FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 37: Reflections on Musing

....

She and Chrysaor sat there for some moments, both waiting for the other to finally say something. For Monica, this was a test of patience, as she slowly waited for him to elaborate on all the various implications he had presented so far, but he was far too stubborn for that. He sat hunched over with his hand curled around his chin, somber eyes focused on some invisible object as he lost himself in thought. She nearly gave up on him then, walking away to get out of the previous day's clothes, to take a refreshing shower, or perhaps a bath, that would wash the sweat and oil out of her unkempt hair, but there was one last question, one last attempt at answers, one more topic that was too pressing to put off:

"With all that being said..."

He looked up for the first time in a while, his expression defining a clear aversion to whatever she'd say next. He wanted this conversation to be over, or maybe he was waiting for something else?

"-If we do find Assassin again, what will we do? You say you won't turn into a sword again, so what are our options if not that?"

"Ah. Good question." The sadness in his eyes gave way to a sharp focus, "I think revealing her True Name will be enough to scare her off."

"Okay- Wait, what?"

A mischievous, even malicious smirk, uncharacteristic of his normally gentle demeanor, crawled onto his face, "A True Name is the blade every Servant keeps sheathed, the source of their strength, and their weakness. That's why I had you call me- what was it?"

"-Chris?"

"Ah- that. A Servant, you see, becomes stronger due to their legend, but their legend- their name- can just as easily be used against them. They gain powers for each success, and weaknesses from each failure, and everyone fails at least once-" The malice in his eyes shined with the morning light, "Everyone dies."

She could only watch with amazement as Chrysaor showed his devious, scheming side, like a child planning a prank. She'd never seen him so confident.

He stood up and began walking towards the other side of the room, "A Servant's death is their key weakness most of the time, so just letting them know that you know their history, their powers and their death is usually enough in the way of blackmail."

"So, you know who Assassin is? How?" She desperately tried to put the puzzle pieces together in her head, before noticing what Chrysaor was after. On the table in the corner of the living area was- her laptop? It was off now but open, showing obvious and recent use. Around it was scattered pieces of printer paper, but she couldn't make out what was on them from where she was... were they sketches?

He grabbed a sheet of paper, examined it closely, and then began back towards her, "I'm not entirely sure, but I only need you to look at this."

He walked around to the other side of the coffee table and lowered himself to the floor before placing the sheet of paper on the table towards her. On it was a picture-perfect sketch of Assassin: her river-stone smooth skin, her large, sheepish eyes and equally large, downward facing ears. Her curly white hair, and her small but perfect figure, beautiful in her compact curvaceousness. There were two key differences, however. The first and most obvious was her hair. The Assassin she knew had short-cut hair that clung to the sides of her head, but the one in the sketch had long hair that reached her waist. Her outfit was different as well. Rather than the complicated sash-coat and bikini bottom, it was a simpler two-piece with a lace top and a short skirt.

She looked back up at Chrysaor, unable to contain her surprise, "How- This is amazing! I didn't realize you could draw this well!"

He seemed to ignore the praise, "It wasn't really drawing- it was remembering. But this is Assassin, isn't it?"