THG: 3.4 Don Texas

Preface

Apology chapter. I'll remember to restrict to weavers... someday...

Don Texas 3.4

Shirou Emiya

“Hi, I’m Vista,” Missy Biron said as she skipped into the lobby, though I wasn’t supposed to know her by her civilian name. John was right; she was positively adorable with Caliburn hanging off her hip. I’d told them that I wanted to be a hero and they were quick to schedule a joint patrol. Given that John was “sponsoring” me, there was only one person they could send. “You’re Magus Killer, right? Funny name.”

“Shirou, Shirou Emiya,” I said with a sigh. “‘Magus Killer’ was my father.”

She scrunched up her nose. “That doesn’t sound like a very heroic name.”

“I suppose not, but he saved me and adopted me. He is the one who inspired me to become a hero, and isn’t that what really matters? A hero is someone who saves lives, someone who inspires, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But what’s with this ‘Possibly Satan’ business I keep hearing about?”

I sighed. “It’s an inside joke, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright. Say, you have all the same powers as John, right? Like, you make legendary swords?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“And you’re a hero?”

“That’s what I said,” I replied easily.

“So… Where’s your costume? I mean, John doesn’t have one because he’s John, but you actually want to be a hero, right?”

“I do, one sec.”

I’d had a bit of time to think about what I wanted to wear. I remembered Archer’s black outfit and crimson jacket, but I’d really rather not. He was the corruption of everything I stood for, a twisted mirror of myself.

Instead, I opted to copy the most heroic person I knew. Artoria’s armor settled comfortably over my clothes. It wasn’t a Noble Phantasm in and of itself, simply extremely well-made, so I had no trouble projecting it even if it wasn’t a sword. And, given Artoria’s lack of feminine curves, I didn’t need to alter much to the design.

“Woah, that’s so cool,” the little girl gasped. “But why does it look familiar?”

“Because it belonged to King Arthur. John’s probably shown you a few pictures,” I said with a ghost of a smile. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“What? No! Get back here! Tell me more!”

I chuckled as I left the building. I could see why John liked messing with Missy so much. She really was adorable.

X

John Soprano

The day had come. Noelle had yet to decide on a “look.” Shirou had quickly gotten bored of the PRT’s restrictions. Mars was doing her level best to learn how to make simple dishes, none of them relating to mashed potatoes. Time marched on and the First Holy Grill War had arrived.

One Saturday afternoon, I set up shop in the Brockton Bay College gymnasium, by which I meant I showed up, asked if anyone else had the room, then took it over. I wished up seven identical kitchenettes and spread them out across the room. At one end of the gym, I placed three tables and chairs for us judges.

“Ah, umm…” I heard someone mutter behind me.

I conjured a set of seven, identical kitchen knives and turned to my guest. She was a pretty redhead who stood a head shorter than me, presumably a student. She wore a comfy looking lime-green jacket, olive shirt, and jeans. Around her neck was a nametag I couldn’t be bothered to read.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“A-Are you supposed to be here?”

“I mean, no one’s stopped me? That’s permission, right?” I said with a winning smile. “What’s your name, red?”

“Anne… and I don’t think that counts.”

“Of course it does. If no one tells you ‘no,’ it obviously means ‘go ahead.’”

“Never meet your heroes,” she muttered. “Look, do you have permission to be here or not?”

“I’m just joking; I do. Feel free to check with the administrative office.”

“I’m from the admin office.”

“Really? I mean, could be that no one told you yet because I only decided on using the gym today,” I said.

“There are rules for renting out the gym to other parties, you know.”

“Strange. I just slipped some guy a bar of gold. I think his name was Mike? Mitch? I can’t remember but he said it’d be fine.”

“Fucking Michael,” Anne grumbled. “Fine, whatever, sure, bribe my boss.”

“Did you need the space?”

“No, it’s fine. Just surprised is all. My friends sometimes come here to play volleyball when class is out and the gym’s free so I was wondering what all the noise was about. Actually, what is this about?”

“The First Holy Grill War,” I said, spreading my arms dramatically.

She stared at me blankly, like I was a particularly dim child. Then, with the driest, deadpan voice, she said, “Wow, gee golly, that sounds sooo impressive.”

I chose to ignore her sarcasm. “I know, right?”

“So impressive that your venue of choice is a college gymnasium.”

“Hey, we all start somewhere. I mean, my first thought was to Saint Graph Semiramis and conjure the Garden of Babylon for this, but the Japanese harem protagonist in my head told me that would be a stupid idea and incredibly inconvenient for the city.”

“The… Japanese… what now?”

“Harem protagonist. You know, the kind of pretty boy who gets girls falling for him for seemingly zero reason?”

“You have a…” She visibly shook her head. “Never mind, I’m not your shrink.”

