A joke fanblog for a certain gudasona, Cadence Durand. Locked in his closet in terror, he posts to pass the time. (This is my writing sideblog, made for a gudasona — Cadence, and his brigade of terrifying Servants. I’ll be answering prompts happily as I see them, so if you have any ideas or questions, send ‘em my way!) Banner by @hassigurddoneanythingwrong, and pfp by @exmeowstic!
I’ll probably write a metric ton of Cadence mini-fics as time goes on, as inspiration strikes me.
To save you the time of scrolling through my blog to find whatever I’ve written, I’ve just combined it all beneath the ‘Keep Reading’ tag here.
Want to know when I’m speaking OOC? Generally, I will either tag it #ooc or use this format with the bar to my left to signify OOC text. Exceptions will be if I’m tired and am being a shit. Aside from this post, assume text in other formats is just Cadence speaking or smthn idfk
**STORY IDEAS ARE OPEN!!** If you want me to write anything that strikes your interest, just lemme know in the asks. I might do ‘direct character responses’ if that’s a thing people like, but I’ll cross that bridge if I get to it. Regardless, if you wanna see something, be sure to send it in my askbox!
**ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!** Feel free to send those ask games to my inbox! To me, it’s like giving a lab rat the treat for pressing the right button. Please give me the reward mush. Please.
Sometimes, it's better to act now -- to end the story before it begins.
Narration, theatre be damned -- such rules never stopped the production before.
Why would they stop now?
Somewhere in Baltimore, a new Singularity forms.
Those who pull the strings -- within each timeline, they hold within themselves a plan.
Multiple concurrent worlds. Singularities occurring all at once, simultaneously one -- and not.
Each script ties into itself. Two plays viewed as one -- splitting body and mind of its Audience into two separate places, two separate worlds, with the promise of reconnecting one day.
To destroy the Viewer, the playwright must merely keep these halves separate.
'In order to create the best appeal,' the being wonders -- 'what is it that the Viewers wish for most?'
The [screams/devouring/sobs] of the populace beg for something only the immortal could give.
It's so easy--
--How could this be any other way?
--
The recording room is empty, but not for long.
Soundproofing lines the walls, even extending to the door leading into the booth itself -- the only exception, a glass window peering in.
On that end of the window lay a handful of people.
Someone with incredibly long black hair, tied in a loose ponytail that would perhaps have still fell to their hips, who made a point of never taking off their sunglasses, sat at the front -- tapping their finger idly against a control board. The microphone and audio quality was easy to control, especially here -- but it didn't stop them from keeping a close eye on it. The last thing they wanted was to handle those goddamned executives again -- their coworkers had to restrain them the last time.
To her left, a woman with hair like platinum, clad in a black-and-white suit -- writing something down on a clipboard she rested against her lower arm, her brow furrowed in focus. Budgeting, one could assume, was a pain in the ass -- but despite the lady's stoic exterior, she took a bit of happiness in such things. Someone needed to handle the business side, after all.
And to the black-haired lady's right, a woman with vivid dyed pink hair -- tapping a pen to a tablet screen, her gaze laced with venom as she stared down the wire frame figure of a symbol. Supposedly, this was a business symbol - but nothing seemed to fit quite right, yet. Breathing out a sigh, she switches tabs, focusing on a small graphic animation.
And at the back of the room, a woman with flowing black hair with a small braid tied just at the back of her head. Her green eyes flit from page to page -- scratching out parts of a script, filling it in with words she thought up at the very last minute. She did have a small karaoke outing to plan after this session was over -- but not one to be outdone, she'd already planned this yesterday. Having connections, after all, proved quite useful -- especially when editing this script last-minute proved so important.
On the other end -- the barren portion of this location, only holding the soundproofed walls and a microphone -- the door opened, as the green-eyed lady suddenly made a mad dash out of her side of the room.
After some muffled talk -- the other three picking up a 'I changed a few words,' a 'Do your best, dear~!' -- the green-eyed woman stepped back into the control booth, with someone entering the recording booth moments later.
