[notDEADyet]

He looked so unassuming. Just like some normal old artist. She quite liked it and was, admittedly, excited to see what the others looked like. Would they look like warriors? “Yep, yeah.” She stood again, closing her jacket halfway as she headed for the door, “You know where we’re going, right? Do I need to look up directions or something?”

[Poggio]

She was displeased with the display of rebellion despite being a pirate. The boy still had not made any moves to complete her simple request, and even her crew would not walk about so shamelessly. As he talked, Mary moved about her newest confines. So simple. Too domestic… no fortification, no arms… We need a ship.

The Merchants water held no interest to her. She held the vessel aloft and produced her own flask of potent liquor. With an ecstatic upturn of her lips, she set about alchemizing the liquor of ages into the glass bottle.

The pirate let the silence straight before answering Mr Kite,“ A Babe that doesnât know how t' playeth games. ye get wha' ye ask f’r. She turned a similar vicious grin into her partner and crime. “Berserk’r” Her free fingers snatched her trifold off her head and mockingly she bowed at the so called master. “leadeth the way” She licked her lips ready to taste the new hedonism and swim in its treasures.

[Gallagher]

"Merlin," Erik repeated, crumbs from the woman's hand sticking to the chocolate and fruit on his own when they shook hands. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the man smiled. "Yes, actually, my brother—" Before Erik could finish his sentence, however, his servant burst into the bakery He only blinked as he was swept into an embrace, the remainder of his bread sent tumbling to the floor. And just as fast as Saber had ruined his meal, the man had turned away from Erik. "Oh... what about a militia?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Merlin ignores the bumbling pair for a moment -- she already knows who they are, after all -- and orders a... lait frappé for herself to wash down her doughnut.

Returning to them, she rejoins the conversation. "Oh my Gods, you guys. You have to try one of these. It has cookies in it."

She is well aware of the disturbance Don Quixote has caused, but reasonably assumes the situation can resolve itself without her intervention. And this milkshake is really good.

[Doctor Gabriel]

Mr. Kite eyed his Servant suspiciously. He wasn’t sure if her last comment had been an insult or simply agreement. Either way, he was fairly confident that he should find the way she’d bowed insulting.

“Okay, listen,” he said rising reluctantly from the armchair’s soft embrace and heading toward the long forgotten garage’s back door,

(The only door now that he’d sealed the sliding grate that opened into the street shut right after he’d finished making the place livable.)

“I realize that technically speaking, I’m essentially at best a newborn and at worst a fetus in your eyes, but I’m going to have to ask you to stop with the whole babe shtick. I won’t pretend I’ve seen nearly as much shit as you have, but I promise; not nearly as green as you seem to think.”

Mr. Kite donned a dark, woollen pea coat and held open the door for his Servant with a weary tilt of his that said, “Let’s go.”

“I’m not asking you to respect me,” he elaborated, flashing Berserker his first genuine smile since her summoning, “I’m just hoping you’ll pretend to. Or at least promote me from Cabin Boy to Swabbie or somethin’.”

[Doctor Gabriel]

“Monsieur!”

The booming voice snaps Saber’s attention from the delicious looking confectionary the young woman is praising with such enthusiasm.

The militia of men in blue with their funny hats had surrendered the bakery and set up some kind of chest high barricade. One of them seemed to be speaking into a metallic horn of plenty that enlarged his voice to that of a giant.

“S'il vous plaît sortir avec vos mains au-dessus de votre tête!”

Don Quixote’s eyes narrowed.

“My word…” he snapped to action looking around wildly and finally grabbing one of the tables nearby, scaring the daylights out of the couple who’d been using it and tossing their deserts to the floor. His lance would not enough for this task.

“The fiends mean to storm this humble shop!” the Mad Knight declared, blissfully unaware of what a policeman or barricade was, “Worry not, humble gentry! I, the great Don Quixote de La Mancha, shall defend this establishment till my dying breathe!”

