Millefeuille
On Valentine’s day, Goredolf makes sure to wake up early. He has a lot of work ahead of him, after all; as the director of Chaldea, it would be extremely rude of him to not have chocolate ready for his most trusted advisors.
The kitchen, as expected, is incredibly busy. Servants and humans move left and right, trying to get their own chocolate right.
“So, who is your chocolate destined to, Director?” the Master of Chaldea asks him with a grin, slaloming between people.
“Aren’t you the nosy one.” He replies, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit how few chocolates he’s making right now. He appreciates everyone in Chaldea- yes, even the weird Caster with googly eyes, because he’s contributing in Keeping Goredolf Alive, and being alive is Goredolf’s favorite hobby in the world- but he has to keep it realistic: with the current state of the kitchen, as well as the time constraint, he’ll be lucky if he can have his treats ready for Sherlock and Da Vinci in time. “What about you?”
Their smile broadens. “This is the Saber batch!” Oh, lord. They’re really making chocolate for all the servants, aren’t they?
Well. Their funerals. Goredolf already has his mittens full.
On Valentine’s day, Goredolf makes sure to wake up early. He has a lot of work ahead of him, after all; as the director of Chaldea, it would be extremely rude of him to not have chocolate ready, for the human staff if nothing else. The servants don’t really care for him, and he’s fine with that, but weak mortals have to stick together.
The kitchen is a bit easier to use today. A good chunk of the servants must have gotten the Valentine spirit out of their system yesterday, he assumes. That makes it easier for for him to do large batches.
Briefly, he crosses path with the Master. “Still at it?”
“This one is for the Archers!” They reply, and then duck out of the room, already chasing their people to give chocolate to.
On Valentine’s day, Goredolf-
On Valentine’s day-
“Director, your chocolate is gonna burn.” The Master warns him. Almost on autopilot, Goredolf retrieves the croissants from the oven, and set them aside.
“… Fujimaru.” He turns to the Master. They’re holding- the Lancer batch, if he recalls correctly. “What day is it?”
They quirk up an eyebrow. “February 14th? Wasn’t all the chocolate a big enough clue?”
It is. His watch also indicates February 14th. And the computers in the command room, and every indicator of time he could get his hands on. “And yesterday… was?”
“February 14th.” They repeat. “You got me pastries yesterday. It was very sweet of you.”
Goredolf opens his mouth. Clothes his mouth. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “… And tomorrow will be?”
“February 14th.” They say once more. “Valentine’s day lasts for quite a while here. You get used to it.”
“I,” Goredolf takes a deep breath. Okay. Okay. “How. Can a day last for multiple days. That goes against the very premise of what a day is.”
The Master shrugs, unbothered. “It’s not really a linear thing, as far as I can tell? It’s not multiple days following each other. It’s more like… Multiple days folding onto one another. Like a mille-feuille? If you focus, you can peer on the side and see all the other places you’re at currently. Ah, I don’t recommend you do it though, it’s very disorienting.”
What. And Goredolf cannot emphasize this enough. The fuck.
“I don’t really know how this work, sorry.” They scratch the side of their neck, embarrassed. “I asked Da Vinci once, but I don’t think she realized we were in a time loop? If you can call it that? Servants are being outside of time to begin with. It’s harder for them to pick up inconsistencies.”
Every day Goredolf spends in Chaldea is a hell the likes of which he could have never imagined. Yes, he is being dramatic. No, he does not care. “Has no one here tried to stop this from happening? Really?”
“Director, I understand this must be, ah, a bit distressing,” do they really. Do they remember what fear even is. As an emotion. “But if we tried to solve every stutters of time in Chaldea, we’d be here for decades rather than years. These just solve themselves eventually. So use the opportunity to give chocolate to all the people you need to, and don’t think about it too much, alright? We have plenty of other things to worry about.”
That would be a lot easier if there weren’t already so many very worrying things in that sentence alone. “Years? Just how long have you people spent in these.”
“Ehh, I don’t really keep track of that stuff.” They shrug again. “Check my file, I’m sure the staff jotted down my age in there somewhere. That should give you a good idea.”
… Ah.
Goredolf supposes they wouldn’t know- no one checks their own files. But he had, in fact, read the reports on the Master of Chaldea; a couple times prior to purchasing the place, and a dozen more ever since All This Shit have started. He doesn't recall every single detail, obviously, because they were all stupidly mundane, but- he remembers their age.
He remembers, because it's listed as blank.