Closing the door behind him, a blonde-haired man breathed a careful sigh out to settle his heartrate -- followed shortly thereafter by a subdued laugh.
"...Geez, you're sure this'll sell?"
"Of course it will," the sunglasses-donning one responded, "as long as you've nailed the delivery."
"...I'll do what I can."
The platinum-haired lady's gaze flicked up to the glass window as the blonde got settled -- checking and repositioning the microphone, his eyes settled on the script, trying to memorize his companion's additions to the page.
"You'll do well. Think of this as practice towards a different... Shall we say, 'style.' They're used to something calmer -- this will spark quite some attention for us, and attention pays for itself."
The woman spared him a momentary, gentle smile, before returning her gaze to the page.
"...Right. --Er, Kiyo, when are we..?"
"Whenever you're ready. Hold your hand up when you're set."
"And don't be afraid to improvise a little!"
...The blonde nodded, as the pink-haired lady leaned a little over to see the man in the booth.
"I'll kill you if you go too far off script, though. These designs are a pain, and if I've gotta redo these, you owe me some food."
"Isn't that a w-"
"--I realize now the error of that threat. I'll just kill you."
...Still, as she returned to her tablet, the blonde could note her covering her mouth to muffle a laugh.
Taking a few last deep breaths, the boy raised his hand -- and, giving him a nod in return, Kiyo raised up her hand, silently counting to three --
-- before a glowing red light from the microphone informed the blonde that he was now live.
With only one thing left to do, and one spare glance to his script, the man suppressed a stupid smile and forced himself into seriousness.
Channeling all the rage he could, he finally spoke up -- loud enough to leave an impression, while not loud enough to overwhelm the microphone.
An engineer finds himself within the Floating Apartments.
Two Masters find themselves locked — one in pain, in horror, another shaken up by the sight.
Without even giving them a chance to breathe —
—the battle of this Singularity had begun.
"...How is he?"
I try to speak up -- loosening the straps of my Mystic Code, as though it'd do anything to help me breathe easier.
The hotel room is horribly silent -- the only noise the room could offer coming from the sway of chains.
Even the breathing of Cadence was weak, laboured -- something to be expected.
...A doctor -- the man known as 'Julius' -- had attended to him. A man none of us knew -- but the only one with any real knowledge of undoing that which had happened.
Surely, the rest of us had some knowledge of wound fixing -- but not once in our travels had someone been...
'...With... wooden stakes, no less...'
...Never once had I seen a lobotomy. Let alone one failed that miserably -- 'perhaps a relief,' I'd say, but it's hardly any comfort with the damage it had caused.
"...His brain seems fine."
The man who once bore the mask spoke up -- among the few times he'd spoken since our return.
Perhaps it wasn't easy to speak -- being, technically, the one who had caused such an injury to begin with. Even trusting him was difficult -- getting the visual out of my mind, of practically televising that shoddy medical procedure as though it were fine art... It was a crapshoot. It was all I could do to ignore that growing urge to throttle him, but...
"That operation was a failure at its original goal," Julius continued, "thanks to your timely intervention."
He took a step back -- running a hand through his icy-blue hair, furrowing his brow.
"...The same, obviously, can't be said of his eyes. Apt magecraft could repair them in theory, but... That isn't power I have."
His green eyes moved their gaze to the window, as he cursed under his breath -- staring down the unmoving moon, before returning to the group.
"...Not here, anyways."
I found my legs moving before I could stop them -- standing up, I took a few steps forward to face him. His gaze steeled, his expression changing from its slight worry to complete stillness.
"So, who are you? And more importantly, how do we trust you, Julius?"
The venom in my tone was more than intended, perhaps -- but it made its mark. His eyebrow twitched, and he took a step back.
"...I don't know if there's a way to prove I'm trustworthy. Not here."
Julius closed his eyes a moment -- the silence filled only with the gentle breaths of Cadence, evidently still unconscious.
"But I can tell you how I got here, and... What little I know about this hellscape."
--
...There's a blank sight awaiting me.
I feel a weight upon my eyes, but I can't tell what it is anymore.
