Prodigies, Pillocks, and Pressganging. (Nobody, Cook, Meuniere)

Read the below writing for context, as it directly precedes this one:
https://pastebin.com/A8MhXUJv

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The air dripped with tension, broken glass from Chaldea's shattered entryway scattered to every corner of the lobby, the crumpled heap of rumpled robes and the battered pair under them completing a scene of absolute violence, but not a shot had been fired.

Her smile twitched, frayed, and fell with it's holder as her brow met the tile with a soft 'konk'.

"You..." A voice rose from the singed, bloodied, and ash smattered motorbike, punctuated by the clang of metal falling from it's tailpipe, "...Pillock."

The voice's owner soon followed suite, rising to a relative uprightness leaned over the "appropriated" vehicle.

His sheath rattled as he drew it's complement, "Come on then, have at ye."

The gathered interns and select few "security staff" gazed down warily, unsure if they were afraid or exhilarant, his saber wobbling in his broken fingers as he draped over the motorcycle. Finally, a pudgy blonde figure stepped forward.

"We... eh... we'd appreciate the help."

"Tch, French." The battered Caster spat, noticing his accent. "Of course the French would need help with... whatever is done here."

"...I'm Meuniere, Coffin Staff Officer of Chal-."

"Heh."

"...I'm sorry?"

" 'Meuniere', a third rate name for a second ra-" Overcome by hacking coughs, the captain fails to finish whatever "witty quip" he had been preparing.

J. A. Meuniere, Staff Officer (and accomplished Magus in his own right, thank you) of Chaldea, sighs tiredly, his shoulders sinking as he stares down at the newest guests.

"We work to save the human race from total obliteration, if that interests you."

The saber dips in the Caster's crooked fingers, as he processes those words.

"...And the French were left in charge of this?"

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Soft beeping. That's what Nobody awoke to. Soft beeping and the crisp white sheets of a hospital bed.

"Ah, you're awake. About time... Contractor."

Sitting close by, looking as disinterested as he could manage, Cook shifted through a handful of files labeled "Formal Overview of Singularity 6". His ponderous mask raised to her for a moment as he spoke, "Welcome to the Chaldea Security Organization, by the way."

She blinked for a moment. "Chaldea... is that French?" It sounded French. Had she been there before?

The papers crinkled in his hands. "The name derives from an unremarkable heathen nation from Mesopotamia. Of this, I was strongly assured. Regardless, it seems in spite of all the absurdity you've gotten your wish. You have arrived at "The place you can do the most good.", and dragged me in your treacherous undertow."

"And, what exactly have I dragged you into?"

"A war with "Demon Pillars". A very literal name, from the illustrations I've been shown. We have arrived late however, and the worst of the conflict is already over, we just need to mop up the stragglers."

"Ah, phooey. Here I was hoping for a second round of blood, guts, and Beasts." Nobody quipped, leaning back.

"Don't. Don't invite that back into the world, for want as your pagan ilk is to do so, there is no surer way to summon the Devil then to call his name."

"...Cook. We're literally going to fight demons."

"Demon Pillars. I've been strongly assured they are different things."

"Huh. I'm surprised you're so comfortable with this."

"I suppose I must say the same of you. I have signed you on to an extradimensional "Security Organization" in your coma, and you remain unruffled. I am a Heroic Spirit, perhaps you have forgotten. I live, I fight, I die, then I live and fight again." The folder he had been griping claps shut. "I am a tool of violence. A tool several steps above some talking animals that walk the Earth, but a tool nonetheless. I serve my noble, often violent, purpose, just as in life."

His full attention on her, raising his voice as he spoke. "But what of you? You have no purpose. You don't even have a name. You're nothing. How can you go on? How could I have been bested by so-"

Chaldea's head nurse, a broad, dead-eyed woman came through the double doorway, interrupting his rapidly scattering verbal barrage. Her shoes clacked loudly as she walked past, not stopping to look to the pair.

Cook rubbed the fingertips of his thumb and pointer finger together for a moment, watching her leave.

He turned back, looking down at his Master. "...Keep Margaret for now. Rest. We'll cross arms when you recover. It'll go properly, this time."

Once more the double doorways swing open, then softly close.

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I COULD HAVE USED A REAL MP CHARACTER INSTEAD OF FAT FRENCH BUT THEN THE FRNECH I WROTE AFTER WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED
F*CK
I JUST WANTED TO GO "Meuniere, that sounds like poopy haha"
THAT WAS MY SINGULAR PREPLANNED PLOT POINT
I HAVE FURY
I also had fun though