By the time Waver came back to the McKenzie's residence the sun was peeking out over the horizon, its gentle rays being more of an irritation for the young magus as he forcefully pulled on the curtains to shield his eyes from them.
"Rider," the young genius started, composing himself, "Don't leave the workshop, I'm-I'm going to sleep."
Though he couldn't see the servant in its spirit form, Waver felt something close enough to affirmation for him as the overwhelming wave of sleepiness finally hit the young magus and he knocked himself out on the bed.
.
.
.
Angélique observed her maître in silent curiosity.
During the walk back to his workshop, which apparently doubled as his living quarters, Waver was mostly silent.
That left the servant to try and jog her memory on her life before- this.
The rider servant let out a melancholic sigh, it was so long ago that she remembered only bits and pieces, she mostly used them to quickly acclimate to the more advanced technological worlds she was sent to on her missions.
Her life before Angélique was so much of a blur actually, that the servant didn't even know if she remembered her own previous name.
The servant knew that Waver Velvette played a role of a fictional character in her past life at least, and a thing she remembered a lot more clearly, Angélique had a conversation about it with Zhuge Liang, the heroic spirit whose pseudo-vessel was an adult version of her current maître.
He quickly sniffed her out as a servant of Alaya, granted the rider didn't even try to hide that fact, and engaged her in a conversation about the parallel timelines.
It was an important moment in her life, it was only a few years after her new forceful "occupation" and she still had problems with it, spending less time doing the mission, more focusing on finding Jeanne, her Jeanne.
It never happened though.
But Zhuge Liang helped to ground her, and used the stories of parallel worlds as a learning opportunity. Called her an "idiot" a few times too. She giggled quietly at the memory.
Maybe for him it wasn't anything special, but for Angélique it meant a world.
With a quiet sigh the rider servant materialised and skipped to the edge of the room. The walls of the small accommodation marked the borders of the workshop.
'Well, no better place to start than the workshop itself.' Angélique smiled and reached her right hand for the night-tangible surface engulfing the lodging.
The outstretched limb stopped for a second before touching the border, but the small doubt quickly cleared from her mind.
The magical circuits under her armor flared, the green patterns all coalescing on her wrist forming a small crest, the crest that pulsed with a bright light alongside the whole workshop, expanding the place at an incredible pace, leading to the engulfment of the whole house.
It was a technique the servant learned and engraved upon her crest during one of her missions. It was an incredibly situational and taxing but very safe and fast method of forcibly expanding someone else's workshop.
The rider servant could probably count the times she has used it on one hand.
But this wasn't actually the reason that Angélique used it for, no, she was more interested in its secondary effect, which was a crude connection with the magical construct.
She wanted her own workshop, although it would be impossible with her current class. Rider servants didn't have much of an use for magecraft, so even though the knowledge was in their heads, they had this mental blockage at its, and most of the magecrafts, use.
This also applied to their know-how of how to make a proper workshop, and so, the crude connection would be sufficient enough for her use.
Angélique's potion creation was downgraded to C-, which meant that she needed to craft them by hand. And if she was to use them during this war, she needed to craft them fast.
.
.
.
It was well into the next day as Waver finally stirred awake, the sharp smell of a bubbling substance and stirring ingredients doing wonders on not letting him fall back asleep.
He sniffed the air once, then twice- Why was someone cooking the lizard's eye in his room?!
The magus went from asleep to awake and standing in half a second, his still grainy eyes blurred his vision as the young genius looked for the source of the smell.
It took a few moments of adjusting to the current brightness of the room to focus on the source of the pungent odor.
It was his servant. A Rider-class Heroic Spirit messing with McKenzie's cooking equipment to brew- whatever it was she were brewing.
Waver's gaze sharpened as the young magi prepared himself mentally to shout at the familiar, but the girl beat the genius to the punch and turned around, "Good morning Master. Or is it evening?", the small smile she wore, clearly of enjoyment, was enough to throw the magi off of his shouting mood.
He groaned, sitting up, "Rider, bloody hell, what are you doing?", the servant looked at him for a second before lifting up her ladle, "Potions ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧"
The absolutely adorable reaction made the young magi do a double take, to make sure he sees correctly.
Even after rubbing his eyes, the almost smug ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ face of his servant didn't change.
Waver felt… Surreal. Has he drunk something strange? The genius has read about the 100 year war and knew about the knight of the saint, but nowhere in there was she described like… this.
"Never meet your heroes…", her maître mumbled to himself, watching the servant intently.
Angélique cocked her head sideways, not hearing the mumble correctly.
"It's… nothing. Don't worry about it.", Waver said, "What are you brewing in there, Rider?"
The servant instantly jumped on the occasion to explain her craft, ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ "As you can see, and probably smell with its beautiful scent!", Waver pinched his nose to block the pungent odor, "I have brewed the potions of: mana and od regeneration, potions of healing, and my Spécial d'Angélique, the potion of limb recreation!", the rider servant waved her left hand around in some strange show-off gesture.
"Yeah… That's-That's really great…", the magi clutched his head after receiving the information a random 15th century knight could make limb regrow potions. Why was the Atlas Institute not killing themself to get her? He didn't know.
"Waver, dear! What is this pungent odor coming out of your room!"
The magi shot a look at his, still brewing potions, servant.
₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
Yeah, the hypnosis might not cover his ass anymore.