And... It hurts. It hurts so dearly -- doesn't it?
There is an emptiness that was never supposed to be there.
There are holes that were never supposed to be there.
There is a gap in my body. A gap in 'me.' Something horribly missing.
There is no 'darkness' in my sight. To see darkness, one must have the eyes with which to see them.
There is only 'nothing' -- a cutoff of feed. The bottom of the endless abyss.
Only...
"...Cadence."
...A voice. It's harsh, and... Businesslike. Hardly stoic, however -- every word spoken is as though something is bubbling just underneath.
"...Kage...kiyo."
"...You're awake."
Their voice... is oddly emotive. That bubbling emotion no longer seems... angered, at all -- no rage lines their voice.
There's worry there.
Does that mean they've..?
"...Cadence. Can you... see?"
...I hazarded a light laugh, despite the obvious answer. That burning sensation in my eyes could answer it a thousand times over, but...
"...No. I can't... see, anymore. I guess that... wasn't reversible, huh."
...Her voice shakes slightly.
"...What is it that you see, then?"
...I feel my brow furrow. My head tilts to the side -- towards the sound of her voice.
"...Nothing. I don't see... a thing. I-I don't... have eyes, Kagekiyo."
...Her breathing falters slightly. Oddly, it's... easier to hear.
"...I should reword my sentence. Cadence -- what do you see of this world, now that you're lying here? Did you learn anything?"
...I try to think, but the burning in my eyes--
"I-I don't know! The only thing I saw were those damned stakes, and -- his rambling, it was--"
My voice, shuddering with more panic than intended, was brought to a hush -- forcing myself to stop, to try and put myself back together. To ignore that burning, the remaining pain, the thought of the splinters--
...A warmth graces my cheek. It's... a hand, most likely -- gently holding on to me, as though to aid in those attempts to ground me.
"...On second thought... Do not answer so quickly. Wait, and... speak later."
...After a moment, my mind let go. The burning drawl remained -- yet despite how loud, how all-encompassing such a feeling was, that gentle warmth formed an equal force, pushing back.
...Or maybe it was just something to use, to focus on something aside from the pain.
The sound of rustling -- the movement of cloth off a seat, the creaking of a wooden chair...
...In the silence, though lasting only seconds, it was hard to ignore the little things.
Only a step, or two steps -- each tap upon the floor, something resonating. Clearer. Not louder, perhaps, but... Easier to focus on. Clearer.
"...Will you let this stop you?"
There's a creaking upon the ground. A similar, gentler creak, on the bed I laid upon.
"Will you let this take you off the field, Cadence? We may continue our fight -- we will have to. Will you remain here -- and end your fight against the Genji?"
...A loaded question.
...And a question I feared my own answer to.
For the most part -- perhaps my answer would've been a resounding 'yes.'
This singularity, this world -- had pulled me in unwillingly, and had already stolen something irreplaceable to me.
My eyesight. Something I desperately needed to survive -- now, gone in an instant.
...Would I even be able to bake again? Without being able to see my actions -- could I ever continue that profession? Was it even realistic?
I was fighting for a world in which I didn't have to fight. A better world -- one where I was able to bake. Able to follow my dreams -- able to keep moving forwards.
...Was that even an option anymore?
Then -- what would even be left? Was I even useful on the battlefield, anyways? Certainly, I could aid in commanding the others, but...
...Losing this fight meant dying.
Winning this fight meant struggling to survive.
Neither option was preferable. In one, my dreams, my life were forfeit -- in the other, merely my dreams would scramble to dust.
...But compared between the two -- only one option made sense.
"...I'm still going to be on the front lines. I... will likely need to get my sight sorted... Via a mystic code, or something. But if I can, I will."
...There was a bit more movement -- more cloth, softly moving about as Kagekiyo moved slightly.
...Her hand moved from my cheek, to my shoulder -- the other, resting upon my other shoulder --
-- in a moment, I felt myself moving up, and forwards. She'd pulled me forwards 'til I stood up, then --
--...A more familiar warmth.
