THG: 3.3 Don Texas (Patreon)

Don Texas 3.3

Noelle Meinhardt

“So… I can get a body?” I asked excitedly. I could eat again. Play video games! Not get coddled by random children! I could have opposable thumbs!

We were in his studio apartment above the restaurant. I’d been here a few times before, but it always struck me how bare it was. One bookshelf was filled with cookbooks while another contained a few potted cacti. The couch was comfy and the place was immaculately clean, but there wasn’t even a TV.

Normal people would have decked their apartment with gold sculptures or fancy paintings. Then again, I supposed that to a man who could simply wish anything he wanted into existence, wealth lost most of its appeal. The restaurant really was his life.

For his part, John looked conflicted. Odd, that. There was a huge stigma against biotinkers, but I didn’t think a man like him would mind. He usually seemed so carefree about it all.

John held out his hand and a staff I’d never seen before appeared. It was the most impractical thing I’d ever seen. It had a red haft, blue detailing, and gold accents. The butt of the staff was sharpened into a pinkish spearpoint while the head was formed into a golden hoop. Inside the hoop was a polyhedral shape that I didn’t know the name of. Was it a crystal? Or some kind of hardlight construct? I didn’t know.

He laid the staff across his lap and poured himself a glass of amber liquor. I didn’t know anything about bourbon, but his collection had grown truly massive in the days since Leviathan. It used to make me nervous, someone that powerful also being a drunkard, but he apparently couldn’t get drunk unless he wanted to.

“Kind of? I’ve been working through some things. I’m reasonably sure that I can get you a body whenever you want,” he said with a gentle smile.

“R-Really?”

“Yup. I mean, if Leo can give himself a sex change while modeling a body after the Mona Lisa, I’m sure I can make you look like whatever you want. There’s one problem though.”

“What?”

“I have no idea what you looked like before this. I mean, there was the Echidna form you had, but I kinda cremated that one. I can try modeling your form after the upper half of what I remember?”

“N-No, that’s okay,” I said hastily.

I… I hated the way I looked. As a Case-53, even discounting my lower half, I looked malnourished and bulimic, and like I hadn’t taken a shower in years. I’d been absolutely filthy and that I had friends who stuck with me was a miracle.

Even before, I’d hardly been the picture of body positivity. I’d been recovering from an eating disorder and used Ransack and the high school’s video game club as a distraction to cope. If it wasn’t for Mars, who insisted on making sure I was fed even when it annoyed me, I might never have recovered. We’d supported each other, then and now.

That said, I couldn’t deny that I’d been jealous of Mars a few times. She was everything girls wished they could be, tall, graceful blonde with a ballet dancer’s physique. She’d been the kind of girl who made others feel insecure simply by being around them.

I froze. This was my chance. I could look like anyone I wanted. There was no frame of reference for “Noelle Meinhardt” because this wasn’t Earth-Aleph. John couldn’t dig up my old yearbook photo or Facebook profile.  

“J-John?”

“Yes, Noelle?”

“C-Can I look like anything?”

“I suppose. Why? You were a brunette right? Did you want to be a ginger? Or maybe a blonde like Mars?”

“I-Maybe…” What teenage girl hadn’t wanted to change things about herself? Smoother hair. Softer skin. Slimmer waist. Bigger breasts. I… I could have it all. I could look like a supermodel. I just had to tell this relative stranger about all my worries and insecurities. “C-Can I? Can I change things about myself?”

He shrugged. “If you did, how would I know? I mean, I’ve only seen you as the chimera. I can tell that you were a brunette and I’m pretty sure your upper body was very skinny and short-ish, but it wasn’t like I’d been paying attention. That’s gotta be the majority of women in America.”

“Yeah… I… Is this why you wanted to see me without Francis?”

“Yup. I wanted to let you know that this is your one chance to change how you look. You can do with this information what you will, but know that this is your one,” he stressed. “You’ll notice that I don’t look like Brad Pitt.”

“But you could.” John wasn’t hideous, but he wasn’t exactly a movie star either. He had that scruffy, devil may care style that implied he could clean up well if he wanted. 

“I could, but then it wouldn’t be me. The way I look now is a reflection of who I am, no more and no less. I refuse to puff myself up into someone I’m not. In the same vein, I’m not going to give you a makeover on demand so you’d better be satisfied with how you look.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t. Physically at least, you’ll be the picture of health, guaranteed.”

“I get it. C-Can I think about this?”

“Sure. Print out a picture online. Talk to Mars or Jess. Hell, ask Francis what his kinks are. I don’t care, but you should be the one to decide how you approach this. You get me?”

“I do. Thanks, boss. But why do you have the staff if you’re not going to give me a body now?”

