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Luci, for all that she appreciated the capabilities of her summoned servant, was hardly moved by his proclamation. "Mousse!" The call had the dog's head shoot up from its nest of blankets. "Start cleaning up that mess, and no eating it." There was a pause while Mousse untangled itself, hopped down onto the floor, and trotted back to the front room. Luci herself turned away from Pelles to inspect the damage to her hair in the mirror across from the bed. "So long as I have my wish, mon cochon, I don't care whether you keep it for yourself or destroy it entirely. Let your wrath out on whomever you see fit. It's no concern of mine." And if her familiar went ahead and licked up a dark, congealed glob sliding its way down the wall, she was none the wiser.
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"Erik," he replied, pushing himself up onto his feet. "Through the doorway there. Without the door." He raised an arm to point, but hesitated when he saw the bright red mark on his hand, exactly where the bruise had been. It wasn't a gecko, or a rabbit, or any sort of animal he knew. It looked more like... a flower, laid atop something much more angular. Or maybe it was just shapes.
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It wasn’t a completely awful plan. He made sense, their new Priest. As valid as his point was, he was incorrect. “With as much respect as I feel I can muster currently, it would be unwise to split us, despite how much you long for a protector for the cross.”
"My Fallow-tail, this age must truly have battles of the weak. I certainly cannot blame him for thinking as he does." She clicked her tongue, taking care that the sound be nothing but pity, “Of course, my Light. How callous of me.” |
“Why do you keep saying that, Sancho?” the walking bedspread asked. Then all the blankets, pillows, and sheets tumbled to the floor as Don Quixote slammed his fist into his palm, a look of revelation spreading across his face.
“Why, that’s simply brilliant!” the Mad Knight cackled his valiantly senile laugh again, “Aliases! I’m not sure exactly why, but I am to be addressed as ‘Saber,’ yes? But to give yourself a code name as well, what a stroke of genius Sanch-” The mad knight slapped a gauntlet to his mouth, catching himself and stifling a giggle at the same time. “I mean Erik,” he corrected with an exaggerated wink before scooping the linens back up and clanking his armored boots toward the door. |
To a human eye, to any mortal gaze, the motion would have been invisible, an impossible distortion of space in which a single man existed in two places simultaneously. But to the unfettered eyes of a Servant...
Heinrich explodes into motion, lunging left toward the nearest pillar his entire body an instrument of destruction. He does not use the concussive ripples technique, favored by his brethren for its ability to multiply the impact of a blow -- rather, with raw inhuman strength, the Executor shatters the ancient stone with a single monstrous blow, sending an explosion of rubble hurtling outward. In the same fraction of a second, he returns to where he was previously standing. "Now then," he continues, dusting off his glove, "As you can see, while the other humans of this era may indeed be weak..." He resumes his pacing. "So be it, though. I see you will not be swayed, and I am not about to waste a command seal this early. Do what you will for the time being, we are forbidden by Ruler's Command Seal from taking action until the morrow, regardless." |
The Fisher King releases the Spear, feeling his point has been made. His regard remains fixed on his Master's back.
"That being the case," he drones, "How would you prefer to wage this war? As Lancer, my talents are best spent on the open battlefield, but I defer matters of strategy to you, my mistress. I remain ignorant as to the nature of your magics." |
He was glad it wasn't any sort of animal after all. Erik wasn't sure that he wanted to be attached to an animal. He blinked and looked toward Saber, to find the servant was already off in the other room. He was sure to raise his voice so he would be heard. "We're not staying here. I just paid for the night. Last night. Not this night. We have to clean up and go find the house."
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Smoke and the smell of gunpowder… cannonfire... Annie?
