[Salone]

"Right, mates. Let's settle down for a spell."

Isaac chuckled at his unintentional pun as he held his hands up, asking for peace between the fiery zealot and the edgy child from earlier. With casual ease he produced two of his trademark candy bars, offering one in each direction.

"Right Creampuff, maybe I was harsh to you before. I didn't have my tea this morning and I cannot tell you how that ruins the rest of the day. Here's a peace offering. For about the next twenty or so minutes anyway."

He turned his head, giving the Tosser With Religious Background a wry grin.

"Oh I'm sure I've sinned lots if you dig far enough. Hell, I suppose magic and sorcery are enough for damnation, no matter their use. Curly Wurly, mate?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"You will find me difficult to tempt." Heinrich replies to the older man, but his gaze has wandered to the woman who has joined them. By her uniform and reserved demeanor, she is doubtless a mage of the Association, a professional heretic. Relations between the Church and the Association have always been sordidly intertwined, but the Executor cares nothing for such things now. Every act henceforth until he retrieves the Grail will be considered expiatus a priori, in extemis.

That aside, however, he can see in an instant that she is nearly cracked with fear, unable to even look him in the eye. No doubt, she is well aware of what he is, unlike the idiot boy. And yet, to have sent a mage of such weak will to fight in the Holy Grail War... she must be a prodigy of some sort, her arcane skill hoped to outweigh her spinelessness.

Unlikely, that.

[Gallagher]

Lucienne could hear distant chatter as soon as she passed those doors. It seemed she was among the last to arrive, though that, of course, was no concern of hers. A table covered in refreshments, an entire section of which had already been made a mess of, stood surrounded by six of her enemies. Enemies that displayed their strategies in their very demeanor here, among one another. An Executor that will, no doubt, approach this war as they all do. Without either hesitance or honor. A servant protecting a young master, neither of which would be any threat to her or her Lancer. A young blond with clearly more confidence than experience, not to be underestimated until his servant has been revealed. An older mage, with as much confidence as the blond, but likely just as much experience. And the other woman.

"Bonjour, bonjour," Luci called, meeting the others at the table. "Where is our Ruler?"

[Doctor Gabriel]

Mr. Kite ignored the Executor's condescending words with some effort. He was growing quite tired of everyone asking why he was here. He doubted they would quite understand the answer, considering it was rather vague and idealistic almost to the point of naivety. Besides, the fact that he didn't seem to recognize the Gabriel Family's infamous golden eyes and yellow hair meant the old fart hadn't attended their massacre personally. Thus he turned to other man and banished the malice from his eyes, strapping on the smile once more.

“See, that’s all I was hoping for when I approached you earlier,” he accepted the piece of candy and pocketed it for later.

I doubt the he put some kind of poison or hex in or on it, but better safe than sorry. Maybe I can get Berserker to turn it into a map leading to something useful, if she’s feeling uncharacteristically charitable.

“Apology accepted and I’m sorry for my rude, not to mention childish response. I do thank you for informing me of my zipper issue, by the way. Damn thing seems to have a mind of it’s own. Still don’t get the Creampuff bit though, what part of me strikes you so creamy and pufflike?”

[Doctor Gabriel]

“Here, here!” Saber spoke up, relaxing his stance while still ensuring he was between the rest of them and Erik, “Tis a rare opportunity to meet thine adversaries face to face before a noble war such as ours!”

The old knight failed to notice any hint of sarcasm or insincerity in the man’s words, due to his idealistically naive trusting nature. He searched the table before them and found a bottle of what he believed to be called sody-prop. He struggled with the concept and removal of a twist-off cap for a minute then grabbed the nearest glass. Styrofoam goblet in hand, he raised the glass to his fellows in a toast just as he finally noticed the new woman who had seated herself at the end of the table.

“May our battles be honorable! May thy cause be just!” he cheered, grinning like an idiot to all of them, “And may my Lord be merciful when I triumph in our duels!”