“You’re welcome, Noelle. As for this, well, you’re not the only one who wants a body, you know. And he’s a lot less picky about what he looks like.” He polished off his glass of bourbon. He then stood and took that staff in hand. It began to shine in a dazzling mix of blue and purple light. “Now, how did this go? Right… Ping off the soul and into Analysis, then Wishcraft should do the trick… Three Wise Men of the East. The Great God of the Norse. The Fruit of Wisdom. My intellect, my omnipotence, surpasses all forms of wisdom! Uomo Universale!”

Behind him, I thought I could see the phantom of a supremely beautiful woman. A mere painting of her smile had been wondered about for centuries. Though it could not capture the true scope of her beauty, it had captivated all. Hers was a face that embodied curiosity and innocence, wisdom and mystery, all in one, flawless expression.

Though I saw her for only a moment, I recognized her immediately: Mona Lisa.

A violet orb of light formed in his hand. It gained a ring, like a planet, before that too bloomed into a set of displays. I saw the Vitruvian Man on one screen and I realized he was making a body here and now.

It formed slowly, from the head to the feet. I saw bones coalesce from light and well-formed muscles and sinew wrap around those bones. I saw the lungs get inflated like balloons. This was probably a test body so he could make sure it all worked right.

There was one problem: The body was most definitely male. In fact, he was the single most athletic body I’d ever seen, with abs you could grate cheese on, n-not that I’d seen many naked men.

I looked away. I didn’t know if my current form could blush, but he was trying very hard to test it. “John!”

“What? You’ve never seen a Japanese ginger before?”

“Not the point!”

“Heh, you know, this ginger literally has no soul at the moment.”

“John!”

He threw his jacket over the body’s waist. “Fine, fine, you two have no sense of humor.”

“You’re a pervert! Degenerate! Wait… What do you mean ‘two?’”

“I told you. You’re not the only one who wants a body.” He grinned and tapped his head. Then, when he drew out his finger, I saw a blue flame emerge from his skull.

I’d never seen a soul before. I’d been a free-floating soul when he ripped me out of the chimera, but I couldn’t exactly get a look at myself. That said, Mars did tell me what I looked like and the description was a lot like what John had in his hand right now.

“J-John? Is that your soul?”

“No, don’t be silly. This is Shirou’s soul.”

“Who?”

“The voice in my head. He also goes by Actually Satan,” he said, acting like being a schizophrenic was a completely normal thing. “That’s his body, see?”

“I… What?” I hoped he was joking because otherwise, I’d have to come to terms with the fact that the devil was a sexy, ginger Japanese guy with washboard abs.

“We agreed that he’ll be our third judge for the First Holy Grill War. Then he can go off and be a hero or whatever else he wants to be. Why? Wanna take his body for a ride first? I mean, I know you’re not trans, but it could be fun to be a guy for a few hours. You can see what it’s like to pee standing up.”

“I don’t need to experience that!”

I laughed. “Fine, fine, I’m just messing with you.”

“Why does the voice in your head have a soul? And why is he Satan?” I asked, horrified. Did that mean all schizophrenics had extra souls? Were they all really possessed and modern science just didn’t know how to quantify that? Did that mean the crazy homeless man talking about demons in front of my old high school was right? “What the hell, John!”

“Relax, I was mostly joking. Shirou’s a good guy, promise. You know, for someone who’s destined to become Actually Satan. So really, he should be called Possibly Satan. And he wasn’t always a voice in my head. This is what he used to look like. Handsome bastard, right? He’s basically a harem anime protagonist.”

“I don’t think that’s the point!”

“He’ll make the world a better place. Really, he’s more of a hero than anyone on Earth-Bet. Me included.”

So saying, he dropped the soul into the body.

I watched, fascinated despite myself. His, Shirou’s, cheeks took on a rosy color. His eyes opened to reveal deep pools of amber. Then, he bolted to his feet, kept one hand covering his junk, and decked John in the face.

“You are such an asshole, John!” he shouted.

John slammed into the wall before busting a gut laughing. “Yeah, I deserved that. Welcome back, Shirou.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just make me some clothes already so I don’t have to flash poor Noelle.”

“Sure, sure.” He snapped his fingers and a pair of sweats and a t-shirt materialized out of nowhere. Then, a sushi roll appeared on the desk. “To celebrate your return, may I interest you in a Philadelphia roll?”

He grabbed the plate and hurled it like a frisbee at John. “Shut up! Cream cheese doesn’t belong in sushi!”

I had no idea why the strange Japanese man was so angry over a plate of sushi, but that was definitely personal. I quietly shuffled out of the apartment to let the two men argue it out. Whatever this “Shirou” really was, I wasn’t crazy enough to want to involve myself.