With something wrapped around me, my head landed upon cloth -- even like this, I could still feel the steel just underneath. The arms I could only presume were around me held me tightly, close enough to hear her calm breaths loud and clear.
"...That is what I desired to hear. I would be more worried if you accepted wholeheartedly."
"...You're sure? Wouldn't you want me to be all for killing the Genji?"
...After a moment, she chuckled softly. Her voice felt as though music to my ears -- its composed, powerful tone evident even as she remained relaxed, and in 'front.'
"...The Genji deserve only death, but no human enjoys the act of slaughter. I am aware that you greatly dislike fighting -- there is a reason I do so in your place, Cadence."
Her voice remained -- as I tried to steady my breaths, listening to her. It took a moment longer before I spoke -- before anything cohesive could come to mind.
"...Still, it's not like I don't want to end this Singularity, and take down the Genji. Q-Quite the opposite, I just..."
...The downsides were growing. With this first battle -- the Singularity had already taken something of me that no other Singularity had done successfully.
Was this even a pace I could maintain?
"...You were not made for war. And yet you still attempt to stand, despite yourself."
...She pulls away, for just one moment. I can hear... something, shifting -- a shimmering noise, of a sort -- before something is placed upon my eyes. Wrapped around my head.
"...You still wish to hold your blade against the Genji, despite your condition. That is worthy of praise, Cadence -- that you still wish to destroy them."
...When she pulls me back in, there isn't any steel, anymore. Nor even cloth. From the lack of armour, I can only assume she'd swapped to that garb she tended to wear as 'Ushiwakamaru-as-Kagekiyo,' rather than merely Kagekiyo. Every few seconds, I could feel her breathing -- even her heartbeat, calm as a gently-flowing river, sounded clearer than a bell.
...What had she wrapped around my head..?
"...You will not be alone in this battle, Cadence."
"...So long as you desire to kill the Genji," she repeated --
"-- You will never be alone."
--
"So, what exactly do you know?"
Sitting in the living room of my hotel room, just apart from Julius, the blue-haired man seemed as though getting to work on some small metal pin. Its specifics were unknown to me, but it seemed he was letting something flow into it -- presumably some sort of mana. 'A mystic code, then?'
"I don't know much," Julius responded, "but I know that I came here in search of the materials for a new invention. I was notified of some large discovery in this region, but... Looking back on it now, I don't remember what that was."
The man's steely gaze didn't so much as spare a glance my way. His focus seemed as though unbreakable -- his every action fine tuned, as though I were watching a robot dead-set on his task.
"What else do you remember? Like -- after you came here."
"Good question. Once I'd gotten here, I blacked out a few paces in. I... woke up not remembering my own name."
The man breathed out a slow sigh, his bluish-green eyes finally breaking from his gear piece to glance my way. Only for a moment, though.
"...Wait, really? It explains a bit... You also don't quite sound so showy as you did before."
"Because that thing wasn't me," Julius replied. "It was a being that took my body. I watched what it did like I was watching a TV flick -- I'm still not even sure what made me realize what was happening. Perhaps that woman and her spear."
"Morgan, you mean?"
The man glanced up to me, then back to his gear piece -- only to immediately stare back at me with a mildly shocked look.
"...So that 'Roadless Camelot' was..."
"Yeah, that was a Servant."
...There was a moment of silence -- before Julius cracked a slight smile.
"...So that's the sort of place this is. I reckon you're trying to put an end to whatever the hell caused that to happen, right?"
"Right. This place.. needs to be returned to normal. And you seem like you're a mage. I... am sorry to ask a favour after you had just recovered from... Whatever the hell had happened, but --"
...Certainly, this ask carried risk.
If Julius were in on this Singularity, asking for his help would surely kill them all.
But if Julius weren't in on it -- they'd have an ally. And any ally would help.
God forbid we'd have another incident where one of us was kidnapped -- purely because we weren't all in one place --
'I can't take any of us losing anything else, like Cadence has.'
...So, against my better judgement --
"--Will you please lend us a hand in fixing this?"
...And it took only a moment of deliberation, before the man nodded his approval.
