“No, I really think he mightn’t like the surprise.” Her attention finally flicked back to her partner, “Perhaps you should warn him.”

"He was so worked up before," Askr said with a sigh, a sigh that was punctuated by a slow riiip of paper. He'd been seated by the window with a dusty old book he'd found for some time, obvious by the scraps carelessly dropped on the floor around him. "What if he wants to do all the fighting?"

She shrugged a single shoulder, watching the newest page fall. “Then you, the light of my world, will gently suggest he stand aside?”

Wide eyes looked up at her. "Oh, no, no. surely not I. I've not nearly the charm you do, my lovely little Fallow-tail."

“Please,” she did her best to keep the twitch of a smile off of her lips, “I’m positive he liked you far better.”

"Nonsense. No man, woman, or beast would look twice at me so long as you were there, shining as radiantly as you do."

“There will come a day,” she pointed a warning finger at him, “Where your flattery fails to sway me from my stance. Until then, I suppose I will go warn our dear and loving master of the impending visitor.”

"Loving is hardly the word I would use, but I wish you strength all the same."

“You’re very lucky,” she murmured, not finishing her threat as she headed towards the door she had seen their master disappear through some time ago. She stood before the door, smoothing her skirt straight for a moment before she knocked. She did her best to ensure it was loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that it was demanding. It was an art.

Erik thought it better not to mention that they had, more likely than not, already been lost before they ran into the great wizard. "Oh, yes, alright. That seems like an awful lot of bedrooms, doesn't it? Are you the only one staying in them all?"

“Of course,” she nodded once more, controlling the grin that wanted to sneak into place as she heard the pages ripping. “If there is anything worth relaying to you we will be sure to do so.” Without glancing around the room again she left, shutting the door quietly behind herself, glancing back to her troublesome partner. She let herself smile and shook her head. “I suppose you’re too busy to go say hello?”

"As keen as ever, my beloved." In fact, he would need to find something else to tear apart in short order. "If nothing else, I suppose that Master of ours may have some... reasonable strategic suggestions."

“Indeed so,” she glanced to the door over her shoulder, “It was a good suggestion. One rather than both. I suppose if our little team needs a face it really should be mine.”

"Sometimes, my sweet Fallow-tail, I think you intentionally wound me."

“I’ve absolutely no idea what you could be talking about. Enjoy your reading, my everlasting light.”

She left him there, enjoying his destruction. It wasn’t particularly difficult to hone in on the visitor, she still took her time, ensuring that her clothes were just so. She so hated to make a bad first impression. After finding the woman she waited, a few paces back. Eventually, she was sure she had a question that wouldn’t be particularly inflammatory, “How do you find the weather?”

"Oh." There was a shift in the mana the longer they walked. It was slight, but as refreshing as Merlin's presence was. "Well." Refreshing, but not as comforting as Saber's presence, the shared mana, the mana that gave his servant purchase on the world, so close to his own, yet so completely different. "I had no idea the Holy Grail could talk, so I suppose I wouldn't say no." Where Merlin was the first opened window on the first warm day after winter, Saber was something close, something like family, that, instead of sweeping away the old mana, turned it anew. "I'd probably just be confused." Erik imagined that with these two servants, were he not in an unfamiliar country, with unfamiliar people speaking unfamiliar words, it might have felt like home.

Her entrance into the physical was less ostentatious and paced along the walk that curved around the giant church. Close to the embankment, the pirate’s well trained eye caught a glimmer of something shiny riding the currently bobbing softly against the rocks. Grinning, Mary climbed down to fish out the treasure from the murky waters. She held the golden flask against the sun. She tucked the child’s treasure inside her jacket and sought to continue her investigation.

It troubled her, the power behind the stones, but worse was the mild surprise when the voice close to her spoke. Looking up the cliff she saw the petite, fairly colored person addressing her. The lady was one of them. Their class was cleverly masked by a blouse and animal skirt that gave way to the curves of a lady. Instinctively her lips curled into smile while her fingers itched for the hilt of her weapon.