“He’s also Possibly Satan if that helps,” I said, unrepentant of the migraine I was obviously giving her. “He said I had to find a more sensible venue if I wanted him to be one of the judges.”

“Let me get this straight. You have a voice in your head.”

“Had, past tense.”

“And this person is both a Japanese harem protagonist and the devil.” She bulldozed on. From her perspective, I imagined it was like watching a train crash into a bridge full of school buses. She was morbidly curious now.

“I mean, Shirou’s not really Satan. That’s Archer, who’s an alternate future version of Shirou who signed his soul away to the Will of Humanity.”

“Wait, hold on. Someone else owns the devil’s soul?”

“Yup, and that person is the collective will of the human race. Her name is Alaya. The devil is owned by humanity. If you want to get down to the nitty gritty, it’s the collective human spirit that really holds the capacity for ultimate evil. See?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, an allegorical lecture on human nature from the Endslayer wasn’t what I expected when I woke up this morning…”

I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Who says I was being allegorical?”

“You’re a very confusing man, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. The funny part of it all is that I usually don’t lie, like at all. Lying implies that I require deceit to achieve my objectives, and… I don’t. If you’re confused, that’s because the truth confuses you.” I conjured several sets of pots and pans and handed them to her. “Since you’re here, mind putting these on each cooking station?”

“You know what? Sure, why not? But the Holy Grill War is the thing where you give away a magic weapon, right?”

“Yeah. I’m giving away Galantine, the sword of Sir Gawain.”

“And you think the best way to do this is through a cooking contest?”

“Of course! What other method is there?”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve been told,” I repeated.

“What are they even supposed to make here?”

“Mashed potatoes. Each contestant will make a plate of mashed potatoes. The three judges will then taste and vote, rating each dish from one to ten.”

“And the best one gets the sword? What does cooking have to do with knighthood anyway?”

“The most Gawain-like mashed potato dish gets the sword,” I corrected, nodding sagely. “And for the record, cooking has quite a lot in common with knighthood. Ask King Arthur: Hunger is the enemy.”

“Whatever. Mind signing something? You know, for my little sister.”

“Not for yourself?” I asked, mostly teasing.

“I’ve met you. The shine’s worn off.”

“Ouch, but fair.” I wished up a ten gallon hat. A man had to stay on-brand. “Who should I make this out to?”

“Emma.”

“Hold on… Ginger… Anne… Emma… Barnes?”

“How did you–Do you know our dad? You know, for legal stuff.”

“Please, do I look like I’d need a divorce attorney?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“You're a very mean young lady, but fair enough. Actually, I know her because her best friend, Sophia Hess, is Shadow Stalker.”

“You’re not supposed to out Wards!” She recoiled. I had no idea why people were surprised by my disregard for the unwritten rules by now.

“Legally, yeah, sure, but it’s not like you’re going to do anything with the information,” I said with a shrug. “And honestly? Sophia deserves to get her ass kicked for all the shit she’s been getting up to. I mean, I wouldn’t bother, but I might sic Possibly Satan on her. She’s exactly the kind of so-called hero that Shirou would happily kick the shit out of.”

“Wait, Shirou’s a real person?”

I looked at her in confusion. “Yes? Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“You started talking about a voice in your head, moved on to calling him Possibly Satan,’ and then turned it into some weird allegory for human nature and the capacity for evil!”

“Huh… Yeah, I guess that does sound rather unbelievable, doesn’t it? But I ended by saying I seldom lie and that if you’re confused, that’s because the truth is confusing. Anyway, Shirou was a voice in my head. He’s not now. He has his own body and is working as an independent hero.”

“Oh… Wait, is he Magus Killer? He’s the new hero that’s been patrolling lately. Magus Killer is… a projection?”

“Yup, that’s Shirou. He really doesn’t mind if you call him by his real name. And he’s not a projection, silly. Shirou’s Possibly Satan.”

“I… I honestly have no idea what to say to you.”

“Then don’t. That’s life, Anne. You’re not required to respond to every little thing. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is let it wash off your back, like a duck.”

“I get it. Do you enjoy telling people potentially life-altering secrets?”

“Oh, absolutely. People like to say words are wind and that talk is cheap, but the truth is, the right words can cut just as deeply as knives. Just ask Taylor.”

“Who? Wait, Emma’s best friend?”

“Yup. Ever since Emma joined up with Sophia, she’s been conducting a nonstop bullying campaign. Your sister is a bit of a two-faced rat. Mind, a very pretty rat, but still a rat.”

“I… Why are you telling me this?”

“Why not? I mean, it’s not like you’re named after Taylor’s own mother or anything. Annette Rose Hebert, right? The woman who helped raise you and Emma like her own daughters? The woman who taught you here at this very school maybe? I’m not going to tell you what to do with this information, Anne.”