"...Count me in. You got me out of that mess, and I'd like to save this place anyways."
"...That, and... Even if those actions weren't mine -- I'd rather make up for what that thing forced me to do."
...With that said, the man glanced back to the object he was working on -- his fingers returning to work, twisting the top of the object gently as though to stick something into place.
1: What’s your OC’s biggest insecurity and how would they react if someone pointed it out to them?
2: If your OC wants to buy a firearm, what it might be for?
3: Does your OC behave differently around different people, if so with whom and how?
4: Would your OC want to involve themselves in humanitarian work ? If yes, then for what? If not, then why not?
5: How would your OC generally react to someone being verbally abusive towards them for no apparent reason?
6: Does your OC have a realistic image of their own intelligence?
7: Does your OC have any irrational phobias?
8: How is/was your OC’s relationship with their parents?
9: Does your OC feel a pressure to achieve or are they content and calm with doing what they can at the moment?
10: Does your OC guard their emotions by being tough? If not how would they?
11: How would your OC react to hearing they’re adopted?
12: What is one of the most primary things your OC feels that is missing from their life?
13: What kind of situations does your OC avoid the most?
14: If your OC gets into a fight with their best friend, would they wait for their friend to make up with them, or would they try to make up with their friend?
15: Does your OC consider themselves a good person?
16: Is your OC good at giving others validation of their feelings and making them feel understood?
17: Does your OC suffer from any mental health issues?
18: What kind of intrapersonal values does your OC have? (values about their self, what makes them feel like a valid person)
19: What boosts your OC’s confidence the most?
20: Does your OC hurt others often unintentionally? If yes, how?
21: Does your OC hurt others often intentionally? If yes, how?
22: How does your OC usually show affection? Are they openly romantic or more restricted with their affectionate emotions?
23: Does your OC tend to hide something about their personality/essence when meeting new people? If yes, what?
24: How would your OC react if they got humiliated by someone in a group of people?
25: How would your OC process the grief caused by the death of a loved one?
26: What is the most intense thing your OC has been battling with?
27: Does your OC practise any kind of escapism? If yes, what kind?
28: How would your OC react if a bully stole their lunch money in high school?
29: How does your OC behave on the face of a conflict?
It was late as Val and Musashi made their way back to their room. The battle with Tomoe Gozen, Archer of Inferno, had not been so long that night gave way to dawn. They walked in silence, Val lost in her own head. Something about all of this was gnawing at her, leaving her unsettled.
The room they were staying in was on top of a tavern. It struck Val as odd that the tavern would be open this late into the night, but she was in no mood to climb through the window they had jumped out of, and she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She had intended to go upstairs and get back to bed, but Musashi hooked an arm over her shoulder.
“Ahh…..white sand, blue water, clear skies. Does it get any better than this?”
Ishtar took a long sip from her drink as she lounged on her beach chair, and Val couldn’t bring herself to disagree. It was beautiful, and the chance to relax and appreciate it with Ishtar was a blessing. Absentmindedly, the goddess waved a hand behind her towards the cabana bar, and an enterprising young man rushed to replace their drinks.
“Ah, thank you. Here, for your quick service.”
The boy looked in confusion at the sizable red gemstone in his hand. It was the strangest tip he had ever gotten, but these were strange guests, and he had been told to roll with it. Shrugging, he returned to the bar. At least it was the woman in sunglasses that paid in gems and not the two crazies with swords.
How there's two different 'hers,' who manage to manifest?
'...Or is there nothing to that, after all?'
There's a being out there -- a composite of four goddesses, combined into one form.
Or were they four goddesses who held with them a shared 'alter ego?'
Did it matter?
To the 'Caster,' who lived in a world far away --
-- in another 'world,' lived an Alter Ego.
-- --
Grudges held from the past never go away so easily.
The goddess said to even bring the strongest of gods to their knees, in tears --
-- a minor goddess whose domain proved strong enough to contain even her own superiors.
Tlazolteotl -- an outwardly flirty Servant, delighting in reducing others to blushing disasters and spending nights on end in delightful dance --
-- in the same stroke, a spiteful goddess who never lets go of a grudge she holds.
