bakerstreet | I don't remember the last time I posted this

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I don't remember the last time I posted this

THE AMNESIA MEME

Ah, amnesia. The old standby for soap operas, it usually involves a good knock on the head and a complete loss of memory. Ever wanted to do that to your character? Well, now's your chance.

1. Comment with your characters!
2. Others comment. Optionally, go to RNG and roll the scenario. (As to who gets knocked on the head, well, that's up to you!)
3. ???
4. PROFIT.

1. HEAD-ON COLLISION - ... whoops. It was an honest mistake, really! You didn't see that car/tree/post/person/whatever coming, but now you're stumbling out of the wreckage sans memory. Better ask for help.

2. WAIT, WHO ARE YOU? - Okay, so a while ago, you got into... something that caused you to lose your memory. Fortunately, you managed to get by and create a new identity for yourself. Unfortunately, someone new has just entered your life. Or should I say, someone who's a little too familiar...

3. RINSE AND REPEAT - Sigh. Really, this is just so inconvenient. You wake up everyday with no memory of who you are, and have to figure it out over the course of the day, only to fall asleep and have to do it all over again the next day. Good thing someone's there to help you out, right? And what's with all those post-its and notes?

4. THIS ROOM'S TOO WHITE - Welcome to the hospital. You've got an "Unknown" tag on your wrist, a healthy diet of bland hospital food, a steady trickle of doctors coming in to check up on you, and a TV, and nothing else. Looks like someone's coming to help you today, though! Here's to hoping they knew you before you lost your memory.

5. I'M SUPPOSED TO DO WHAT?! - Oh, crap. There's something only you can do right now -- that is, the you who didn't lose your memory, anyway. Better figure out a way out of this mess and how to control your strange abilities before it's too late.

6. FIGHTING FOR THE WRONG SIDE - Uh, oh. Looks like your enemies decided to take advantage of your confused state and convinced you that you're on their side. Here's to hoping your allies can get you back to yourself before you cause some serious damage.

7. JUST TOO TRAUMATIC - You just saw something that's so traumatic you lost your memory because of it. Unfortunately, right now, you have to remember it, or else something really bad happens. Hope you don't regret remembering this!

8. I DON'T WANT THIS - You've been living a peaceful, ordinary life, for a while. And you'd rather it stay that way, because you're not sure if you'd want to remember what went before. Unfortunately, something's coming, and the key to stopping it lies in your memories.

9. NO SUCH THING - Maybe you were a wizard, or a werewolf, or an angel, or a demon, or something else entirely before, or maybe you just knew about the masquerade. Sadly, you've been knocked on the head and now believe yourself to be a perfectly ordinary person. Magic? That doesn't exist, right? Anything can be explained with science, after all! Right?

10. I'M WHO?! - And who the hell are you? Basically, this is the wild card option! Combine one of the above or make up a new one or whatever you want! Go wild!

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Saber's capture came as a shock to them all, and perhaps time flowed differently in Caster's domain, for only three days had passed since then, during which no news came from the church, and no Master nor Servant had shown themselves to the others. Dealing with the magician had been a taxing effort, and these days of uneasy quiet had probably been spent recuperating, and rethinking their strategies.

Under orders Diarmuid goes to the Mion, to gather information as to Caster's whereabouts, but all he finds are remnants of a scene of carnage, and the sight of a familiar individual, blood-drenched but nevertheless still recognizable, leaves him stunned and, if he were to be honest, a little relieved.

"Saber!"

The voice--the sound of a voice besides his sent a pang of joy through her. There's someone else besides him here? Then panic. What if they were just like him? She takes up her sword, dropping into a deep stance despite how her hands trembled. Her left hand was still useless after all and what she had endured had left her weaker than she knew she should be.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Despite how much her stomach clenched in dread not an ounce of her nerves showed in her voice. If she showed she was afraid it'd only make him hurt her all the more. That's all she was sure of.

"-- what?"