Names pass through the lips of man, spoken and set free like effervescent bubbles on the tide. This name spoken in blood jolted a soul out of its disembodied slumber. The sweet taste of fermented blood brought it to life. A thin wisp of translucent smoke slithered from the center of the summoning circle. Slowly, it gathered bringing with it the hickory smell of burning wood and the distant sound of a sizzle… She reached out, searching the fray for her true treasure. A loud bang bellowed from the core of the summoning circle spraying exhausted gunpowder and metal into the air. Withit came and large plume of gray smoke and ash, churning the smell of burning wood into the cannon fire. Among the metal debris stood the poor eviscerated body. Cloth and tissue clung to a hallowed ribcage leading down to a spine where the only remains of human were in its leg muscles. A wind picked up, pushing the wind around the skeletal remains of the former pirate. The metal soon inverted spinning wildly towards the center of the circle. Each flake of cannon fodder reconstructing into first tan skin, black locks, right down to the sun peeled flecks on the rounded nose. Jaundiced hued eyes, clouded over by a thick gloss of white stared at the heavens. Her first words in centuries taking the form of only a primal scream. A name. “ANNNNNNNNNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” she bellowed, until globs of congealed rum and seawater pooled over the corners of her lips. Her plea became a mixture of incoherent bubbles and spit. Frantically she turned her head, watching her crew fight off the dregs of land lovers that threatened to blow them apart. Betwixt the smoke she saw the blonde off the starboard side of the vessel. Mary whipped her head towards the only living body in the room. The body heed the commands of the mind. Ambling like a newly risen calf, she slugged her way towards her master. Once she reached her master, she completely engulfed him in the smell of gunpowder and charred remains. Mary wrapped her arms around her Annie, clumsily fondling through the golden tresses, leaving a nuzzled trail of alcoholic goop. |
"I practice witchcraft and create Mystic Codes from my jewels," Lucienne explained, her nose scrunched at her reflection. "Rather, I specialize in healing and water magics. I can hold my own perfectly well against fellow Magi, but I think it would be best if you stayed near me whenever I leave the suite. And, if for some reason you do get yourself injured by one of those... pests, mon cochon, I think that your resilience and my healing can get us through any fight. I don't see any real challenge ahead of us."
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Pelles bows deeply. "I find this amenable. I shall take my leave until you have need of me." With that, he falls away in a flutter of dark feathers, dissipating before they touch the floor.
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Mr. Kite couldn’t move.
Not literally mind you, the woman playing Lennie to his George was certainly strong, but he probably could have pushed her off with enough effort. Mr. Kite couldn’t move because his brain was at least seven paces behind the present moment. Alright, so he summoned a servant. That was good! The ritual worked and he’d be able to participate in the War now. She also seemed to be some kind of pirate, which was badass. On the other hand, she seemed to be reenacting the end of Rocky with some minor script edits. But that wasn’t what had stopped him in his proverbial tracks. No that had been the voice in his head a few seconds before his Servant materialized. He did not like other people being inside his head. It was his head and one enjoys a certain amount of privacy and shameful thoughts there in. Visitors were not welcome! A wet trickle on the back of his neck snapped him back to the present. “Woa, woa!” he protested, wriggling free from the shebeast’s grasp, “Who’s Annie? Because I’m certainly not.” He ran a hand through the golden locks that were his pride and joy. They were slimy. This was shaping up to be a night filled with numerous showers and even more bottles of wine. |
The world around him had changed but he seemed not to notice it. He was sitting on a stool, overlooking the city of Florence through a pane of glass and tracing the lines and angles of the rooftops with a black tipped brush. Leonardo looked down at his ink, then back up through the glass where the Florentine skyline had been changed for one entirely alien to him. His drawn lines disappeared, to be replaced by a plane glass window. He blinked, adjusting his gaze a moment before addressing the mage he knew to be standing behind him.
“So what do you expect to acquire with the grail of Christ?” |
“Wow,” he didn’t look like much. Though, she brushed her hands over the front of her jacket, she didn’t really dress for war either. “Just, uh, right to the point, huh? Small talk not a thing for you guys? No, how’s life? Do you like the weather here in France, or whatever?” Not that she’d really been expecting small talk. She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, content with viewing the back of his head for now, “I’m torn between blowing up the moon or resurrecting the Dodo.”
