7:35 am, The Alghul Villa
Aisha Alghul sat upright on her bed, barely awake and half-delirious. As she worked to push the hangover-like headache from her mind, there were a few things she noticed in turn.
First, she was in her bedroom, on her bed, no surprise there.
Second, to her surprise, she was naked. More accurately, she was in her underwear; deep garnet lace. She did wear underwear to bed, but always under her pajamas, which were nowhere to be immediately found; likely still in her dresser.
Thirdly, oddly, she was ON her bed, that is, on top of the covers and the blankets, rather than under them. The bed was mostly made, but the indention in the covers indicated restlessness. Wrinkles across them revealed a rather simple story: she had been kicking and rolling in her sleep.
Finally, and related to the previous observation, she was covered in a cold sweat, and likely had been for a long time, if the dampness of the bedspread was any indication.
Combined, it told an odd story that she couldn't quite make sense of.
She must've gotten drunk, right? But that wouldn't explain the cold sweat and restlessness. The only conclusion is that she must've done harder drugs, but why would she ever do that? Her body is a temple, and she'd never disgrace herself in such a way under normal circumstances. Then there was her sleeping arrangement. Somewhere along the line, she either undressed or was undressed. This would indicate some form of sexual encounter, but then why was she dressed at all? Wouldn't she be wholly naked if that were the case? Perhaps an encounter was attempted, or maybe some other fringe scenario led her here?
Her memory offered no answers, in fact, she couldn't quite remember anything. She knew things, she remembered her identity, her history, herself in all its aspects, but whenever the time came for true recollection, any piece of information which required reconstruction, the pounding in her head would swell, effectively cutting off her memories.
She slid over to the side of the bed, pushing herself off.
-She nearly fell. Her legs felt weak. She felt sick. Her body was unnaturally hot, but it was more than that. She felt violated. She felt as if there were worms crawling through her veins, as if her blood had been replaced with viscous ooze. Her heart shuddered in its place, and her body was riddled with shivers and trembling.
'It must be anxiety, or maybe another side effect.'
The inability to retrieve her memories, her literal and metaphorical nakedness; there were few things she hated more than feeling vulnerable. The questions that swam through the mind paired with the physical sickness sent every part of her being into a state of panic, but there was nothing to fear. Anxiety filled her heart and soul even as she stood, alone, in her room, where no danger could come to her. Her hands instinctively moved to her opposite shoulders, covering her breasts, grasping at some feeble sense of security as she began to move to the bathroom.
She opened the door slowly, scanning the room from behind the door lest someone else be there.
'Wait, who?'
She was alone wasn't she? She had this whole cabin to herself, and had taken great measures so that even those within her organization didn't know her address. So who?
'Caster.'
How could she have forgotten Caster? Even with her apparent amnesia, he was such a major aspect of her life, it seemed impossible to forget him, but even now her headache was swelling, and her image of him was blurred and incoherent, like all her memories.
She walked slowly into the bathroom, even going so far as to lock the door behind her, and, crossing the bathroom, locking the hallway door as well. She wasn't sure why, but the pressure in her chest wouldn't leave her; she felt like a mouse in a cage, or a tiger in a zoo. Like the walls, the ceiling, the floor, were all watching with serpent eyes. She felt as if each step were wholly futile, as if doom waited for her just outside her door, but was already beginning to slip through the cracks.
She kept staring at the door, and each second it seemed to grow and twist into something increasingly malevolent, as if her subconscious mind were yelling in her ear, but the words wouldn't come through.
She shook her head violently, her fingers clawing at her hair, a scream beginning to build, but held at bay by a dam of clenched teeth and breath. She felt as if she were going insane as she stumbled back from the door, her fingers digging into her flesh, all the while the pain in her head pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding.
Pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding.
She did her best to calm herself, the cold sweat beginning to puddle at her feet. Whatever drugs or... whatever happened, the side effects were still present clearly. Dissociation, delusion, cold sweat, tremors, headache and tenseness in the muscles.... something was wrong with her body. For the moment, her body, even her mind potentially, couldn't be called her own. There was something foreign in her, but she couldn't be sure what that was.
She did her best, hand on her chest, to calm herself, to quell the anxiety. Her neurochemicals must be imbalanced in some way. Oh well, she had medicine for that, some in the bathroom counter in fact.
