After the Battle
A woman waits for her companion, recalling the dramatic events that led to her current predicament
BGM while writing: Fate/Apocrypha - Say Hello
In a tranquil small town cafe, a woman waits for something. She sits at a round wooden table just outside a glass door to the establishment,
watching both the goings-on inside as the two wait staff idly brew coffee amidst chatter, and the reflection of the quiet
street with its townsfolk milling around. Her eyes watch both scenes half-mindedly, unable to focus on her surroundings after recent events.
Where is he?
He, in this instance, is her partner. Not romantic, and barely even platonic. His demeanour gives away his youth, as well
as his inability to be on time. She would be worried, but it was him who fixed her shoulder last night, so she knows he's at least
relatively unscathed. There shouldn't be any reason for his tardiness other than exhaustion, and she's reprimanded him countless
times, warning him that it's no excuse in our line of work.
No matter, he'll arrive when he arrives.
Nothing to be done but continue to wait. She glances down to her cup, a basic white circular teacup half full with amber-green
peppermint tea. The taste is pleasant enough without being too strong, but in her absent mindedness she forgot to drink it quick
enough, her enthusiasm for drinking it dwindling along with its temperature, both now tepid at best. Watching the teawater, it
slowly jostles and shakes as a crudely-assembled cart passes by the cafe along the cobbled street. An older burly man pushes it
along, evidently wishing he had help given the strain clearly showing on his face. The woman knows it's not her place to offer,
as she knows she would only make the man embarrassed, and she has no intention of entertaining a pointless conversation.
That, and her shoulder.
She tilts her head as best she can to look over the sutures under her coat, following them across her shoulder and down half of her upper
arm, noticing how neatly applied they are. She does admit the boy has his uses; his precision and handiwork is remarkable when he's
motivated for it. His capacity for medical work is almost as impressive as the accuracy of his sword strikes.
If only that same accuracy could be applied to his timeliness.
Ensuring that her stitches are still intact, she pivots in her seat to look up at the town clock tower which was previously behind her.
She's assumed it's some form of town hall, as its architecture doesn't match most churches in the area. Reading over the hands of the
brass clock face informs her that's it's still early afternoon, a fact which the near-unobstructed sun can confirm. Watching the clock
face, her right hand begins to tap the side of her lukewarm teacup in rhythm with the second hand, while her mind once again begins to
drift to last night.
Whatever thing we encountered last night, the woman wonders, slowly rolling her injured shoulder, wasn't our target. She hesitates to
think of it as a shadow, but its ability to lurk and hide was unlike anything she'd seen in her years of this profession.
Hey!
Her thoughts dissipate, as the street she rests within comes back into focus. She looks around puzzled for a moment, before her eyes settle
on a figure running towards her in the distance. A younger-looking boy, barely able to be called a man, with a large satchel in his hands
despite its strap already being draped over his shoulder. The few locals in the street look at him in bewilderment as the woman does her best
to pretend she's not associated with him. Though given as how the boy is headed straight to her, this is a mostly fruitless effort.
You're late.
The woman speaks clearly, without showing overt anger, however making it obvious that she isn't pleased.
I'm sorry I'm sorry.
He attempts a small apologetic motion with his hands, made less effective by his exhaustion from running. Looking around,
the boy grabs a chair from the next table, and drags it opposite the woman at her own table to join her. She watches as he drops his bag onto the
cobblestone under their now-shared table, as he begins to take various things out.
Is your arm okay? I can fix up the stitches if you need-
It's fine.
She cuts him off before he can finish his offer, taking a sip from her cold tea to make it clear she has nothing more to say on the matter.
As she drinks, she glances up at the glistening cafe roof, while the boy puts his medical kit away to reveal some rudementary notes on scrap paper which
were hidden underneath. Without making it obvious she's curious, she attempts to decipher the upside down notes and scribbles before the boy starts to explain.
I was thinking about the thing that attacked us last night... I've never seen anything like it.
Ah, so that's what made him late.
It's not relevant to our assignment.
She avoids the question, whether in an attempt to hide her concern for what it was, or to not worry the boy,
she isn't sure herself.
If that thing's still out there then it is!
The boy accidentally raises his voice, to which the woman responds with a curt Quiet.
,
closing her eyes in exasperation. Clearly frustrated, but keenly aware of the duo's heirarchy and differences in experience, the boy raises
from his seat to enter the cafe. With her eyes still closed, she hears the bell of the cafe door ding, before the town ambience is the only
sounds she hears. As energetic as the boy can be, she admits to herself that his mental maturity can shine through in key moments. She understands
his concern, as he hasn't seen a foe so swiftly outmanouver her to such an extent before, and he surely knows just as she does how it remains a threat while they are on mission.
The woman sighs to herself, brushing through her long black hair with her uninjured arm. She isn't sure how to proceed, with this assignment going so
awry, and aware that the boy will only prove a liability if they were to encounter that third party again. She looks back to the clock tower, noticing
now that clouds are beginning to roll in, hoping that this isn't some form of omen.
After a moment of thought, the woman hears the bell once again, with a voice soon following suit.
Here, got you another tea.
The boy carries two teacup saucers to the table, each topped with white cups of fresh hot peppermint tea. As much as the
woman wishes to protest, she appreciates the gesture, deciding to instead take up the offer. Perhaps the boy can sense her concern, even with her poker
face and curt demeanour. She watches from the reflection of her new tea as the boy settles back at the table, as his overenthusiasm for his drink lightly
burns his mouth, and as he looks over his frantic notes of the creature they escaped from. She's acutely aware that she will fight it again, and needs
to somehow best it, both for her and the assignment she initially took on, as well as for the boy she's since given up on shrugging off of her on her
travels. As little as they know of each other, they've come to depend on one another in small ways, and as much as the boy can frustrate her,
the woman knows that she needs to keep him safe.