Diarmuid's not sure what is more dreadfully puzzling, the open hostility in her stance or the questions she directs at him. He makes no sudden movements then, dropping his spears to the floor at his side and raising both hands in an effort not to appear as aggressive as she is perceiving him to be.

"Surely you jest, King of Knights. It is I, Lancer. You've been missing for days now, since you fell victim to Caster's sly trap."

She kept her stance, staring at him warily. That man had held no weapons as he.... as he....

Her head hurts just trying to think of it and she pushes the thought down. Better to focus on the opponent in front of her than of what she had just escaped. When he drops his weapons it takes a few moments for her to relax and stand upright, though her grip on the hilt of her sword is tight enough to make her knuckles go white.

"You know of that man?" she asks, pure venom and hatred in her voice. The man who had tormented her, hurt her, 'Gilles de Rais' whom his companion occasionally called 'Caster'. The one who kept calling her 'his Jeanne' despite her insistence she's not. She's not even as he cut into her heart and mind and insisted she was.

"What proof do I have this is not another trick of his? Or you're another insisting I'm 'Jeanne' when I'm not?" She wouldn't put it past him, after all. Was his death at her hands another illusion that would end in her being subjected to his knives again?

"I'm afraid I cannot offer the proof which you seek save for the reassurance that I am no illusion, although it would seem that much of what I say carries little weight at this time.

"However, know this: I would not persist in calling you by a name which is not your own. You are the legendary King of Knights, are you not? Monarch of Britain, wielder of the golden blade, summoned to participate in this Holy Grail War as Saber."

Even if he is unable to discern the exact extent of the damage Caster has inflicted upon her psyche, it certainly is bad enough from what he can see alone, and Diarmuid chooses his words carefully.

"I know not of the ordeals Caster has forced you to endure, yet it is clear that my identity to you is a mystery. You know me as Lancer, Diarmuid of the Knights of Fianna, and though we both may be participants in this battle, I bear no ill will toward you, and I mean you no harm."

He admits he can't offer her proof.

He admits it. Unlike that man who kept insisting, kept trying to prove it, and all she could do through it all was deny deny deny. This man, instead, makes no move to prove what he says. He says his piece and waits for her say. She may not be in a state where she can trust the truth of what he says, but his actions tell her he honestly means her no harm.

Doesn't mean she's going to let go of her sword.

"You will not attempt to force this name on me should I reject it?" she asks, "You will not use strange books and blades to sway my mind and force me to believe I know who you are?"

'What did he do to you?' Diarmuid wants dearly to ask, yet to do so would hardly be of any help to the situation, and he knows that whatever it was, it was terrible enough to thrust Saber into such a state of confusion. Reliving that terror at this point is the last thing she needs.

"I will not," he repeats truthfully, still keeping a respectful distance from the fair-haired king, "for it would be a violation of the code of a knight to resort to such means of coercion and trickery. Your memory, if it is to return, will do so in its own time. Such a thing cannot be encouraged by force."

"Very well," she says, bringing her sword in front of her and resting it on the ground, her hands resting atop the hilt. She looks him over, deciding she had no choice but to trust him. If she was to find that woman she desperately felt she needed to find and protect, then she at least had to ask someone. This man claimed to know her and was not forcing the subject. Surely it couldn't hurt to try trusting him?

"There is a woman I must go to. I regret I cannot recall much but her face and that I must--" likely failed, she believes, if she herself had been captured like she had "--that I need to protect her. She as white hair and always wears a smile. You wouldn't happen to know who she is?"

There is no mistaking who she's referring to, for there is only person who fits Saber's description.

"The woman you speak of is from the Einzbern family, I believe, and she is your Master. Fret not; the last I saw of her she was safe still, but that is the extent of what I know of her."

When Saber abandons for the time being her stance of aggression he is relieved, if only for the fact that she is placing trust in him, a person who is at this point a complete stranger. Diarmuid is aware that this is only the beginning, but it wouldn't do to rush things unnecessarily.