Oathe sworn, once again, our noble hero bashed through the door to the bakery holding the table like a battering ram and screamed his battle cry at the top of his withered old lungs.

“DESPAIR AND REPENT, PICAROS! IN THE NAME OF MY LORD ERIK, I SHALL LAY WASTE TO YOUR VILLAINOUS BAND OF VILE VIPERS!”

[Gallagher]

"You really shouldn't ruin everyone's-" Even if Saber had been paying attention to him, it was far too late for any comment to have helped. Dishes were shattered wherever they had flown, and were soon joined by splinters of wood large and small. "-meals." Erik glanced down and brushed off a particularly large piece of wood that had, thankfully, gotten stuck in the tightly woven armor under his coat and not his arm. "It's rather rude. I don't think Jasper would like this at all."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

She'd been enjoying the outing -- she really had, it was just so nice to be able to take a day for herself and enjoy the pleasures of life. How often did she get to be physically incarnate after all? But some people -- SOME PEOPLE just HAD to drag her back to work on her day off!

"Okay," the great wizard breathes. "Let's deal with this, then." Merlin proceeds to peel off the long glove sheathing her right arm, unveiling the pulsing stigmata of her Command Seals.

"Don Quixote de La Mancha! By the supreme authority of my Command Spell, I compel you to put up your arms! Cease all violent action at once and assume spirit form until your master orders your return!"

That accomplished, Merlin, casually invoking the Second Magic to stride between moments, begins weaving the spellwork that will rectify the situation. First, a wide-range sleeping curse. Sparing Erik, they were buddies now.

Now then, how did that amnesia spell go...

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The night is still over the city, undisturbed by any outcry of violence. When will such a night come again?

When they all lie dead at my hand, their lifeblood rotting upon the stones in the wake of divine judgment. One by one, they will fall, pierced, dying as God died, and the World will know a small measure of atonement for each.

She can never atone enough.

His Master lay resting, gathering strength for the tribulation that would break upon the morrow. Pelles knows little of magecraft, can scarcely judge her worthiness to serve as his Master. The woman, Lucienne, carries herself with an air of dominance, though -- so unlike the the passive, indolent, hypocrite King who once ruled the sovereign land of his home. Vain and wretched, that odious pretender reigning as though she had been seated on the throne of Camelot by divine right, all the while inviting plague and sin into the blessed realm with her every failure, her every act of unworthiness. That the sacrosanct sword had been defiled by such squalid hands....

Lancer is roused from his bitter reverie by a stirring across the room, the Master's hound growing restive. The sorceress does not seem to notice.

Lacking any other means to fulfill his duties as a Servant, the King of Carbonec clears his throat -- coughing up a gobbet of noxious, bloody spittle, and enunciates into the slumbering silence.

"My lady, I believe your Mousse requireth attention. I fear it may void itself if left to its own devices. And I know now that you prize cleanliness. Pray, awaken."

Pelles retrieves a tissue from box on the nearby table and carefully wipes the crimson mucus from his palm, depositing it into the wastebin.

[Poggio]

Mary laughed. It boisterously invited onlookers into the privacy of the shop. The mirth continued on her lips was her eyes trailed along the features of Mr Kite. Gentle fingertips, posed to tease the boy, call him a babe, but they paused every so slightly gracing the rounds of the un-haired chin. The ambition, false bravado, and need to be… bold. Her heart beat for another, that was so uncanny and eerily similar. A small growl came out of her lips. Her mind was oft fogged by the very liquid poison that was proverbially said to always be with her character. Slowly, black locks shook in tune with denial with the boys last words. The pirate dropped the bottle in her grasp and walked out the door.