Don Quixote raised the cup to his mouth and drank deeply before promptly spitting it out again in surprise. Having never encountered carbonation before, he had not been prepared for the fizzing bubbles and sweetness that had assaulted his tongue and throat. He hacked and wiped his mouth, staring in disbelief at the cup he held hand through watering eyes as though it had betrayed him. He was able to recover his composure just before the next woman arrived and asked for Ruler’s whereabouts.

The idiotic, senile expression returned to his face and he bowed to the room.

“I present ye thine ruler and sovereign: King Eric, First of His Name!” announced Don Quixote, completely misundering whom she was referring to, “May thee serve him with devotion and honor! Long may he reign!”

[Suzerain of Sheol]

That makes five of his six enemies now gathered here in front of him, and to all appearances, not one of them has any kind of martial training. The scholar might know spells of destruction, but with that glaring lack of confidence, she will be helpless before him even if she proves somehow powerful enough to overwhelm the Shroud. And this newcomer, she certainly does not lack in assurance, but he'd bet his immortal soul that it comes from narcissism and vanity, not from the validation of decades of laying her life on the line in battle after fatal battle.

How do any of them hope to possibly oppose him? Do they not understand what it means to be an Executor? The only eventuality with which he need concern himself is the presence of the enemy Servants, but with two of his own, even that will be of no consequence in eliminating these hapless challengers. Naked and alone, Heinrich has no doubt that he could kill them all with little difficulty; armed as he is, this will be a massacre. His Holiness clearly overestimated the caliber of mages drawn to this absurd conflict.

Perhaps all the true wizards had more sense than oppose the Church in a Holy Grail War.

Setting aside any further concern for analysis, Heinrich at last seats himself at the table, directly across from the blond imbecile. It cannot be much longer, now.

[Gallagher]

"You're making a mess," Erik said to his servant as he wiped flecks of spit and soda from his arm. He was already getting sticky from all of these snack disasters. It wasn't very polite of Saber in the least. "I'm not a king, or Ruler. I have a cousin that's a duke, though. I have a lot of cousins."

[notDEADyet]

There was something exceedingly comforting about not recognizing a single one of the mages in the church. Killing, or being killed by, someone she might consider a friend was always at the bottom of Ell’s list of fun and exciting things to enjoy.

She was content to just linger near the door for a while, waiting for someone to fully snap. They didn’t, and she was almost disappointed. She might have an easier time with not getting herself dead. Maybe there was still a chance.

[Salone]

"It's your hair, mate. Just your hair." Isaac gave a sidelong look at the youth before his eyes caught a much more...pleasant spectacle. Completely abandoning the young man and the murderous priest, he made his way over to the French woman who had entered. He produced a Curly Wurly from his bag with a flourish, giving her a devilish grin as he offered it to her.

"Can I offer you a...Curly Wurly? And speaking of sweets, what's a sweet young thing like you doing in a war like this?"

He spoke in a breathy tone, not nearly coming off as suave as he imagined he was.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Precisely what the Devil do you think you're doing, o maître mienne? No, nevermind, you're a grown man, make your own decisions, but alors, aidez-moi Dieu en le nom du Diable, if you bring that salope hâve back to our bedroom, dear Isaac, I will vivisect her. Actually... quelle idée magnifique. Comment ingénieux! Carry on, mon doux!

Catherine sends Isaac a sadistic giggle through their bond at the last, for emphasis.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

As Rider and Ell approach the entrance to the cathedral proper, he stops her just outside.

"I would like to see the other masters and what servants may be present, but I think it would be prudent if they do not see me. I will be in my spirit form from here on, but I will remain right next to you."

DaVinci fades into insubstantial air, but remains as though standing next to Ell, as she stands just inside the door.

His immediate attention is drawn to the priest, intimidating in his mannerisms and appearance. Perhaps he is the master to the one outside. It would be fitting. I wonder if he is the same in his devotion?

The loud voice he heard outside no doubt belongs to the flamboyant one in the piecemeal armour, a servant, too.

What's a curly wurly?

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Hmm... I was really hoping more of them would come inside. Zut! Blech. I mean, darn! Oh, well.