To value the pure of heart, as the goddess of filth -- a paradoxical existence, of being the patron goddess of the very thing she despises most. Tormenting those who break the rules of her Temazcal -- in the same stroke, granting those who follow a relaxing experience like none other.
Such a strange, counteractive existence is Tlazolteotl's.
And yet, she takes pride in it.
As the sole arbiter of justice over such things as adultery, she possesses great power in such a field. Believing gods are to set an example for the people, her strength has even encompassed other Divinities themselves, especially those of higher rank than herself.
A woman woefully tempting from the exterior, who turns and curses those adulterous fools who fall for her ploys with disease and disaster alike.
And yet, for those who don't so easily fall to those ploys -- her teasing turns friendly, keeping an eye on that person, deeming them a 'friend.' To those she trusts, she grows into a more caring figure, keeping a close eye on them to ensure they've kept themselves in good shape, and handle relationships in the proper way.
...And as for why she grew summoned here?
--
"...To find a Master I could rely on."
"A truthful, kind Master--"
--"A human."
...Someone...
Someone not divine.
Divinity had dragged their own name through the mud.
She watched the actions of another 'her,' the mistakes she made.
Yet she had not interacted with 'humanity' in some time --
--such a thing needed to be fixed.
...There was beauty in the foolish humanity of that young man.
His desire to move forward, and the terror holding him back -- the desire to live, yet the inability to thrive.
Strings that held him by his throat, forcing him to waltz to a tune he no longer knew, and yet--
--It was subtle.
In the time he spent baking.
In the tones of his shaking, terrified voice that cried out in anger against the opposition.
In every step he made against the will of those puppet's strings,
in every purposeful misstep that forced him on his knees, ruined that dance.
His own idea of rebelling against that world, the rage fueled by the disgraces of everything around him.
That the world owed it to him to be safe enough for him to be happy.
...It resonated with her.
It resonated, even from the Throne. It continued to resonate with every step in this dance she performed, even as these same strings threatened to tie her hands and force her to follow its lead --
--That rage against beings they shouldn't have had a chance against.
...Blinded, suffocated, brought to his knees, the man kept moving forward--
--for all his cowardice, his pathetic personality and his woeful existence, still holding close to his heart the very things considered 'pure.'
...'In that foolish blonde Master, there lay more divinity than even some gods themselves' --
-- such a conclusion was what she reached.
--
SKILLS
Steam's Delusion A+
Within the heavy steam, those unused to the moisture find themselves unable to even stand from the heat. Their minds fog -- as do their inhibitions.
(Inflict DEF Down (20-30%, 3 turns) and Burn (1000, 3 turns) on all foes).
The Fate of the Unfaithful EX
Within the heavy steam, Her word is law. Those who take her as their patron pay a hefty price.
(If target has Spreading Fire, user gains Debuff Success Rate Up (20-50%, 1 turn). Then, inflict probable Skill Seal (70-120%, 1 turn) and Probable NP Seal (20-50%, 2 turns) on target foe.
Purify the Lustless EX
Those who grow used to the heat -- those precious few who retain their wits -- are rewarded for their continued strength.
(Heal target ally (2000-2500HP) and grant all allies DEF Up (20-30%, 3 turns).)
Noble Phantasm
Temascal -- The Underworld's Purification, the Defilement of the Sinful
Steam clouds the battlefield, and obscures all in her path.
"Yes, those there -- aren't they sinful indeed..?"
A flick of her hand. Those of foolish wit find their eyes drawn to her -- shambling steps drawn forth.
"...Well, come, then ~~"
A gentle, enrapturing laugh, as the woman drops her hand to the ground --
"And fall to your knees."
As the weak collapse, coughing, shuddering --
--Those of better wit are restored anew.
(Inflict Spreading Fire (100-300%, increases with Overcharge, 3 turns) and Burn (1000, 3 turns) and DEF Down (30-50%, 3 turns) on all foes. Heal all allies (2000), and all allies gain DEF Up (30%, 3 turns).)