X

Shirou Emiya

I had a body now and the first thing I did with it was flash some poor girl and deck my “employer.” To be fair, I wasn’t too bummed about the second part.

I’d taken a day in John’s studio to get used to my new body. It was everything I’d wanted and more. My old body had a mediocre twenty-seven circuits, not great, but not terrible for a first generation magus. I didn’t know what I was doing as a teen and they’d atrophied to the point that I could channel a measly ten units of prana. Even as an adult, that number had not improved a great deal.

To his credit, John did great work. Or rather, Da Vinci lived up to her name as the Universal Genius. For that, I was truly thankful.

As far as I could tell, I was in my early twenties again, with every little imperfection in my body ironed out. The scars I’d accumulated throughout a lifetime of combat were gone. I was a fair bit stronger too, as if everything about my body had been enhanced to human limits.

I still had twenty-seven circuits, the template for my body had been taken directly from my soul, but they’d been bolstered in quality. I didn’t know exactly how many units of prana I could channel now, but I was pretty sure I could outperform some of the bluebloods from the Clock Tower.

In front of me were two shortswords, the nameless married blades that became my most reliable companions. They were Noble Phantasms, however lesser compared to the treasures downstairs.

“How do you feel?” John asked. “Any problems with your magecraft?”

“No, thank you for this, John-san,” I said, head bowed.

“Don’t start with that Japanese suffix crap now. It’s just John to friends.”

“I suppose so…”

“What’s wrong? You’re not the mopey sort, Shirou. Food? Booze?”

“I’m not sure. Nothing is wrong. This body is perfect for me, but… but I feel a little lost. Now that I have a body again, I must admit I don’t know what to do.”

He shrugged. “Be a hero. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me I should do?”

“Yes, and I will, I just… Where do I start?”

He nodded and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I get it. Sometimes, words don’t really do something justice, do they?”

“No, I guess not.”

“I know what will help. Get up, let’s go.”

“What? Where?”

“Downstairs. Restaurant’s closed anyway. Use whatever’s in the kitchen and make us some grub, eh? You’re probably the kind of guy who thinks better when his hands are busy. I’m the same way.”

“True, thanks, John, I’d like that,” I smiled. The prospect of making food after so long did sound good. It was just about the only hobby I retained throughout my travels. “A clean, Japanese comfort meal sounds excellent right about now. How do you feel about oyakodon?”

“That’s the crime against chickens, right? Perfect.”

“It’s not a crime against chickens.”

“It literally means ‘mother-son bowl’ because you braise chicken inside its own eggs. That’s like boiling a baby goat in its mother’s milk. There’s literally a law about that in the Torah.”

“‘Parent and child,’ actually. The words aren’t gender-specific. And besides, I’m not Jewish.”

“Fine, wow me with your anime cooking skills.”

X

Things moved quickly after that. I introduced myself as a friend of John’s from “out of town.” Noelle and her friends knew the truth, but they knew to be quiet. There was no point in adding yet one more thing to the increasingly baffling list of things the Heaven’s Feel could do.

“Hello, my name is Shirou Emiya and I am here to register as an independent hero,” I told the nice lady at the PRT building.

“What? Shh! Don’t you have a mask, son?” the older woman asked.

“I don’t,” I confirmed. “I do not require one.”

Heroes and villains alike hid themselves behind a mask here, ostensibly to protect their civilian identities. That was unnecessary as far as I was concerned. The lack of a mask was a pledge in a sense: Shirou the man and Shirou the hero were one and the same. There would never be a need for any distinction.

I would not be ashamed of my actions. Nor did I have a family to be concerned for. This was my dream, selfish and delusional as Rin would say, but mine nonetheless.

“You-! Just because Kingmaker doesn’t have a mask doesn’t mean–”

I held out a hand. In a spark of blue prana, an ornate dagger appeared in my hand. “Would it help if I said he’s a friend of mine?”

Her jaw hit the floor. “I… What…?”

“He said that if I really want to be a hero, I should do it the proper way. Hypocritical of him, I know, but he sent me here so here I am.”

“Uh…”

“Is there a procedure for registering to become a hero? I was under the impression there was one.”

“Of course! I-Let me get someone to speak with you.”

“Great. Here, I almost forgot. John said I should give you this,

” I smiled at her disarmingly. I also pulled out a letter for them. “I didn’t read it, but I apologize in advance for whatever it says. I think it’s supposed to be a letter of recommendation, but if I know the guy, he’s probably gone a bi overboard.”

X

Emily Piggot

I held the letter in my hand. It had been addressed to me, so I’d had it delivered post haste. I now wished I’d thrown it in the trash. I had no idea how much of what was written was true, but what I did know was that my headache was multiplying.