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She turned her towards her partner, whispering just loud enough so that she’d know the other could hear, “Well, that is impressive.”
As impressive as it may have been, he was sure to roll his eyes before he turned to her in kind. "Eh, it may be a bit, but I don't very well like this tantrum", he raised his voice above a whisper for, and only for, that one word, "that our Master is throwing." “Now, now,” she soothed, resting a hand on his chest, “Let us be kind for just the beginning, hm?” "... If we must. I'd like to fight with him before the war is through." “I’m sure that can be arranged.” |
Heartbeats passed while the pirate contained her movements. The words almost permeated the thick fog around her brain. With a dramatic quiver she swept towards her master again. This time her fingers flexed smoothly at her master’s lower stomach.
“KuArygurrrromurAnnnie….” Each letter was enunciated with more of the same liquid clogging her lungs spilling forth on to her master’s shirt. “GrrrguuughhhArgggguguuuuuArg!” She screamed pulling the blond into her arms. With her free hand she whipped out her cutlass and started thrashing at invisible enemies made physical by embodying objects littered about the room. |
Father Heinrich arches an impassive eyebrow at the childish behavior of his Servants. "If that is your requirement for obedience, you need only win me the Grail and I will give you such a battle as would make your heathen Gods jealous. In the meantime..."
Heinrich raises his hand toward the pair, crimson light pulsing from the Command Seals beneath his glove. "By my Command Seal, I implore you to extend your Presence Awareness to myself for the duration of this war. Bind me as you yourselves are bonded. This I command." Lowering his arm, the priest adds, "Since I will be operating independently of you for the most part, this will be necessary. I will ask, though, how do you mean to prosecute this war? What are your preferred tactics?" The effort of accommodating the condescending pair is approaching painful for the Executor, but he did not survive two decades in the Hell of the USSR's occult underworld without learning to control his behavior. Tantrum? God help them. |
Well, I don’t mind that one bit. “What would you say our preferred tactic is?”
I don't know if his attitude is more irritating or entertaining. "Eh, well, it does change often, doesn't it?" “We should start giving them wonderful names.” I, for one, like him. He’s got some sort of… charm. Oh, a charm is it? "We should. But it's a little late for that now, isn't it?" “It’s never too late to start improving ourselves.” Now, now, don’t take that tone with me. "Eh, true. I like that one sweeping move you do, my sweet Fallow-tail." I don't have any tone, thank you. I can practically taste the tone. “And I ever so much enjoy that wonderful rush you can do.” "That is a fun one." Keep this up and we'll be finding out what else you can taste. "I think my favorite is my arrow volley. It's traditional, but a thrill." |
Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.... Father, forgive them, they know not what they do....
Thanks to his inquisitorial seal, the Servants will not be able to discern anything of his inner thoughts without his express allowance. Perhaps they can even learn the canons of the One True God, beset as they will be by the litany of holy scripture that enshrouds his mind. "I must go pray, now," Father Heinrich states, turning has back on the pair. "We will reconvene in the morning." |
Having gallantly met the challenge of the “check out,” Saber and his Master now stood in the cramped corridors that passed for roads in Avignon. The Servant closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
“Aaaaah,” he sighed with satisfaction, “It is good to once again taste the air of this world… It is the savory aroma of freedom with a hinted promise of adventure!” The valiantly insane knight turned toward Erik, his enraptured grin having yet to leave his face since his summoning and asked eyes ablaze with determination, “Which path leads to our new fortress, Mir Rey?” |
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Mr. Kite exclaimed once again wriggling free from his Servant’s intoxicated grasp, with considerably more effort this time.