Merlin has been attempting to decide, all this time, whether to get changed into something more presentable to greet her guests. Ultimately, though, she decides that the answer is: no. If her dumpy old robes had been good enough for the Greatest of All Kings Who Ever Lived (tm), they were perfectly good for these lovely people! (Albeit, to call her outfit a robe might be a bit of an exaggeration, but really, nobody back then would have wanted to see that shriveled-up, mangy old man prancing around half-naked. Really, nobody; EX Clairvoyance, bitches. As if the Grail had needed more reasons to forsake Camelot! Not that it was a suppressed fantasy or anything to channel that latent incubus blood just tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiny bit, definitely not. The great wizard was just... you know what! Her party, her dress-code, damn it! If you don't like it, you can leave!)

She idly wonders, as she stalls for even more time, how long she might be able to keep them from unleashing Hell upon each other if she just burned through all her Command Seals. Can Grail Wars be canceled? Hmm...

Merlin imagines a resonant, dispassionate NO. in the ensuing silence from the holy vessel, and sighs.

[Doctor Gabriel]

“HA!” Don Quixote slapped his Master on the back jubilantly and with a little more force than was necessary, “See how humble he is? Truly only a man who denies he is a king is worthy of the title!”

Saber continued his hearty laughter as he tilted his head down toward Eric with his fists still planted heroically on his hips, elbows jutting at almost perfect ninety degree angles. He intended the action to be inconspicuous, but, to any who cared to notice, seemed to be doing a rather unnatural rendition of I’m A Little Teapot, minus the spout.

“Just play along, Sancho,” the Mad Knight spoke in the closest thing Don Quixote de La Mancha could manage to a whisper in his ever dramatic voice, “We can’t have them catching on to our ruse, lest we lose the element of surprise!”

[Doctor Gabriel]

The last son of the Gabriels shrugged at the candyman as if to say fair point, then did everything in his power to not burst out laughing like a golden hyena when the wizened Casanova strode toward the newest arrival and tried to put the moves on her.

Fucking hell… I’m almost starting to like him.

But Mr. Kite didn’t have time for the entertaining spectacle of a doomed Senior Citizen's Romantic Comedy pilot, there were more important matters at hand. Toronto hadn’t burned because of the actions of Mr. Kite, who’d been lounging about in a garage for the past week getting too drunk to see straight and chasing anything within sight wearing a skirt. It had been brought to it’s knees by the man behind that mask, Benjamin Francis Gabriel, and that man was not about to let an opportunity to hear his Servant’s impressions on the enemy slip through his grasp.

Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, he sent out in a thought that rode the mana encompassing the church like an autumn leaf along a trickling stream, but I’d like to hear your thoughts on this lot. Mind phantasmining your way in here? I want to see if you notice anything about em we might be able to use to our advantage. For that matter, think you could create a map to something that’d give us a leg up? I don’t doubt our chances as is, the Preacher will probably be the biggest hurdle, but it never hurts to have an Ace or three up your sleeve.

It took a tremendous amount of willpower to address Mary as Captain, even in his head. But his pride meant nothing if he failed to notice a crucial detail and wound up dead because of it. There was no point in participating in this war if he didn’t win it.

And he planned to win it, even if it meant getting on his knees and deepthroating Berserker’s filthy boots till they shone like stars.

[Gallagher]

Approached by the older mage, Luci arched a delicately plucked brow, her lips curving into a smile. He was, perhaps, the most threatening other than the Executor and herself, but he was still a man. "Ah! You are too kind," she replied, smoothing a few stray brown hairs into her fringe. "I simply could not. I have a figure to watch, after all."

[Salone]

"That makes two of us, Love." Isaac grinned wolfishly, giving her an obvious once over look. "The Rules of Engagement say to know your enemy. How would you like to get to know yours over dinner?"

Catherine, he spoke to his Servant through their bond, weighing the pros and cons of attempting to wine and dine and possibly bed his enemy. This one's pretty. Gives an old man like me the honey glow, if you know what I mean. Maybe we can put the war off for a few extra hours? I'm old, I wouldn't last that long away.