FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 68: Strange Fellows

2:10 am, Monica's Apartment, Glyfada

Chrysaor, as quietly and gently as he could for fear of waking Assassin's sleeping Master on the couch behind him, slipped through the balcony door to greet his new companion.

Lancer, Pigsy, sat atop the railing with surprising balance. Hit hat was removed, revealing a tuft of bristly brown hair poking from his skull like a mushroom growing under shade. He gave a mock salute much like the one he had given earlier, but with the opposite hand. His primary arm, his right, was preoccupied with a blue can that wafted with a scent he didn't recognize. Looking to his left at the solitary table and chair, he saw similar cans bound together with plastic, one slot currently missing.

"Yo."

Chrysaor gave Lancer a suspicious glance, "Yes? Was there a reason you called me out here?"

Pigsy huffed, "Whoeeh. Don't you ever take the stick outta yer ass? -oink- I just want to hang out for a bit..." He added with a slight blush, "Unless ya think yer lady's bed was getting cold, of course."

His eyes rolled with a particularly grating sound, "I don't know what you're trying to imply, and I don't think I want to."

"Whatever. Just grab a drink already -oink-."

Content to take his mind off things for a while, and having nothing else to do, Saber actually did help himself to one of the cans, "What is this anyway? It smells like alcohol."

"Ugh." The force of his frustration nearly sent him toppling off his precarious seat, "I wish -oink-. This stuff's so watered down that it hardly counts as booze at all. 'Course, that also means you've got no reason to turn it down, other than the taste."

"I suppose so," He pulled the tab with a satisfying click, and the thought which had been scratching at his mind finally made itself known, "Where did you get these anyway? I don't remember them being in the fridge."

"Oh. That." He shrugged, "I borrowed them from the lady downstairs."

He spoke without anger, only frustration, "You broke into someone else's home?"

At this point, nothing from Lancer would've surprised him, all except for a coherent thought.

"Not my fault she failed to think that someone might come in from a second-story balcony -oink-. Besides, you didn't see her fridge. Believe me when I say that these won't be missed. If anything, I did her a favor."

He took a large swig to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make.

"Were you really that desperate for alcohol?"

Chrysaor, never a man of the world in any sense of the word, could never understand the appeal of things like alcohol. In his inhumanly long life, he was only ever drunk once, and he remembered that night with particular regret and displeasure.

Pigsy shrugged, "Look, man. I haven't had any booze since I've been summoned. Heping never kept any in the room -oink-, and didn't want me having any either. I woulda done something like this before, but I wanted to be with her in case..." He trailed off, "Yeah..."

Lancer took another sip.

Saber took one as well. It was sweeter than wine, but lacking in flavor or character, and, as Lancer himself had said, was not particularly alcoholic to begin with. But, with all the appropriate critiques considered, it still seemed to him that the strange and slightly distasteful combination of sweet-sour bitterness suited the clammy, foggy-rain night perfectly, and so he continued to nurse his drink slowly but thoughtfully, as one normally would with a far better draft.