in favour of what was on her plate. However, Emiya happened to be dining with her this time. Their chopsticks would bump and clip each other, and Jalter found the man before her filling her bowl whenever she didn’t.
It would go like this.
Three helpings of spicy bean sprouts for the avenger, and two helpings of spicy bean sprouts for the archer. Two portions of hiyayakko for the Witch of Vengeance, and one portion of hiyayakko for the Hero of Justice. Four ohitashi spinach leaves for Jeanne d'Arc, and three ohitashi spinach leaves for Emiya Shirou.
“Why were you roaming the hallways like a madman this morning?” Jalter questioned between bites. “What was of so great importance that it removed you from your place in the kitchen?”
Emiya was in the middle of topping up their glasses with iced tea (Jalter’s drink of choice wasn’t bad) as she spoke. And for a moment, the archer considered exploiting his thirst to drag out the question long enough for the Dragon to grow bored of the answer.
Emiya signed, defeated. “If you must know, our Master is suffering due to someone in our ranks exhausting far too much mana than what is needed or allowed. The Master wanted me to investigate it without sparking a massacre among servants. However, finding the servants proves more of a challenge. Chaldea is more labyrinthian than not at times.”
Jalter bit into a piece of okonomiyaki the archer had generously sliced up for her, it was easier to eat with chopsticks this way considering she was still getting familiar with the mechanics of them. It was one of the first things he had done the moment they sat down for brunch.
“I see.” The Witch said. “Then I pity that caster clown. Your lectures are the greatest form of torture this plane of existence has ever seen. He will simply not survive it.”
Emiya narrowed his eyes, “what clown? CasCu?”
Jalter shook her head, reaching for the last of the hiyayakko. “No, not the old mutt. The one that does not shut up about disgusting, trivial matters like romance and poetry. Worst of all, he is the one I feel to swallow in flames every time he dares open his mouth to sing about such shit.”
Ah, so the Witch was talking about Shakespeare. Interesting.
“Remind me again why Shakespeare would have to suffer through one of my ‘torture’ speeches?”
Jalter drew an ashy eyebrow up at him as if Emiya was stupid for needing a reminder.
“Is he not the one sucking your master dry?” The avenger said. “Considering how often he drinks with the Cú Chulainn mutts, using his noble phantasm to retell their glory days, it would make sense why your pathetic little master would wither away.”
Emiya felt a rather sick sort of delight rush through him. Finally, after all these months he would finally have an excuse for not only maiming one Cú Chulainn but two.
The archer rested his cheek on the palm of his hand before casting the Witch his own sleazy, satisfied smile.
“O, little dragon.” Emiya purred. “I could just kiss you right now.”
Jalter grew hot in shock, the round of her cheeks flushed the deepest of reds. “Y-you – you will do no such thing!” she stumbled, her blush only creeping to her ears and neck.
A laugh, deep and from the belly, rumbled from the Counter Gaudian unlike any other the Saint heard. How cute, Emiya thought, his enjoyment settling down. The two of them were rather similar. Both were well adept at teasing but, on the other hand, terrible at being the one teased.
Emiya wondered how else they were similar.