The powerful parley paused her actions, and she climbed to level ground with the woman answering her question “not as fav'r'd as the sight bef're mine eyes M’lady”.

Although modern times dictated otherwise, mary was a gentleman. A gentleman never left a lady unescorted. She offered the woman her arm despite knowing how delicate the facade was. More words poured out of her lips as she rose“.T'whom do I owe th' hon’r of speakin' wit'?” And at last she arrived at the most important question. Something she did not know herself. Surely another powerful being pulled from the void of purgatory could answer. “ ‘N howye find bein’ alive once m're?”

“Bon matin,” Mr. Kite’s warm and relaxed voice announced his approach to the elderly man he’d noticed when nearing the church. He smiled cheerfully at the stranger, holding his body open, relaxed, and vulnerable partially to let him know he meant no harm, but mostly because they were both unable to so much as smack each other until the opening curtain.

He was much more himself today, relaxed, friendly, and less inclined to murder bystanders. That was partially thanks to the carefully calculated mixture of illicit and prescription (though none of the bottles had his name on them) substances in his system. That and the fact that he’d spent the night before emptying all five bottles of wine he’d strewn about the garage.

But mainly, it was because he hadn’t seen Berserker since yesterday. If she was around, she’d given him the kindness of a shut mouth and as far as he was concerned, that was worth at least a new year's or mardigra level celebration.

So it was a perfectly peaceful and well meaning man that approached in a golden coat, lined with hidden razors, needles, and knives, that asked, “Can I get in on some of that chocolate or was that offer just for...”

He looked up toward the direction the man had been offering. There was no one there.

"...God?"

Mr. Kite’s smile never faltered before the nightmarish hag that materialized upside down before him, though his eyes did widen and bulge significantly. He probably would have been faster and more dramatic in his reaction, but there were far too many chemicals snaking their way through his system to allow such things. A fact made all the more obvious considering his pupils had dilated enough to make his yellow irises nearly invisible.

“Peace is a lie told to children to help them sleep better at night,” Mr. Kite grinned politely back, slipping one of his doctored cigarettes between his lips to ensure he wouldn’t begin sobering up in time to be nearly as disgusted and horrified by what he was seeing as he should be, “Conflict is the natural state of our world and, unless we can find a more successful method, violence it’s most reliable rectifier. Besides last I checked,”

Mr. Kite rolled up his sleeve to look at the back of his wrist.

“The abattoir isn’t open until we all go to our little tea party. I imagine I’d already be suffering unimaginable horrors and terrible, zappy agony otherwise.”

The Servant, or whatever it was, was obviously trying to intimidate him with her grotesque dramatics, so he shifted his eyes to the man he’d been speaking to in the first place.

“Still, I’m just happy to learn I’m not the only one who got the short end of the summoning stick,” he nonchalantly aimed his exhaled smoke in the monstrosity’s direction as he spoke, “You got stiffed on looks and I got stiffed on personality. Wanna trade?”

So this was Archer.

That only left five more players on the battlefield for her to meet. It was a pity such a warrior stood in her way. Low down and cut throat a pirate maybe, there was still heart. The stark contrast between the ashen skin and the black sleeve hugging her, arm made the young Archer look rather phantasmagoric. The aura from the slender woman did not match what Mary felt in the palace. Her mind found a quandary of other ideas to distract her. Hippolyte? … no legendary Amazons would be larger than life.

She led the woman a few paces down the walkway as another answer formed. But thinking of the petite woman as some sort Robin hood suited Mary the best. They were kindred spirits in the pursuit of treasure. She turned their joint promenade in the direction of Mr. Kite. The advantages of knowing their enemy far out weighed the element of surprise.

As they strolled, Mary drew in the crisp morning air and this time she spoke slowly, attempting to enunciate over her usual drunken drawl. “Ber-zerkur”

Her steps stalled when she came to find Mr. Kite had disappeared. It seemed that Mr. Kite had no interest in the dangers he faced. She had led him to the epicenter of the war, and he grew sullen. She investigated for weaknesses against the impenetrable fortress that held their treasure, and he simply vanished. In his place was small tattered pieces of weather aged paper. Fool. Fool as good as dead, before the battle is won. Her life was too entwined with Mr. Kites to leave him alone. “I apologize. I want’d t' introduce ye t' me Mast’r Swabbie. But I must findeth 'im first.”