"So you don't know where she is?" she asks and is embarrassed to find her desperation starting to creep into her mannerisms. It is a start, yes, but some part of her had hoped she'd be able to find that woman and--she isn't quite sure what beyond that. This Lancer mentioned they were in a War, but allies. Perhaps she would fight in that or was meant to protect her Master from other participants.

"Tell me, then, what is this Holy Grail War of which you speak?" she asks. If they're meant to fight in it, then it would be best to know what she was getting into first. Especially if he would ultimately be her opponent in it.

"That is correct. I do not," he responds, with an apologetic shake of his head. "Where the Einzberns have retreated to after the destruction of their castle stronghold the last time is information I am not privy to.

"As for the Grail War, it is quite simple, really. We as Heroic Spirits are called forth from beyond the curtain of death to become champions for our Masters, and aim to ultimately win the Grail for those we swear fealty to, that our most heartfelt wish be granted. However, as in all battles, there can only be one victor."

"And that man was one of the other combatants? If so, you will be pleased to know he and his companion fell by my own blade not an hour before."

She refuses to go into detail about it, but at least she's finding it easier to trust him the more they talk.

"I will need to find a way to contact her. Perhaps I could...." It's then she looks down and holds out a part of her skirt a bit, looking down at the blood distastefully. As satisfying as cleaving Caster in two had been she knows she can't simply wander around soaked in blood that is beginning to dry and clot.

Her face colors. The only place she knows of she could clean up is the river itself.

"I need to bathe. Would you do me the favor of keeping watch while I do so?" Even she doesn't know how she keeps her voice so even.

Diarmuid lifts his eyebrows, impressed. Even with their (mostly) combined effort, defeating Caster had been impossible - and yet here in front of him stood the one woman who had cut him down single-handedly.

'-- while she's still handicapped,' the Irishman reminds himself, shifting a foot to lightly nudge at the golden spear lying in the grass. It comes as a surprise, and yet Diarmuid finds he would not expect anything less from the King of Knights, and looks ever more forward to their next duel.

But now he cannot expect her to wander this city in that state, and at Saber's request he nods, kneels slowly to retrieve his weapons, and turns away to give her the privacy she requires. He shouldn't be here; Caster is dead and that was all he needed to know, but Diarmuid will not allow himself to leave Saber here in this state, and so he stays.

It's amazing the things sheer and utter terror could get a person to do for the sake of getting away. She had been surprised when she realized both men were truly not breathing and was still in a state of disbelief she had managed it.

And once this man turns she heads for the bank of the river, carefully takes off her soiled clothing, and wades in. It's freezing and the shock of it helps clear her mind. This isn't another illusion. This isn't another desperate plea to "prove" she's someone she's not she is truly free.

She spends twenty minutes washing the blood from her skin and hair, then reaches for her dress to do the same to it. It might not be smart to wander around in wet clothing, but wet is better than bloodstained. Once she's through with that, she puts it back on, shivering from the cold--the wonderful wonderful cold--and calls to Diarmuid. "Thank you," she says, taking her sword in hand again.

"I.... I must confess. I don't know where to go from here. If you don't know where my Master is I know not who I could ask."

The more time passes the easier it gets to trust this man. He has not forced his beliefs about her upon her and he left her be during her bath. Asking for his help couldn't hurt. She would find a way to repay him for this kindness in the future.

Only when Saber calls to him does he turn back to face her again, and at her question he frowns, resting a knuckle against his lips in thought. Bringing her back with him would be out of the question, of course, but he obviously couldn't leave her here by herself, either.

"I apologize, for I too do not know where you should go from here. You once did, that is for certain, but now your memory isn't quite what it should be.

Is there nothing you can recall, besides your Master's face? A place, or a name?"

"I...." she pauses a moment, trying to think, trying to push back the pain and fear. Now that her mind is clearer and there's more distance from that horror she went through it's easier to think than to simply react.

A name leaps out as her as she tries to reach into that blankness stretching out before the pain had started.

"Emiya?" she says, sounding out the name.

"Emiya," Diarmuid repeats, finding it vaguely familiar. He has heard the name before, in passing, but -- wait -

"That is the other one you call Master. Do you feel any connection with either of these names? Einzbern, or Emiya?"

