While enjoying is time in Chaldea, William Shakespeare was finally starting to get get bored with the daily doldrums of living in the sealed fortress.
He’d taken to walking the halls inbetween writing sessions with Anderson, and he was honestly considering just monologuing at the walls.
He talked to most of the staff, and while he figured it had been obvious they seemed to enjoy the distraction, he’d seen the strain they were hiding, and from what he had seen during his forays into the Control Room, they had very good reasons, so Shakespeare had taken to leaving them alone.
But he needed an audience! He needed to stoke the emotions of a live crowd! He needed attention and adoration!
He sighed, before continuing his walk. Maybe inspiration would strike him before the next writing session…..
———————-
Shakespeare sighed. It had been multiple days, and still no inspiration.
He had gone over his notes from the strange fleeting singularities that had appeared between the Incineration causing ones, but couldn’t find anything that sparked his imagination.
Not when the Moon Goddess had her dumpling shenanigans.
Not when the Mad Rose started her annual exhibition matches.
Not when the young goofy Warlord invaded this world.
Not when the loud young dragon started her yearly Halloween event.
Not when the Dark Saber tried to change how Chaldea perceived her by acting as uncharacteristically as possible.
Not when the strange Artoria doppelgangers had come from a oddly themed universe.
Not when an impossible reality had brought forth The Root made manifest.
Not when the demonic Count had briefly kidnapped their Master.
Not when the dark angry Saint had her existence acknowledged by the Throne.
Not even when demons and demon slayers had flooded Chaldea.
Not when the fair folk of the base had a magical trip filled with costumes and magic.
Not even when the Mad Rose had shown their Master her bridal dress and put on yet another round of exhibition matches.
Not even when the noisy young dragon reprised her Halloween nightmares.
Or even when the fake saint learnt the folly of trusting liquids gained from the King of Heroes stash.
Wait a moment. Shakespeare paused, before going over the list of sub-singularities and their events.
Exhibition matches.
Themed shenanigans.
Costumes and Pseudonyms.
Something there was coalescing into an idea.
He needed Andersen. He’d been digging through Chaldea’s archives to see what new sort of stories had been invented, maybe he would have a clue about what to do, or push Shakespeare in the right direction.
———————
“What is it?” Hans Christian Andersen asked from his position at a computer, not even bothering to look up as he continued devouring the vast multitudes of stories that Chaldea’s database was filled with.
“I need your help, dear Andersen!” Shakespeare started, before starting to pace and twirl around the room.
“I have a story slowly brewing, but I need some inspiration to turn it from a draft into a script I can use!”
“What did you use for inspiration, so I can get a gist of where you’re coming?” Andersen asked, still not facing the well renowned Poet.
Shakespeare knew it was a little power game he liked to play, Andersen knowing how desperately he wanted Andersen’s attention. He didn’t mind it, it helped keep him on his toes.
“Themed shenanigans, costumes, pseuodnyms, and Exhibition matches. Kind of like what the beautiful Nero hosts once a year, but more focusing on a story then whose the strongest.”
Finally, Andersen sighed, and turned to face the Poet.
“Wrestling. You want to do a Wrestling story?”
The Poet paused his preening to consider what his friend suggested.
“The idea of Muscled Individuals fighting each other does seem amusing, but how would that differ from what young Nero already does?”
Andersen was now working away at his book, seemingly into the idea.
“No, not wrestling with a lower case ‘w’, but Wrestling with a captial ‘W’. Its basically an athletics show with a story component.”
Andersen paused to turn back to his monitor, seemingly searching for something.
“Seems it was a very popular story type.”
He turned the screen towards Shakespeare, showing the thousands of results.
The Poets’ eyes beamed with joy.
“How does it work?”
Andersen again paused, before explaining.
“Basically, you introduce your ‘face’ and your ‘heel’. Your ‘face’ is your Protagonist, typically the ‘good guy’ of your story, and your ‘Heel’ is your Antagonist, typically the one trying to antagonize the audience.”
“Wait, you mean Audience participation is common in these?” The Poet’s shocked expression wasn’t sure if it should stay shocked at this new revelation, or go back to beaming at the idea of having an audience for his stories again.
“Typically. The audience essentially determines which Wrestlers become popular. But back on topic.”