Mary slipped away from Archer. Her master’s absence thwarted her chance to sweep the young archer into a dashing display of modern culinary skills of which Mary had desire for. Growling, the pirate searched for an alternative when she recalled the weight in her pockets. The trinket must have been worthless to Mr. Kite. Someone else would find valuable. Valuable enough that Mary need not leave without some degree of manners.

She bide the Archer to wait. In moments with her strange accented words, Mary was able to find a trinket merchant, intrigued by the golden flask enough to barter it for one of its finer pieces of jewelry. She selected one that seemed all too well fitting within the french extravagance the grail set for them. Mary made her way back to the Archer, she fell into a bow as customary.

Turning the hand over, she brought it to her lips, leaving a slight ruby lip stain on Archer. “When we meet again,-”She pushed the lace of her forget-me-not against her wrist. “ I shall kidnap ye. 'n we shall live our second lives without folly ‘r careth o' wishes” Releasing the Archer, but not before leaving the same mark upon the woman’s cheeks, Mary disappeared.

Goddamit.

Mr. Kite would wear looser pants to avoid this sort of thing, but with how perfect they made his ass look it was worth every rebellious zipper incident. He was half tempted to simply leave it open, just to spite the stranger, but that temptation was overpowered by the need to keep his Curly Wurly as far away from Assassin as humanly possible.

He recognized the look in the man’s eyes as he fixed his fly. They were the eyes of a man who’d very much like to kill him right now. He wondered when he’d first been able to notice it. He knew he’d first started enjoying it with Toronto’s Former Chief of Police. There’s something so wonderfully satisfying about the look of unconditional hatred in a man’s eyes when he knows he’s powerless before you. Delicious, even, when it’s the first time in his life he’s felt that way. That’s what kept Mr. Kite going, the satisfaction of making arrogant men feel what he’d felt almost all his life, even if it was just for a fraction of a second.

The stranger’s eyes weren’t ripe enough yet. They were all annoyance, not enough contempt. His little sermon definitely cemented him on his harvesting list though. He simply smiled all through it, waiting for the miserable old codger to finish his little speech.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Kite waved his hand dismissively at the greyed man’s words of wisdom, attempting to get the stench of condescension out of his face, “And while you were still learning how to spell your name, I was being trained to conquer galaxies. You’re not the only one who can make obscure pop culture references. And Creampuff? Really? That’s what you’re goin’ with?”

Mr. Kite decided to do a little gardening by looking down at himself and then giving the man the kind of sceptical look reserved for this world’s most outstanding idiots.

“Well whatever churns your butter, I guess,” Mr. Kite shrugged, stuffing his hands into his jacket’s pockets, “My personal favorite’s always been Goldilocks. And spare me the bullshit You’re In Over Your Head speech, it doesn’t get anymore convincing the fiftieth time than it was the first forty nine. I was only trying to be civil before this all got started, but if you’re not interested I’ll just fuck off.”

Mr. Kite straightened his lapels and gave a sarcastic little bow before crossing the street toward the church. Once safely on the otherside, he spun about and called back to the two.

“And thanks for telling me your Servant’s Class, Coffinstuffing!” he hollered, allowing himself a smug grin, “I’ll be sure to take advantage of that little tidbit!”

Under normal circumstances someone who was, at least, 50% narcotics at this point could not possibly be functioning anywhere near as normally as Mr. Kite was. But that was the benefit of his special blend of illicit pickmeups and the ability to control your own blood flow. All of the Up, almost none of the impairment.

As he strode toward the church a slight sigh of realization escaped him. No matter his confidence in his own abilities, this was still a war of Masters and Servants. He wasn’t sure how soon after this meeting everyone would start tearing into each other and he still barely knew anything about his Servant other than the fact that she made him feel like bashing his head against a brick wall.

He shook his head meekly and called her to him as he looked up, into the clear sky above.

“All hands on deck, Berserker.”