“I-I need to think.”

“Sure, you do that.”

X

Missy Biron

I sat with John and Shirou at the front of the gymnasium, watching as the competitors filed in. We weren’t the only ones here of course. Though John hadn’t announced anything, news spread by word of mouth and the stands were absolutely packed.

The cooking contest would take place on the basketball courts and the gym could easily house a few hundred people. Things got rowdy for a while, until John threatened to stuff the lot of them into barbie dolls. Not exactly heroic, but it was the single fastest I’d ever heard a crowd pipe down. After that, Laserdream of New Wave, who I was pretty sure was a student here, flew circles around the gym to keep order.

None of the competitors looked surprised to find seven, fully stocked kitchens, but each seemed to have a slightly different reaction to it all.

First came Mars, who wasn’t even in a costume. She wore a cute, beige jacket and pink t-shirt with a pair of ripped skinny jeans. If I didn’t know better, she looked like she ought to be going to class, not competing for the “Sword of Revolving Victory.”

Then again, that was probably her goal. On one hand, this wasn’t more pointless fighting and she did enjoy learning to cook from John. On the other hand, she’d been roped into this and no doubt chalked this up as yet another of John’s silly antics.

She didn’t even look at Galatine, which occupied pride of place in front of us on a golden dais that the college most definitely didn’t have before. As gorgeous as the sword looked, she’d said multiple times how little she wanted yet another weapon of mass destruction. I expected her to make a token effort, probably make a latke or baked potato instead of mashed and get herself disqualified.

Second was Gallant, the other Brockton Bay competitor. I couldn’t see his face through his helmet but he’d said he felt honored to be chosen. He walked alongside Armsmaster, who probably added a potato peeler to Gallant’s armor or something.

I was excited to taste Gallant’s cooking. And, there was even the possibility that he’d win. He’d be the Gawain to my Arthur!

I felt my face flush at that. Shirou and John said Arthur was actually Artoria, that she hid her gender to rule as king. D-Did she ever… have feelings for any of her knights? It wasn’t like medieval knights had human resources so no one would have said anything about workplace relationships, right?

Then came Legend. He was the first from out of the city to arrive, probably because flying in from New York took him like four seconds.

He strolled in rather than float, refusing to put on any airs at all. He stared reproachfully at John. John did shoot an arrow through the Protectorate HQ building. He wasn’t truly interested in the sword either, but probably felt the need to participate for fear of who else John might pick to make up the numbers. 

Fourth was Narwhal, one of the few heroes who had as big a following as Legend himself. Given her clothing choices and foot-long horn made of overlapping fore fields, she needed no introduction.

She stalked into the room like she expected the audience to stand up and do a military salute. Not in an “arrogant, army blowhard” kind of way either, but in a way that somehow made her seem both authoritative yet personable. She was the leader of the Guild and had loads of experience on international missions.

Numbers five and six came together but I didn’t recognize them. One, a woman in light gray and ash-white, looked familiar. She was a tall blonde who had a taciturn set to her jaw and stared at the many cameras distastefully.

The other was Mouse Protector, the self-styled Biggest Cheese. She was easily to recognize. She dressed in a knight’s armor, with a longsword and shield in hand. Her helmet had a set of large, round mouse ears, not unlike Mickey Mouse.

She was famous for being a part of the first Wards team alongside Miss Militia. Though she left the Protectorate to go indie, she was one of the major success stories, a hero who was both charismatic and effective.

“Cinereal of the Atlanta Protectorate,” John said, pointing to the ash-white woman. That made sense. Now that he named her, I remembered seeing posters of her as one of the ten iconic heroes in the Protectorate. She was supposed to be a real no-nonsense, tough on crime type.

“Huh. Who’s number seven then?”

“Chevalier. I think Strider told me he’d be able to pick him up on time.”

Sure enough, the space below the basketball net twisted for a moment before Strier and Chevalier popped into existence. Strider looked like someone straight out of an old-timey postcard. He had a conductor’s outfit and cap and carried around a little, wheeled luggage.

By contrast, Chevalier looked like he was born to use Galatine. He was tall, square-jawed, and dressed to the nines in full plate. His trademark cannonblade hung on his back, long enough to almost scrape the ground even at a diagonal slant. He looked like a paladin from a fantasy steampunk game.

Looking at all these powerful, experienced heroes, I was once again very happy this wasn’t a fighting tournament. Gallant would have zero chance otherwise.

“I don’t get it,” I muttered. “Why would Chevalier want Galatine anyway? His cannonblade is fine as-is.”

“You can never have too many swords,” Shirou said from John’s other side. “You never know when you might need a spare Noble Phantasm.”

“Exactly. I mean, he’s never going to be able to use his power on Galatine, but a buster sword like his and a longsword like Galatine are two very different weapons. He should be fine carrying both if he wins.”