She was standing in the center of the bathroom now. She stood facing the hallway door, assuring herself that she was safe, that everything was fine. And so, she moved to the bathroom counter, turning around to the other wall.
It was grotesque.
A man stood there. He wore brown robes and a white fez. A grey beard was stitched to his wrinkled face. His eyes- his eyes were two black voids. Ooze leaked out and onto his face, touching the lips of his open mouth, his lips moving with words unspoken.
"AH!"
She yelped and fell on her bottom, slipping on the tile floor and instinctively pushing herself back as far she could, even to the door she'd just locked. Returning her gaze as tears threatened to fall... he was gone.
She punched the floor as hard as she could, frustration and anxiety mixing into a heinous concoction. "Shit!"
Another hallucination.
She pushed herself up with trembling arms, her hand moving to rub her surely bruised butt, her hip bone aching from within. Tired, shaken, she finally made it to the bathroom counter, resting herself against it.
She examined herself, her deep set, tired eyes on a weary face. She pulled at the edge of her eyelids, looking for any telltale sign of drug use or other physical ailment, but found nothing, and so continued to stare back at herself, her reflection.
Who was that man? He looked familiar somehow, but once again the headache moved to seal off this memory as well.
It was no use. There was no point, not until this pain would go away, and these hallucinations as well, so she could reclaim herself. She returned to her own gaze in the mirror, finding what little solace she could in the reflection of her violet eyes.
She would get through this.
She squatted down and opened the counter, pulling as many pills as she could. Pain killers, antidepressants, hangover-cures, pure serotonin, even throwing in a Plan-B for good measure. She downed them all at once, not even taking a glass of water.
Fear turning to frustration as she worked to banish the darkness in her mind, she tore off what little she wore, throwing it across the room as she moved to the shower.
...
She sat there in the corner of the square shower, the water dripping off her sore body. She had decided to wait out the hangover here, in the presumed safety of the bathroom, but the headache wouldn't go, neither would the soreness, and the water was starting to turn cold. She stood and turned off the water, stepping out.
The frustration had ebbed, but so had the fear. A result of the pills maybe? Maybe. She had spent the whole of her shower looking through the glass into the bathroom as a whole, lest the man from before appear again, but now she was just tired; as if she had gotten no sleep at all. Her movements were slow and slouched. She would hide this when she left her room, but, for now, she would allow herself whatever rest she could get. She didn't even put her underwear on, collecting it slowly before returning to her room to get dressed, finally.
...
She walked out to the upstairs balcony, dressed in her usual women's suit, though she could feel the tiredness pulling at her eyes, and the headache, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding. In the corner of her eyes, she saw Caster at his model of Athens, studying it closely and moving pieces around.
A glass was in his hand. She felt a twinge of something like disgust from inside her. She wasn't sure why, probably just a reminder of her hangover.
Another odd thing was that she felt compelled to search the room, almost expecting something to be out of place, but everything was as it should be.
His golden eyes turned to her, "A late morning for us, is it?"
Another twinge, like a knife turning in her stomach, "Don't mind it. Rough night I suppose."
He chuckled knowingly as she began to move down the stairs, "I imagine, you drank quite a lot."
Her head swelled again, an influx of memory dammed as her hand moved to forehead once more, "Did I?"
"Ohoho, m'lady. You didn't just drink, you were a champion, my dear! Even Heracles couldn't have rivaled your thirst."
"Hm? I don't drink that much."
"You really don't remember?"
"Not at all, no."
He laughed once more, an almost malicious twist touching the corner of his mouth, "You asked me for my best wine, the wine that I served for the Gods. I told you that you couldn't handle it, but you wouldn't listen. One sip was all it took, and you partied like the animal that I know you to be. Swinging from the chandelier and all that."
Blush rushed to her cheeks as she moved to the kitchenette, "Really? Damn. I've made a fool of myself haven't I?"
He cocked his head from one side to the other, "Eh. Aren't we all fools in the long run?" He began to move towards where she was.
She was already taking out a cup and some coffee ground.
He leaned on the counter next to her, examining her with golden eyes.
"What?"
"Let me guess. Cold sweat, restlessness, tiredness, headaches, tremors, hallucinations even?"
She looked away with embarrassment, "Yes, unfortunately. Is that what happens when you drink the wine of the gods?"
"It's what happens when a mortal drinks the wine of the gods, yes, but you took it like a champ." he rubbed her back.