“I’m not Annie!” he bellowed in exasperation, “I’m not even a woman!” Nearing his wits end with her incoherent howls, he resorted to drastic measures. Ensuring he was a safe distance from her violent battles against imaginary enemies he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his needlessly tight jeans, and presented the glorious treasure hitherto hidden behind them. “See?!” he demanded, hurriedly stuffing away his Precious once more, “Now would you please, for the love of God, calm the fuck down?!” |
"House," Erik replied, staring down a narrow street. In each hand, he held the handle of one of his suitcases, one tilting far to one side with its broken wheel, and the other making muffled clacks and bangs whenever the mage moved. "It's not a fortress until we've fortified it. I think we have to go..." He shifted his weight, then looked off toward a narrow alley. "... That way. The mana feels better over there."
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"Rider" as he was, may have been about to say something else when he turned in his chair to look at his summoner, his Florentine cap leaning lop-sided over his furrowed face;
"What is a "dodo" and in what manner would you 'resurrect' one?" He turns slowly back to the window, lowering his hand where his brush was still clutched. "But yes, France has changed. So we are here for a war, are we? Over a chalice." |
"Heh, no use for the Grail."
That made him think. What would he want with a cup anyway? What did he want? As far as he was aware, he was essentially immortal. Sure he could still be killed, but natural causes weren't a concern for him. Even age was something he simply allowed to happen, the wrinkles upon his face and silver in his hair were mere allowances to show how old he felt. All the power in the world, and he didn't know what he wanted. Isaac figured that that was the problem with people. Everyone wanted something but didn't know what it was that they longed for. He looked up, about to ask Catherine a question before realizing she was already gone. "Maybe my mind is going after all..." |
She snorted, but decided not to continue the conversation on a bird she didn’t really care about. “Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “A magic cup. So… You know.” She moved over to lean against the wall nearest the window, watching his face as she spoke. “It won’t be all that awful. Probably. I mean, it’ll be pretty shitty, because it’s a war. Magic cup, though.”
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Saber let out a heroic cackle.
“But you are mistaken, Mi Maestro!” he declared throwing his arms out to either side and tossing head back to let the midmorning sun illuminate his crazed, wizened face, “Any residence of the Greatest Knight of All Time and his Humble Lord could not be anything but a fortress! I dare say it would be more appropriate to call it a castle-No! A Palace, fit for Mi Honrado Rey!” His point made, Saber gallantly began to match in the direction indicated by his Master. As he strode he turned his head back to Erik, an inquisitive gleam in his dementia riddled eyes. “By the by,” the mad knight inquired, “Regarding the inn we are departing. What exactly separates it from all other Westerns, thereby making it the Best?” |
"Nothing does," Erik replied, taking long strides to keep up with his servant's enthusiastic pace. The way the knight held himself was interesting to watch. He wasn't sure who Don Quixote was in life, but for all accounts, he seemed like quite the hero. "It's called the best because that boosts its ego."
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“Fascinating!” Saber declared louder than necessary, stroking his pointed, grey goatee, “And rather sad all at once. Tis no small tragedy one that feels the need to add superfluity to his identity in hopes of feeling whole.”
Don Quixote kept to his gallant geit, unaware of the profound irony in the sentiment that had just escaped his lips. Then without warning, Saber’s eyes nearly lept from their sockets in awe. “Dios mío…” he whispered, “ Mi Rey! Is that one of those… Automobiles that the people of this time ride in place of stallions?” |
Erik blinked at Saber's back, then let his focus shift to what had caught the servant's attention. "People don't call them automobiles anymore. They're motor cars... or just cars. If you pay someone else to drive it, it's a cab. And if it's made to carry a lot of things, it's a truck." His steps stalled for a second or two before he turned down another street, not bothering to warn Saber of his change in direction. "Either way, it's faster to walk in places like this."
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Saber didn’t hear him. By the time Erik had finished his
sentence, the brave knight was standing proudly in the middle of the road. The little old woman in the Honda Civic only barely hit the brakes in time to avoid smashing into the bizarre gentleman in a full suit of poorly made platemail. She squinted over the dashboard at the strange fellow and jumped a little as he slammed his palms onto the hood. “Madam!” he bellowed, trying to insure she would hear him from within her metal box, “My master and I are a on mission of grave import! I beseech thee, let us join you down this stone pathway toward our noble goal!” The woman who seemed even older than the aged knight before her blinked for a few seconds. “Excusez-moi?” |
He glanced back when he heard his servant's booming voice, but the sight of the mad man destroying vehicles, disrupting traffic, and yelling at innocent bystanders wasn't enough to make him diverge from his new path. Only one of them had to find the right place, after all.