She inhaled the modern air. With magic and an exhale, Mary cloaked herself in modern attire that spoke of rebels. She dusted the gunpowder off her leather checking out the shadows of the narrow roadways. Their position within the battle field was horrendous. She could feel at least two other servants close to the grail, and one she could not pin point. The pirate twisted away from the smell of seasalt. There was a time and a place for wants and needs. A pirate was more than treasure. Battles, friends, enemies. Greed had a price. Mary strolled towards the palace on the hill.

[Gallagher]

It was far, far too early for any reasonable person — or former person — to be trying to wake her. Yet, Lucienne found herself increasingly aware of how much she wasn't sleeping. And of the moist state of her pillowcase. She snorted as she woke and rolled onto her back, short brown hair sticking up on the side she'd been sleeping on. "Wha-" she croaked, then cleared her throat and swallowed stale saliva. It was a monumental effort to get her eyes open enough to squint at the ceiling. "What?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"The Mousse, my mistress, as I believe you referred to it. It is my understanding that the beast needs must unburden its bladder. Though, I know little such creatures. They betrayed me along with the land, so long ago... as with my own flesh...." The Fisher-King's mournful sigh is punctuated by whistle of air through the rotted hole in the right side of his nose, a small bubble of ichorous mucus quivering over it as the air passes through.

[Doctor Gabriel]

Mr. Kite didn’t like daylight.

The sun hurt his eyes and all the people about were too noisy. All the same, he walked with the Biker Chick toward where he guessed he was supposed to go. Before heading out she’d done some hokus pokus spirit nonsense to change into something that didn’t so loudly proclaim, “I’M A PIRATE! BRING ME YOUR WENCHES AND BOOTY!”

Simply thinking the word booty made him restless.

6 months…

6 long, lonely months…

It was difficult to cope with doing the things he did and knowing the things he knew without a reliable carnal release. But he doubted he’d be able to relieve that urge with his new roommate around. The Canadian Public school system and the extra bits he’d gleaned from the locals with his ring made him confident enough in his French to be able to entice a fair young french girl and-

Mr. Kite shook his head vigorously.

What the hell was he thinking?

He’d just entered a goddamn war. This was no time to let his second head do the thinking.

He turned toward his Servant instead, desperate to get his mind off the subject.

“So what are you?” he asked in as polite a manner he could manage, “Rider? Archer? I didn’t think Pirate was a Class in this fuckery.”

[Doctor Gabriel]

One second Saber was charging heroically into battle.

The next he wasn’t.

The table crashed into the road as he ceased to be, leaving the police force blinking in bewilderment and dumbfounded confusion.

Don Quixote was no less confused. He attempted to swipe at one of the nearby officers to no avail. Undaunted he ferociously attacked the man, each strike simply passing through him.

The old knight sighed and eventually accepted that he was no longer able to fight the good fight. As such he returned to his master, inquiring as to why exactly he had gone, as he put it, poof.

[Poggio]

The end of the street was populated by markets stalls, vehicles and morning haze that warmed the world in a soft illuminated glow. She watched the black rivers diverge into smaller streams around the land dwellings. Her steps continued northeast. Although there was the continuous music of the waves of people surrounding them, she could hear Mr Kite seeking answers from her.

Each time the man opened his mouth it only seem to serve more towards her point. He was just a babe, barely on the cusp of understanding what it meant to be an adult. She responded with a grunt.

Eventually their steps lead them to behind the Palace of Avignon. It was only then that she allowed her lips to broaden, and one side to curve slightly upwards. Nested in the bosom of greenery loomed the fortitude of the grail. The pirate started to close the gap between her and the prize. Her excited steps stalled at the threshold of the doors. The morning personal eyed them suspiciously. Drawing in a breath she changed direction away from the grand entrance and walked instead just beyond the tendrils of power centralizing behind the gargantuan stone facade.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Originally Posted by Quiet

“You can lead, if you like. Four hundred years is time enough for things to change, though I imagine the cardinal layout remains the same.” Leonardo heads straight for the door, or a door, as the case is, inferring from his current position and that of the window in which direction it would be.

(Quiet can't post at work.)