[Doctor Gabriel]

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.”