"I think it's going to rain." |
Here lies a nuisance dedicated to sanity… The modern thought broke the Pirate mid stride in the new era. Mary relaxed, closed her eyes, and breathed in the area around her. There was salt in the air. But far from the sea. This wasn’t Jamaica and she… women could choose to wear pants and not get lashings? A voice broke her out of her reprieve frantically demanding her attention. She answered it first with the sharpened steel aimed to maim, but it simply turned more into bemused smirk twitching, threatening to spill over into laughter. This was the man she was to serve during the war?
“See? See that ye be nothing m’re then a babe still swaddlin' thou're moth'rs tits?.” She turned her weapon to the broad side of the blade and tapped against the little man. “puteth that hence” Inhaling the mucus lodged in her nostrils, she formed them into spit and shot it at the baby, Boy-Annie’s feet with heavy distain. “I 'ave no needs f’r cabinbabes” “Who are ye?” The blade drew away from the man she was to call Captain. Not that such a babe could ever fill those boots. But looks alone did not atone for men and their actions. “And-” The humor in the smirk was lost “'n wha' do ye wants wit' me loot?... The Grail?” |
"Hmmm..." Merlin is deep in thought atop the bell-tower of Notre Dame des Doms, gazing across the expanse of the city below. "I guess this is going to be a close-quarters Grail War, huh HG? Not exactly a lot of room for cat-and-mouse here. Oh, you're still not answering me? I guesssss that's okay, you have work and all." She sighs.
"And speaking of cramped..." Merlin shoves at the statue of the Virgin currently sharing space with her on the summit of the tower, her gilded robes shining blindingly in the midday sun. The statue teeters at the press of her ultra-human strength. "Oh Gods!" the great wizard yelps, frantically wrapping her arms around the Blessed Mother and attempting to hold her still. "Okay... okay Mare, there's plenty of room for the both of us up here. You can share the spotlight for a minute." Merlin crouches on the edge of the pinnacle, maintaining a precarious balance as she searches the city. "I know what your thinking," she addresses to the statue, "And I will have you know I am NOT fat, we just all can't be starving, subjugated Judean peasants! So I enjoy a cookie or six once in a while! I'm in great shape! Just look at me!" She turns to gesture emphatically at the dispassionate statue, and promptly slips off the edge, having to catch herself with a curtain of air-mana to avoid plummeting into the square below. The great wizard regains her perch with perfect dignity. "Judgmental bitch," she mutters. "Now let's see... we have one, two, Gods they're close by, three, four, there's five and six, with six Servants as well... but where is the seventh??" Extending her clairvoyance out of Avignon proper, she quickly pinpoints the laggards. She contemplates using another Command Seal to tell them to hurry up before deciding that she could do with the walk. And not because of the three strawberry-cream crêpes she had before coming up here. Crêpes are gross. She wouldn't do that. |
The old man looks like an old man, save that, unlike some other servants, perhaps, Leonardo Da Vinci looks like the spitting image of himself from every modern reproduction of every Renaissance image. The greatest painter would make excellent self portraits.
Rider likewise looks at his Master; her pony-tail, headband; canvas jacket. "A magic cup. I suppose there are more foolish things to wage war over." He gets out of his chair by the window. Everything about him is long and flowing, from his grey beard and hair to his rich coloured clothes. He drops his brush into a leather pouch at his side, almost swallowed in his robes. "I assume it is the magic you desire, not the cup? There is no shortage of vessels to delight if the latter were so. I could save us the trouble and make some, myself." Rider tilts his head a little as if listening to something. "We are summoned, yes? The overseer would have us convene. Shall we go?" He smiles slightly, reaching up to adjust the cap on his head. It remains crooked. |
Before long, Saber had successfully backed up traffic almost all the way to Avignon’s airport. The locals and travelers just trying to make it into the city didn’t appreciate his noble quest and had decided to voice their displeasure with a belligerent cacophony of honking.