She flinched, her body shifting from his with a feline ire. "I appreciate your... attempt at consoling, but I don't need your pity."
"Really even if I..." He flicked her forehead.
The headache, the tiredness, the weariness in her body all faded away, as if they had never been there at all.
She looked at him with polite surprise.
He shrugged, "Why would people worship a god of drunkenness if not to remove their hangovers? A useful talent, bolstered by a little transmutation for blood-alcohol levels and a little suggestion to tell your body that everything's alright. Are you satisfied?"
She continued to stare slightly, her mouth slightly agape. A sliver of frustration, like a scream, touched the back of her mind but was quickly silenced by the rush of physical release, "I am. Thank you very much, Caster. I do believe that's the first useful thing you've done, and the first time you've actually been a proper gentleman at that."
He feigned being offended, "And I do believe that you're selling me short, Master. I'm hurt."
She smiled with a sarcastic scoff, "Save your pleas for mercy for when the enemy has you at their throat."
A thought occurred to her, a tickle at the back of her mind: she still couldn't remember the previous night. "What were we celebrating, exactly, for me to be so serious about tasting divine wine?"
"Oh? Well, I suppose you can't remember when you were too inebriated to even form memories." He looked at her with a devilish grin, "There was a MASSIVE fight."
"A fight? Who?"
His smile widened with his evil eyes, "Everyone."
She was taken aback, "Everyone?"
He shrugged, "Nearly everyone. Archer, Berserker, Rider, and Lancer. And they were doing it at the acropolis for all to see."
It was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh, "Haha- Wow. Did anyone die?"
Here, his expression turned sour, "Maybe. Probably not." He began to pace back towards his scale model, "Archer was VERY nearly killed, but was removed from the fight at the last moment, likely by a Command Seal."
She instinctively looked to her own Command Seals, the familiar violet lyre shape on her wrist.
It was the same color as her eyes. It suddenly occurred to her how much she loved the color purple.
He continued, "Rider's master was fatally injured, but they sailed off on some strange, flying ship. I've been trying to locate them ever since, but to no avail. Lancer and his master were injured, but should be fine. Berserker was unscathed as always, though Rider did manage to pierce his armor, however brief or futile that may have been in the long run."
"Was that when the drink came out? When Archer was nearly killed?"
"Oh no. The drink was flowing long before then." He began to laugh, but what started as a chuckle began to turn into a cackle that sent a shiver down her spine, "I didn't let you have any more of the divine wine, but you had enough of your own supply to make up for it. You passed out in your underwear after falling off a table and ranting about your father. I carried you up to your room as a courtesy."
Her face flushed as the knife in her chest began to twist again, "We didn't..."
"Pff. Oh no. I have higher standards than to lay a rancid bitch like yourself." He lost himself in thought, "Though you are pretty fun when you're drunk. Maybe I should start spiking your drinks to spice things up a bit, eh?" He said this with his signature villainous smirk.
"Ugh, please. I take everything back; you're no gentleman."
"Well, I can bring the hangover back too if you're so unsatisfied."
The coffee she had been preparing began to pour into her cup, "No thank you, I'm well without it." She moved towards the far door to the basement, "But do keep watching for Rider and his master, they shouldn't be MIA for too long. And keep tabs on Saber and Assassin while you're at it, I don't want them slipping out from under our nose."
"Excuse me, Aisha. Where are you going exactly?"
She turned towards Caster, her lips curled in genuine confusion, "My workshop?"
He facepalmed. "Oh gods. That wine really DID do a number on your memory." As usual he gestured with his hands while he talked, "We decided that I would occupy your workshop from here on, remember? My magecraft is more powerful, more far-reaching, and more ancient, and so requires a more firm foundation, unlike your flighty, modern magics. We moved you up to the guest room. Ringing any bells?"
It was all coming back now. "God, you're right." She sighed as she began to move back towards the stairs, "If I ever ask for that damned wine again, feel free to slap me across the face."
He shouted from the floor, "Oh, is that what you're into?"
"Enough of that."
She reached the top and opened up the door to the guest room.
How could she have ever forgotten? It was all as she'd remembered it. Her desk, her chairs, her skeletons, and her fridge in the corner.
Her headache, her sickness was banished. The other masters were scrambling. Everything was in order.
A smile rose across her face, a welcome contrast to the misery of the morning.
With Caster at her side, her victory was all but assured.
....