[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, Isaac, my darling, my days of seduction are long past, I fear. I mean to take a rather more direct approach to our enemies."

Assassin hops down from the ledge and accepts the curly-wurly. "I intend no insult to your considerable charms, of course, my Master. I merely fear for your well-being should you take too polite a tact with our victims." Catherine deftly unseals the plastic package and samples the chocolate. With a full mouth, she adds, "You are, of course, always welcome to expend your flatteries on me, your humble Servant."

[Gallagher]

"Fitting, yes, I agree." Mousse, having sniffed its own waste and spent a full minute kicking dirt over it, jumped excitedly at her knees. Luci bent to pet the dog on its head. "But, when it comes to hearing such trifles of your Master, I must say that I doubt your sincerity. Why would you, with all the tragedy that your life was, care about another's hardships, mon cochon?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, Master, I fear you have erred in your judgment of me." The Fisher-King turns his depthless stare back to the night sky, reaching up to brush a tear of blood from his cheek where it weeps from his wounded eye. "The tragedy of the King of Carbonec comes not from the injustices that were wrought upon this body, no, maimed and castrated, I was not unique in such straits. The sorrow that shackles me is of a different order entire."

A dribble of brown-red spittle rolls from the abscess at the corner of his mouth. "These wounds you see before you, Lucienne, are effigies. I am suffering incarnate, stigmatized by the sins of every human soul. The pestilence that seeps from me is not born of any humor of this ravaged body. You have as much claim to it as I myself do. More, even. I am but the manifest metaphor of what your kind has done to this world, given you by the grace of God."

The emaciated King's neck cranes down over his shoulder at a nearly inhuman angle to look at her. "Do not think that I absolve you of the slightest guilt, my Master. Merely, I do not blame you more than any other. All are equal in the eyes of God. Equally attainted, and equally damned."

His murky pupil comes into sudden, sharp focus. "Now tell me of the pit your soul has gouged into this world."

[Doctor Gabriel]

“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?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, quel magnifique! Quel délicieux!" Catherine's shrill laughter ripples through the early morning. What perversities in Providence allowed for such ironies?

Emboldened by the armistice that yet binds them, Assassin chooses to reveal herself, stripping off the cloak of concealing mana like a boudoir gown. Even if a battle could be fought, this corneille-petite presents no threat whatsoever, even with those adorable blades he has stowed on his person.

La Voisin manifests in front of the stranger, yet the face she shows is not the one Isaac has grown so fond of -- dignified in its aged beauty -- rather, the true visage of her soul, ripped from the furnace of Perdition.

She hangs inverted in the air in front of the young man, her upside-down countenance level with his. Tarry, melted flesh is split in a grin of deformed teeth, now broken as the wreckage of an exploded tongue licks mortified lips. Where her eyes should be, a cusp of fire-fused bone, blackened and bubbled, hangs in inhuman regard of Mr. Kite. Her familiar coils around her, its slithers rattling her skeletal gown.

"Not quite God, mon garçon." A raspy chortle escapes the murderess. "How rarely do little lambs like you get to tour the abattoir en avance? Is peace not a marvelous state of the world?"

Assassin's demented smile stretches all the wider, and a pulse of electricity courses through her demon, making tiny lightnings dance across her teeth, standing her hair on end. The sensation is nearly as thrilling as the fantasy of what she could do to this lost soul before her if only Ruler's geas could be broken.

[Doctor Gabriel]

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?”

[Poggio]

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.

[Salone]

Isaac eyed the exchange between the fantastically flamboyant man and his Servant, watching the scene with a bemused eyebrow that climbed higher and higher as the man continued.

"I'd offer you a Curly Wurly, but er..." he paused for a bit, looking down at the man's unzipped trousers. "I see you already brought your own."

He pulled the dog end out from behind his ear, giving the man time to recover his dignity if he so chose to. He lit the thing once again, taking a drag before speaking. I could do it, he thought. Just one cough. Lyme disease is in vogue this time of year. Bloody restraints...

"Listen up, Creampuff. Before your dad forgot to use a french tickler, I was putting bodies back together and putting holes in others. I'm an old tosser, but I'm a smart old fart. That's how you get old, see. And that right there is Assassin. Simmer over that name for a second mate. Assassin. You know what an Assassin does? They tiptoe around and kill people. Now let's take a look at you, Creampuff. Dressed up like Moist von Lipwig. You stick out like a three quid thong and you're twice as loud as the tart wearing it. So remember that once this gets underway, eh?"

[Salone]

"Very well."

The ash of Rasputin tittered as a cold blast of wind rushed about the room. On the tail end a small black creature blustered in, flapping about haphazardly before finding a perch to hang itself from. The beady black eyes of a bat watched Leila warily.