Don Quixote, being a man out of time and with quite aged ears to begin with, could not bare the deafening blare and was forced to clasp his hands to his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the horrendous noise. Had Erik been paying attention at the instant, he might have seen the way his servant twitched momentarily and the bolt of madness that shot through his eyes. “What foul trickery is this…?” Saber muttered his face downcast, his shoulders slumped, and almost his entire being giving off the aura of a victim of deceit and betrayal. Then the Mad Knight, in a true show of his title, threw his head back and cackled louder and more proudly than he had ever done so since his summoning. “We’ve been duped, Mi Rey!” Don Quixote announced, jabbering his finger in accusation at the old woman behind the steering wheel, “This is no motorcar! It’s something far, far more senesister!” The old Spaniard’s eyes were agleam with crazed delusion and an impossibly wide grin threatened to tear the corners of his mouth. Before the knight’s eyes, the vehicle shifted and condensed, twisted and expanded. Fists followed by sinuous arms of pure muscle erupted and stretched forth from the front hubcaps, cloven feet and legs strong enough to kick through stone followed from the back. The entire body slowly lifted itself up, revealing the jaggedly contorted torso of a warrior underneath as the headlights shrunk into fiery, hate filled eyes on what was once a grill, but now had become the unmistakable visage of a raging bull. “Behold, Erik!” Don Quixote declared, gesturing grandly just above the still very ordinary car, “Our foe’s true form: The Minotaur, bastard son of King Minos and The Cretan Bull!” Saber extended his hands to his sides and, in a flash of incandescent violet, a battered old shield materialized in his left hand, accompanied by a rusty lance missing its tip in his right. He pointed the decrepit weapon at the Carbeast defiantly, eyes ever crazed like those of a rabid dog. “But worry not, Master!” Don Quixote bellowed heroically, “For on my honor, I shall slay this wretched beast in your name and save this humble village!” His oath sworn, Don Quixote let out a mad roar as he drove his pathetic excuse for a lance into the license plate of the Civic. The old woman behind the wheel screamed, threw open the door and hobbled away down the road cursing in French. Don Quixote let out a victorious cackle and raised his lance to the sky in celebration. “Another foe slain by the great and honorable Don Quixote de La Mancha! Worry not, Mi Rey! You are safe now!” Saber declared loudly as panicked commuters leapt from their vehicles and fled from the car killing lunatic as the sound of sirens grew in the distance. |
Mr. Kite blinked bulging eyes at the suddenly distressingly coherent woman.
Well, maybe not coherent… But certainly more in control of her faculties than the blubbering headcase in front of me a moment ago… I seriously hope I don’t have to flash my dick at her every time she gets like that… He eventually gave up shock for a defeated sigh and slumped into the nearest, cushiest armchair. “Wonderful…” he spat sarcastically as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and let it with a gold zippo, “First she’s a raging lunatic and now she’s a smart ass. A week’s worth of blood and this is what I get in return.” He took a long drag from his death stick and exhaled a large cloud of smoke. Pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the migraine this woman was giving him, he reached under the chair and produced a bottle of uncomfortably expensive looking wine. He pricked his finger on his ring and a crimson talon rose from it’s tip. He plunged the blood needle into the neck of the bottle and with a delicate flick, pulled the cork out and flung it across the garage. He then brought the it to his lips, tipped it vertically, and swallowed greedy gulps of the French wine like a man dying of dehydration might drink from a bottle of water. “Ignoring the fact that you’re clearly a disrespectful bitch and a violent one at that,” he finally said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “You can call Mr. Kite. In the very unlikely event that we wind up the bestest of friends, I’ll tell you my actual name. But for now, Mr. Kite or Master will do.” Mr. Kite alternated between feeding his nicotine and alcohol dependence in between sentences. Eventually, in an attempt at a peace offering, he held out the bottle, now only half full, to the pirate woman. “As for the Grail,” he began, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eye, “I wouldn’t say I need it as much as I need an excuse to raise Hell… But, if I wind up with an omnipotent wish granting cup in the end, that’s a win-win in my book.” Mr. Kite suddenly looks toward the ceiling then at the nine out of twelve accurate clocks on the wall. When the FUCK did last night turn into today? A little wobbly from the drink, but still perfectly able to function otherwise so far as he could tell, the young man with the golden locks rose from his chair. "Well shit," he sighed, stamping out the cigarette under his boot and plopping the bottle on a nearby nightstand before his servant could accept or refuse his offer, "I'm not entirely sure how this circus operates, but I'm pretty sure the ringleader wants all us clowns to gather at the centre ring for some kind of stupid meet and greet. Guess we'll have to get to know each other on the way there Miss...?" |
He'd been walking for some time.