Andersen turned back to his book, writing out the basic things he had learnt would be needed for a Wrestling story, before again pausing to ponder something.
“Shakespeare, how about this: I’ll figure out all the stuff you’ll need to pull off a few test cases, you go and try to get interest from other Servants.”
Shakespeare paused to think.
Who would want to join us on this?
“The Celts would probably be into this, but who else?”
“I think our Master recently summoned someone really into Wrestling, maybe start with her?”
“Who? I haven’t been keeping up with the newcomers.” Shakespeare pouted, not happy that he hadn’t gotten around to greeting some of the new servants.
Andersen smirked.
“You can’t miss her. She’s got hair as gold as the sun, with an outfit to match. Her name is…..”
———————
“Why do you want that old flying snake for, when you have an amazing Jaguar like me?!?!?” Jaguarman asked with exuberance and devastation both warring for control of her tone, her whole body stiff with contained energy.
Shakespeare was confused. He had assumed there was some hierarchy with the Babylonian Servants, considering how most of them were Divine Spirits, and his research had indicated that this particular Lancer would probably be the safest as well as the lowest on the hierarchy to ask for one of her superiors.
I learnt that lesson the last time I tried asking Divine Spirits for help he thought bemusedly. He thought ruefully. How was he supposed to know that the young Greek Maidens were actual Divine Spirits?
Yet, here this Divine Spirit was acting insulted that she wasn’t being asked to help.
Well, that was easily solved.
“On the contrary, my dear Jaguar. While I do need to speak with the one known as Quetzalcoatl first, there is no reason you also cannot join us in the venture I am planning!”
The bright eyed smile the Lancer in a striped-cat kigurumi gave answered why she was so annoyed at having been asked.
She just wanted to either help, or be involved herself! He personally loved working with those sorts, since they were often reliable to atleast kickstart the process.
He quickly held up a hand.
“But! I was specifically asked to talk to Quetzalcoatl first.”
The bright smile soured a tad, before it went back to the energetic smile it was before his question.
“FINE!” she answered in a sing-song tone, “So long as I get to be involved in the pawty, thats all that matters! Come, lets go find Quetz-san!”
“No need to find me, yes? I’ve been here since the moment you said my name!” A voice emerged from behind Jaguar Man as a lightly tanned and muscled arm snaked its way around her shoulders, bringing the neko Lancer into a tight hug.
“What do you require of me, oh storied Theatre Master?”
Shakespeare was used to such flattery from a lot of people, but something about having a Divine Servant of the Sun made the compliment feel more loving than usual, which caused the slightest of red to colour his cheeks.
“Oh great personification of the Sun, Andersen tells me you are a connoisseur of a certain type of combat which I would like to try holding here.” He bowed deep, giving the Sun God more respect than he usually gave other Divine Spirits.
The golden-haired beauty let the squirming Lancer go, before tilting her head, a thoughtful look on her face.
“I know of many types of combat, yes. But most of what I know is too violet for a storyteller to use, and I fear our beloved Master would hate losing Servants.”
“On the contrary! Apparently you are quite the expert on Wrestling, and that is what I have need of!”
A quizzical look replaced the thoughtful one.
“Wrestling? That is simple bare-fisted melee combat. Any number of Servants here could help you.”
She paused, realization spreading across her features.
“I think some of the Chinese Servants would be a better option, yes? I’ve watched their moves, and how they flow so beautifully would be better suited for any story you might hope to portray!”
Thats actually quite the good idea. I best remember to mention it to Andersen so he can think of how to incorporate the well renowned martial artists we have here.
Shakespeare sighed dramatically.
“I had the same original thought, my dear Quetzalcoatl. However, as Andersen has elucidated to me, Wrestling only involves wrestling.”
Shakespeare paused, trying to remember the word Andersen had said that would definitely get her interest.
“I think he said it is something similar to ‘Lucha Libre’?”
The Sun Goddess seemingly exuded the brilliant energy she was associated with her, once the words left Shakespeare’s lips, and he could almost see how her brain was working.
“Ah, you wish to host a Chaldea wide Lucha Libre carnivale, yes? Sign us both up, please!”
“Amazing! Then would you both do me the honor of following me to Andersen’s writing room, so we can begin planning?”
Shakespeare was ecstatic, nothing could ruin this!
……….except for the fact he had forgotten to tell the acting Directors or his Master.