“So just bring out Galatine for the super destructive stuff?” I asked. “That feels like a bit of a waste.”

“Again, you can never have enough swords. Besides, I might give him the Saint Graph on top of Galatine. You know, teach him Gawain’s swordsmanship while I’m at it.”

“Wait, you can implant knowledge in people?”

“Of course. Why are you surprised?”

“I… So I didn’t need to train my butt off?”

“Don’t be silly. Neither Shirou nor I would ever allow you to cheat yourself to power.”

“That’s so unfair! You probably just like hitting me with a bamboo sword,” I said, totally not pouting.

“Oh, definitely,” he replied with an unashamed grin. Apparently, child abuse was alright in his book. “That said, Saint Graphs are taxing on the soul. Think of your soul like a sheet of paper, okay? It’s got everything that makes you, you, written on it.”

“Okay, I’m with you.”

“A Saint Graph temporarily overwrites that with a sheet of paper for Gawain, or any other Heroic Spirit. I mean, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but the analogy is sound enough.”

“So you… master yourself…? That sounds awful!”

“Eh, it’s not that bad,” John shrugged. “You might take on aspects of the Heroic Spirit in question however, such as their loyalty to a certain cause. You can ignore those urges, but you’ll always fight better when you and your spirit are on the same page.”

“John,” I said carefully, trying not to panic. “Master effects are huge. There’s a reason they have such a bad rap.”

“It’s completely optional. Chev, or whoever wins, doesn’t need to activate the Saint Graph. They’ll just have it as a last resort option.”

“Okay, that’s… better…”

“Still want a Saint Graph of Artoria?”

“No thanks. I mean, I look up to her, but I don’t want to be her, you know? I want to be Vista.”

“Good. I’ll include an activation phrase for it for ease of use if they accept.”

“Is it going to be something stupid?”

“Probably.”

“Can I come up with one?”

“You can’t make Gallant swear he’ll love you forever to learn Gawain’s sword skills.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Sure, kid, sure. Well, it’s about time we got started, don’t you think?”

“It’s your show… whatever the hell this is…”

John stood and clapped. The noise rang out like a thunderclap, silencing everyone in the room. He spread out his arms in welcome, getting a round of cheers from the audience. They were mostly college kids and locals, though I spotted more than one reporter. I thought I saw a glint of gold floating around somewhere so Leet probably snuck his snitch inside as well.

Lucky fools, they only knew him as the man who killed an endbringer. Ignorance was truly bliss sometimes.

“Welcome, though I have no idea why the hell most of you are here,” he began in his typical devil may care style. “If you’re looking for a grand showdown, you’re going to be horribly disappointed. As you’ve probably figured out, the First Holy Grill War is a cooking contest.

“The rules are simple. You seven need to make a plate of mashed potatoes. You can use your powers if you think it’ll help. You can use anything you’re currently carrying on your person if you think it’ll help. No, you may not access the internet.

“And just for fun,” he walked over and pulled a redhead college girl to her feet. “She is the only other person who is allowed onto the kitchen area. She cannot interfere with cooking but may ask them any questions to satisfy PHO or whatever. Well? Get to it.”

That was it. That lackluster speech was all he had to say about the matter. As the competitors started cooking, I wondered at how my life had changed. Things were weird now.

In just a single month, I became a hero as famous as Eidolon. I cut a tidal wave in half. And the most important thing I’d do, maybe for the rest of my life, was this, judge a cooking contest and help decide who’d wield Galatine.

The director said it should go to Legend or Chevalier, probably something Chief Director Costa-Brown decided, but I really wanted Gallant to have it. In the end, I was only one of three votes.

“So what does ‘Gawain-like’ mean anyway?” I asked nonchalantly. Knowing John, it almost certainly wasn’t the best tasting. “Like, medieval cooking techniques?”

He smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Gawain-like means a dish that Gawain himself would have made. Obvious, right?”

“Right… Shirou?”

The redheaded hero shrugged helplessly. “I can’t tell you, sorry. He made me sign a geas.”

“What? How come I’m the only judge who doesn’t know?”

“Because you’re the only judge who’d rig the contest for Gallant if you could,” John replied. “Just enjoy the seven styles of mashed potatoes. Or really, six, since Mars will probably do something else.”

So, with nothing else to do, I watched and waited and did not pout.

Author’s Note

John remains an emotionally manipulative person. I mean, he did the same thing at the bank so you really shouldn’t be surprised. He really enjoys throwing truth bombs at people to knock them off guard.

Mars is annoyed. Anne is confused. Vista is mooning for Gallant. I have no idea why Anne Barnes became the character I pulled into this either. I mean, she’s one of the few college students we know about and I’ve been told I simp too hard for Sabah and Crystal so it just kinda happened.