Some time being — Erik pulled an old flip phone from his pocket and flicked it open — ... some time. He'd forgotten to check the time when they left. Or when Saber had wandered off. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that it was well into time for lunch. Obviously, no powerful mage could afford to go around skipping meals and being hungry. So, wobbling and clanking suitcases in tow, he turned into the first place with food he could find: a bakery. |
It had been hard to move through the city without getting distracted -- there were just so many things to see, and clairvoyance just wasn't the same as being up close and personal -- but Merlin is dedicated to her mission and remained focused, now arriving in the southeast outskirts where the seventh master has been dawdling. Thankfully it's been easy to find him, what with his unusually-high mana signature.
The great wizard's eyes light up as she spots the establishment in which he's chosen to take up position. The smell of baked delicacies as she slips inside is overwhelming. Cakes! Pastries! Glazed baguettes! All kinds of savory treats she doesn't know the names of. (Yes, she does.) Does not. Remembering how these things are supposed to work, Merlin readies her credit card given to her by the Grail (one needs financial clout as Overseer, after all), and grabs a basket to fill. It doesn't take long. Arriving at the counter, she discovers even more pastries awaiting her. "Oh my Gods... is that a sugared pineapple cake?!?! I'll take two of those, please! No, the whole cakes. Yes, thanks so much! Er, merci! Je t'adore!" Something is bothering her, though, distracting from the euphoria of anticipation at digging into her haul, something... "Oh, right! Hi!" Such incredible luck to bump into him right here! "Hey! Yes, you, person. Name, name... Erik! Hello! Salutations! Hi! Hi." |
The change in mana was obvious as soon as the woman walked in. Not that either of the employees could probably tell. Neither felt like a mage, as far as Erik could tell. He was glad he'd already made his purchase with how fast the shelves were emptied. Standing around until she was finished, he picked at his chocolate and raisin bread, his gauntlets getting sticky and stained. "Hello," his tone wasn't nearly as energetic as hers, especially when he had bread stuffed in his cheek, "I don't think we've met."
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"Oh, um," the great wizard gulps down the chunk of doughnut that mysteriously found its way into her mouth. "I'm Merlin!" She extends a crumb-dusted, manicured hand his way. "The greatest mage ever, adviser to the greatest king ever. You've probably heard of me."
She leans in conspiratorially to whisper in his face. "I'm in charge of the Grail War!!!" She makes spooky gestures for emphasis while she says that. Then she giggles. |
The bakery’s door slams open as and then slams shut again with Saber panting, his back pressed against it.
“Thank God,” he exclaimed in relief and running to embrace his master, “Upon defeating the foul creature, some strange militia of men in blue began yelling and chasing me!” He smiles proudly. “But worry not! They had no hope of catching a humble knight such as myself!” he declares, before noticing the woman with Erik, “Oh! I don’t believed you’ve had the pleasure, Mi Señora!" He bows far more flamboyantly and deeper than necessary. “I am Don Quixote de La Mancha and it is a profound pleasure to meet you!” |
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