This was indeed a letter of recommendation. It was either the single most embellished example of such ever written, or an uncomfortably worrying document. Unfortunately, for all of Soprano’s nonsense, the man was not known for lying.

Dear Director Emily Piggot,

Shirou is a friend from out of town. As you’ve surmised, he intends to be an unmasked hero. Enclosed are the relevant identification papers provided by Fortuna, my lawyer. I assure you, you will find every indication that these are legitimate.

He wishes to go by “Shirou” even in his cape identity. If you must give him a name for your files, I believe “Possibly Satan” will suffice. The “Possibly” is mandatory so as to distinguish him from Actually Satan, who is just him, but not him. Does that make sense? It should because I’m telling you the truth.

If not, “Magus Killer” is also a fine name assuming it isn’t taken. It was a crown that once belonged to his father and one I believe my friend ought to wear proudly.

As for his powers, he is like me in that he can project Noble Phantasms, albeit with far more limitations. Though he is unable to slay an endbringer, he remains an extremely versatile hero with access to hundreds of Noble Phantasms and mystic codes. Not only is he versatile, he possesses a tactical mind honed if not through natural talent, then by the whetstone that is many years of life-threatening experience.

For instance, he is highly proficient in hostage negotiations from both sides of the aisle, target tracking and detainment, urban combat, counterterror tactics, large-scale demolitions and destruction of hardened fortifications, long range decapitation strikes, containment of zombies and epidemics of various stripes, and, when all else fails, the acquisition and deployment of various weapons of mass destruction.

Those are but a few skills counted among Possibly Satan’s extensive expertise. Rest assured, he has more experience in such matters than me. In fact, I cannot recommend him highly enough. He is a hero of the highest caliber, possessed of both ability and virtue.

Best regards,

John “Don Texas” Soprano
The Third True Magician
Chef and Overseer of The Holy Grill (War)

PS: He is also a splendid chef. You may think it is unrelated to his chosen profession, but we would disagree vehemently. Food is life. Cooking is art. Cuisine is history.

This was not encouraging. What kind of hero had a resume like this? Literally everything about this letter was suspect.

For starters, his identification papers, delivered by Soprano rather than Shirou himself, were obviously fake. Oh, there was no indication that they were forgeries, but I wasn’t an idiot. Soprano somehow forged these for this “Magus Killer,” and wasn’t that a suspicious name in itself.

Putting aside the fact that there was apparently a previous “Magus Killer,” it had the world “killer” in it. What kind of hero name was that?

I didn’t even want to think about the “Possibly Satan” part. On one hand, it was probably a joke. On the other hand, Soprano was so unimaginably dangerous that I had to treat everything he said with a given measure of sincerity.

If that was all, I could have overlooked it. I wasn’t ungrateful to Soprano. I was well-aware of his contributions to the city and the world. Ignoring one illegal immigrant or stateless person would have been a nonissue.

But the letter only grew more problematic.

For one, he was experienced in hostage negotiations from “both sides of the aisle.” This man had kidnapped people before. He was also familiar with “decapitation strikes,” read “assassinations.” And then there were the zombie plagues and weapons of mass destruction. This “cover letter” read like someone was reciting the resume of an even more accomplished James Bond.

I watched the screen as Shirou, if that was indeed his name, made a fool of my seniormost heroes. Armsmaster couldn’t even touch him with his halberd. Shirou proved to be a better marksman than Miss Militia. He was also stronger than Battery, faster than Velocity, and gave Dauntless tips on how to best use his lance and shield while minimizing openings.

It was honestly like watching a veteran sergeant teach green-as-grass rookies close quarters combat. Every military did it at one point to show the recruits that they weren’t hot shit.

According to the letter, that may as well have been what was happening.

No wonder he didn’t want to join the Protectorate. If even half of what was in this letter was valid, I doubted he’d ever willingly put himself under Armsmaster’s command. The Protectorate had officially lost control of this city. That had been true ever since Soprano arrived, but at least that son of a bitch had the good grace to sit in his damned restaurant.

The worst part of all of this was that I could find no reason to disobey orders from DC. I was to “provide Soprano and his associates every accommodation possible.” 

I looked at the screen, then out over the city. “I want to retire…”

Author’s Note

Where did Shirou’s citizenship papers come from? Fortuna ex machina, that’s where. But let’s be real, if John sent them Monopoly money and a library card saying they should accept this in lieu of Shirou’s citizenship papers, they’d be forced to nod along.

Random Fact of the Day: Washington, DC used to include Alexandria, VA. It was given back to Virginia by Congress in 1847 in what is called the Retrocession. This was largely because Alexandria used to be a huge hub of slave trade. Virginia wanted slaves, Congress wanted to abolish slavery in the nation’s capital, so this was the compromise.