"Kotbar will accompany you. Be wary. This creature is of little use aside from observation. I will be as near as I am allowed by The Grail to assist in case of...unfortunate outcomes."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Your concern is touching," Leila says with a hint of reassurance, relieved that her Servant seems to understand her so well. She eyes the familiar up and down, satisfied.

"I will admit, I'm not comfortable with this. I may die tomorrow, and the thought of that is... unbearable. I threw too much away for this to fail. Johannes would never...." She bites her lip in sudden, crushing guilt at the thought of her husband. "No. The War is all that matters. We should get going."

[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.”

[Gallagher]

Lucienne looked upon her servant in the yellowed lights of the street lamps, the monstrosity that he was. A thing that spoke of sin while sullying the ground with his very existence. There was an unusual sort of... charm, loathe as she was to think it, in his honesty. The sort of charm that no one but she could truly appreciate. Like every ruler that came before him, and every ruler after, like every follower and every man that sought his own path, Pelles was exceptionally good at believing his own lies.

Lancer looked down at her, tall as the shadow that stretched between aged artificial lights, and sought the cracks between stone buildings to hide itself in. A delusional man with thoughts as crooked as his spine. Lucienne met those eyes, one blinded while the other throbbed and endlessly bled.

She saw him, and she smiled.

"It seems I have erred indeed. Yet I still doubt that you'll find the life of a woman like me all that interesting. It's been as storybooks go, predictable and comforting only in that the characters you know haven't yet passed when the final chapter comes to an end. I was once a girl, but that time has passed. And I was once taught to do others no harm, to only interfere when I might bring good to those in question. And that time, too, has passed. I was once young and fertile, in love and filled with hope. I once wasted my opportunities, until my love as well had passed. For the last twenty-seven years, I've worked to become the woman you see now, mon cochon. More knowledgeable than I've been, perhaps, but no less foolish. I believe we're all the same in that regard. I simply acknowledge it, unlike most of us sinners."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Knowledge itself is the root of all sin. Only fools can inherit Heaven. Alas, that is the world we possess, precursor to the Hell that awaits us all." The Fisher-King lowers his thorn-crowned brow, the vanishing moon lighting on his barren scalp. "It is too late for us, Lucienne. Too late even for a true miracle to enact our salvation. We slew the God who gave us life. I cannot tell you what is coming, but it is not the horse of Peace that reareth at the horizon." He turns to face his Master squarely. "The sun will soon rise. We must make ready."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Daaaaaaaaaaamn, Erik." Merlin takes a second to chomp down another handful of chocolate-syrup-covered-popcorn as they watch the end of now their fifth episode of My Favorite Fairy Tales. "Grandma's hardcore! Back in my day, we'd have just killed the wolf but nooooo, she has to go all mad science and stitch him up like some kind of... wolf doll! And did he really have to suicide himself down the well?! I feel kind of bad for him...."

The great wizard finishes off the last of her popcorn and licks the chocolate off her fingers. "But, no, seriously, that was so silly. Oh, hey." She glances over to see her new friend still looking at the screen. "Check this out."

Tapping into her shape-shifting ability, Merlin transforms herself into the nearest replica of the wolf from the cartoon that she can manage, complete with grandma-bonnet. "All the better to eat you with, my dear! Mwahaha!" She puts on her best wolf voice and waggles her arms at Erik.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

This new time was already an endless source of fascination for Leonardo. Though he was granted the knowledge he needed to get by as a servant, he still found much to see in the sights that were so much familiar and so alien at the same time. I wonder what Florence would look like now...or Amboise. His mind flooded with thoughts, questions, answers, and more thoughts as he took in as much as he could around him, the sights before him translating into art, schematics, and equations. He didn't care for this war, or violence at all, but he was already relishing the time it gave him to see the present world. He would keep himself and his master around as long as he could, grail or no grail, if only at the behest of his now insatiable curiosity.

He saw people taking pictures -with cameras he instinctively knew them to be. I would like one of those. He saw people dressed in gaudy garb and making shows of history, some of which he already knew. I wonder what image they make of me now.

Though this peace wouldn't last, perhaps, where there was time, they might find a museum or a library. He still wanted to know what a Dodo was.

[Salone]

"Well now. He's a bit uptight." He took a final puff from his ragged cigarette before snuffing it out. He raised his head to look up at Assassin, giving her a wry grin.

"You know I used to try to be edgy until I got opened up a couple of times. What the kid doesn't know is that we're pretty much all in over our heads. I'm no spring chicken, and I've got a quid that says the others aren't exactly paragons of combat ability. Hell, I suppose that's why we have servants, isn't it? Suppose it wouldn't be as exciting if it was a bunch of daft old tossers and flamboyant Westerners trying to slug each other."

He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. He breathed this one in deeply, holding the smoke and tar in his lungs. Something told him he would be free of several bouts of cancer and disease before the day was over.