What they don’t tell you about Chaldea is that once you get past the most obvious of bullshits (the literal apocalypse, whatever was happening during Christmas, the fucking Gudagudas,) you still end up with a large amount of very small bullshits that make absolutely no sense.
Case in point:
There is beer in the fridge.
Why is there beer in the fridge.
Goredolf’s first thought, is, naturally, that one of the servants must have made some. They’ve got so many servants here; it’s not that far-fetched to imagine that one of them might be into brewing their own stuff. He’s heard of at least one who makes her own wine (and has been throughoutly warned to never drink any of it.)
He picks up a bottle and examines it closer. The side of it reads Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster – guaranteed to get drunk even those with debuff immunity! There’s a pictogram of a skull with an ahoge beneath it.
Okay. So. This was, presumably, picked up in a store. This explains how it found its way here, except for one tiny little detail:
What fucking store the whole world was bleached???
And no, don’t bring up any of the other food they eat in Novum Chaldea. These are direct contributions from Beni-Enma (bless her heart; she may be indirectly responsible for one of the most stressful weeks of Goredolf’s life, but she’s also one of the most reasonable and normal servants around. Goredolf will take strong cooking opinions over whatever is going on with the knights of the Round Table any day of the week.)
Clearly, there is Servant Shenanigans afoot.
He could search for the owner of this bottle. They shouldn’t be drinking on duty anyways. And if they have access to intergalactic stores, they could bring back more than just beer. It would be in everyone’s best interests to identify them.
On the other hand: Servant Shenanigans. Goredolf prides himself in being a wise man (lies; he singlehandedly got Chaldea exterminated. He is a fool and an idiot and it’s a miracle that the crew hasn’t realized his uselessness already-) and that means acknowledging that anything servant-related is widely out of his depth. There is strength in withdrawing too. Yes; whatever this is can be dealt with by someone-
“If you leave the fridge open like this we’ll have a hell of a bill to pay.”
The sudden voice startles Goredolf in a calm, dignified way.
“Wow, you’re jumpy. No need to squeak, I’m not here to hurt you.” (For the record, it was not a squeak, it was a perfectly respectable and regular noise.) “Lemme just grab this.” A hand reaches out to take the beer off his palms, and-
Uh.
Goredolf. Isn’t really sure what he’s looking at?
The servant is a woman in a swimsuit. A pretty one, even, (not that it’s relevant) whose blue scarf and tight suit really emphasize her- (we said this is not relevant.) She’s also wearing,
Uh
High boots?
And a helmet?
A strange and complex set of armor over her arms and legs.
Wait, no. Upon closer inspections, these seem closer to some sort of robotic suit.
This is. Certainly a confusing outfit.
Ignorant (or uncaring) of Goredolf’s plight, the servant tears off the bottlecap and takes a swing at the beer. “Now that hits the spot.” She sighs, pleased.
“… Aren’t you a cop?” Goredolf asks, and yes, he’s aware this is a stupid question, but give him a break, how is he even supposed to react here. He’s not even sure she’s a cop. He’s read the servant files ages ago and this particular one was absolutely incomprehensible.
“Not since you guys hired me I’m not.” She takes another swing, eyeing Goredolf with a pleased expression. “Besides, the casters can debuff cleanse me if an emergency comes up, it’s fine.”
This doesn’t really sound fine, but again, servant shenanigans, not his lane. Goredolf has no claims speaking up when he believes to know better (for instance, when the Master goes off to do something stupidly dangerous and reckless again for the love of god why is no one alarmed by their blatant desensitization to danger this is not normal this is not healthy what the fuck) but for things like this he supposes he should leave it to those heroes of- holy shit her armor just vanished.
A blue jacket materializes over the servant’s shoulders, hiding a grand total of 2% of her skin. The sight strikes him dumb for a couple seconds.
“And you are?” She’s leaning on the counter as she asks, which is not helping Goredolf focus. Come on boy, what are you, some horny teenager?? You see half-naked heroes at the cafeteria every day! Get a grip!!
“Ah, have you not heard of me? I’m Goredolf Musik, Chaldea’s Director! I’m responsible for every major operation here.” He replies, puffing up his chest. And then, because some unfortunate altercations with the Celtic heroes made him realize that was a very vague title to most servants: “I also make desserts on my free time.”
The woman perks up at that second part, which, ouch. It’s good to be known for something. He supposes. “Oh! You’re the pastry guy? These are soo good, I’ve heard the others mention a new chief on the staff, I didn’t know that was you.”
The compliment is a balm on his bruised ego at least. “Well, yes. Not to brag, but I believe my croissants rival most bakeries.”
The woman nods eagerly. Oh, sweet sweet validation. Then, for some reason, she steps closer to him. “You know, Director, I have a favor to ask.”
Flattery would never work on Goredolf (but it did, it did, this fox got him good-) flattery would never work on Goredolf, but it would be rude to not at least hear her out, especially when she calls him by his proper title. “What kind?”
“Well, the Master has been bringing me to battle a lot recently. I’m the go-to when it comes to dealing with berserkers, you understand.” She sighs, putting her beer on the counter. “It’s exhausting. The mana we get from Chaldea is enough to fight, but I was wondering… is there any way for me to get a little extra?”
That seems like a reasonable request. Not one Goredolf thinks he can fulfil, though. “I’ll ask my technical advisors about it. I’m sure something can be done-”
Slender fingers cup his chin. They’re warm, Goredolf registers dimly, train of thought utterly forgotten. Like burning stars. Like an echo of summer.
“I was thinking of something else.” The servants says with a smile.
…
“Oh.”