"How could I have two Masters?" she asks, "But they seem.... I don't know. They feel connected somehow. If what I can remember is right, then Emiya might be my Master's husband?" As she talks it through, more bits and pieces seem to fill it in.

"Yes, he wanted me to protect her above all else during the War and to consider her my primary Master due to it."

She runs a hand through her wet hair, searching her mind for more. It's hard to tell if that's true or not, but when Einzbern's face had been all she'd been able to hold on to she finds it's easier to accept things related to the woman with the cheerful smile.

"I'm not sure I can confirm that, as I'm unaware of it myself - but if it is what your heart tells you, then it is probably true.

"Can you sense their presence, then? Anywhere at all, in this city?"

They as Servants had, after all, an almost unbreakable bond with those they avowed as Masters. If Saber could remember who they were, then perhaps she would also come to recall where they last were together, or at least sense their whereabouts so she could go to them.

"I.... I do not know." Yet she closes her eyes, tries to.

Then opens one to look up at him, she looks as embarrassed as she feels having to ask this of him. "How do I know if I'm sensing them and not something else? All I could sense back there was.... was his presence while he...."

She squeezes her eyes shut. Don't think about it. The priority right now was finding her Master, nothing more.

"How will I tell their presence from anyone else's?"

It is difficult for Diarmuid to hold back a smile then, though it is gentle one, devoid of any mockery, and his response comes quickly.

"Servants have a bond with Masters that is unlike any other, Saber. I cannot tell you what it is like exactly, as I'm sure it differs among all of us, but it certainly would be the furthest from what you felt while in Caster's domain. You cared for them, did you not? Perhaps if you focused on those feelings, your heart would lead you to them.

If not, then a short rest might be what you need. You've been through much."

"I will try then."

She closes her eyes again, clasps her hands over her chest, and tries to reach out. The image of that woman with white hair, smiling, laughing, holding out her hand to her is perfectly clear in her mind. This woman had not just been her Master, but her friend. Even if Emiya had not asked her to protect her above anything else, Saber already knows she would in a heartbeat.

There's.... a feeling. A warm feeling in the distance. Saber looks up in that direction, takes up her sword again.

"That way, I think." She sets off, finding herself hoping Lancer would accompany her.

He's silent as Saber tries again, but her subsequent reaction is so sudden he's startled, just a little, and before he can make any move to respond she's already started off in one direction.

Lancer understands that while he remains here in the general vicinity of the Mion he could, by a stretch, reason that he was still following his orders. While accompanying Saber would not be a direct violation of it, he doubts his Master will be pleased to find him aiding another Servant like this. However, to leave her to her own devices at such a vulnerable moment is a risk Lancer is not willing to take.

There is something else they have to take care of before entering the city proper, however.

"Wait, Saber!"

Saber is silent as she turns back to Lancer, a startled look on her own face at being called back like that. Can he not keep up with her? Had she done something wrong? It would be easy to do something foolish with her not being entirely certain of her situation, but she needs to follow this feelings. Needs to. She is tired of second guessing what she knows and doesn't know and just wants something concrete.

"Is something the matter, Lancer?"

Vaguely, she's aware she might look like a drowned rat after her bath and it certainly is chilly out. She runs a hand along her arm to get some heat back into her body.

Unable to keep up? Far from it. Lancer catches up quickly, long strides taking him to her side.

"You're drenched from head to toe," he reminds her, gently. "And for us both to walk among the citizenry the way we are now would call much unnecessary attention to ourselves."

I don't remember the last time I posted this

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omg that icon so moe u/////u also excuse the microtag this time, sorry!

I'll use it again as punishment for the microtag!

oh no then i might end up giving you microtags all the way at this rate because moeeee saberchan

And now I'm tempted to have them find bitty!Shirou by accident for lulz.

lmfajks HAHA AWWW but his name isn't emiya yet during HF4 is it?

Nope. It's not. Hence it being so funny.

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