[Gallagher]

"I practice witchcraft and create Mystic Codes from my jewels," Lucienne explained, her nose scrunched at her reflection. "Rather, I specialize in healing and water magics. I can hold my own perfectly well against fellow Magi, but I think it would be best if you stayed near me whenever I leave the suite. And, if for some reason you do get yourself injured by one of those... pests, mon cochon, I think that your resilience and my healing can get us through any fight. I don't see any real challenge ahead of us."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Pelles bows deeply. "I find this amenable. I shall take my leave until you have need of me." With that, he falls away in a flutter of dark feathers, dissipating before they touch the floor.

[Doctor Gabriel]

Mr. Kite couldn’t move.

Not literally mind you, the woman playing Lennie to his George was certainly strong, but he probably could have pushed her off with enough effort.

Mr. Kite couldn’t move because his brain was at least seven paces behind the present moment.

Alright, so he summoned a servant. That was good! The ritual worked and he’d be able to participate in the War now. She also seemed to be some kind of pirate, which was badass.

On the other hand, she seemed to be reenacting the end of Rocky with some minor script edits.

But that wasn’t what had stopped him in his proverbial tracks.

No that had been the voice in his head a few seconds before his Servant materialized.

He did not like other people being inside his head.

It was his head and one enjoys a certain amount of privacy and shameful thoughts there in.

Visitors were not welcome!

A wet trickle on the back of his neck snapped him back to the present.

“Woa, woa!” he protested, wriggling free from the shebeast’s grasp, “Who’s Annie? Because I’m certainly not.”

He ran a hand through the golden locks that were his pride and joy.

They were slimy.

This was shaping up to be a night filled with numerous showers and even more bottles of wine.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

The world around him had changed but he seemed not to notice it. He was sitting on a stool, overlooking the city of Florence through a pane of glass and tracing the lines and angles of the rooftops with a black tipped brush. Leonardo looked down at his ink, then back up through the glass where the Florentine skyline had been changed for one entirely alien to him. His drawn lines disappeared, to be replaced by a plane glass window. He blinked, adjusting his gaze a moment before addressing the mage he knew to be standing behind him.

“So what do you expect to acquire with the grail of Christ?”

[notDEADyet]

“Wow,” he didn’t look like much. Though, she brushed her hands over the front of her jacket, she didn’t really dress for war either. “Just, uh, right to the point, huh? Small talk not a thing for you guys? No, how’s life? Do you like the weather here in France, or whatever?” Not that she’d really been expecting small talk. She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, content with viewing the back of his head for now, “I’m torn between blowing up the moon or resurrecting the Dodo.”

[notDEADyet]

She turned her towards her partner, whispering just loud enough so that she’d know the other could hear, “Well, that is impressive.”

As impressive as it may have been, he was sure to roll his eyes before he turned to her in kind. "Eh, it may be a bit, but I don't very well like this tantrum", he raised his voice above a whisper for, and only for, that one word, "that our Master is throwing."

“Now, now,” she soothed, resting a hand on his chest, “Let us be kind for just the beginning, hm?”

"... If we must. I'd like to fight with him before the war is through."

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

[Poggio]

Heartbeats passed while the pirate contained her movements. The words almost permeated the thick fog around her brain. With a dramatic quiver she swept towards her master again. This time her fingers flexed smoothly at her master’s lower stomach.

“KuArygurrrromurAnnnie….”

Each letter was enunciated with more of the same liquid clogging her lungs spilling forth on to her master’s shirt.

“GrrrguuughhhArgggguguuuuuArg!”

She screamed pulling the blond into her arms. With her free hand she whipped out her cutlass and started thrashing at invisible enemies made physical by embodying objects littered about the room.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Father Heinrich arches an impassive eyebrow at the childish behavior of his Servants. "If that is your requirement for obedience, you need only win me the Grail and I will give you such a battle as would make your heathen Gods jealous. In the meantime..."

Heinrich raises his hand toward the pair, crimson light pulsing from the Command Seals beneath his glove. "By my Command Seal, I implore you to extend your Presence Awareness to myself for the duration of this war. Bind me as you yourselves are bonded. This I command."

Lowering his arm, the priest adds, "Since I will be operating independently of you for the most part, this will be necessary. I will ask, though, how do you mean to prosecute this war? What are your preferred tactics?" The effort of accommodating the condescending pair is approaching painful for the Executor, but he did not survive two decades in the Hell of the USSR's occult underworld without learning to control his behavior. Tantrum? God help them.

[Gallagher]

Well, I don’t mind that one bit. “What would you say our preferred tactic is?”

I don't know if his attitude is more irritating or entertaining. "Eh, well, it does change often, doesn't it?"

“We should start giving them wonderful names.” I, for one, like him. He’s got some sort of… charm.

Oh, a charm is it? "We should. But it's a little late for that now, isn't it?"

“It’s never too late to start improving ourselves.” Now, now, don’t take that tone with me.

"Eh, true. I like that one sweeping move you do, my sweet Fallow-tail." I don't have any tone, thank you.

I can practically taste the tone. “And I ever so much enjoy that wonderful rush you can do.”

"That is a fun one." Keep this up and we'll be finding out what else you can taste. "I think my favorite is my arrow volley. It's traditional, but a thrill."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.... Father, forgive them, they know not what they do....

Thanks to his inquisitorial seal, the Servants will not be able to discern anything of his inner thoughts without his express allowance. Perhaps they can even learn the canons of the One True God, beset as they will be by the litany of holy scripture that enshrouds his mind.

"I must go pray, now," Father Heinrich states, turning has back on the pair. "We will reconvene in the morning."

[Doctor Gabriel]

Having gallantly met the challenge of the “check out,” Saber and his Master now stood in the cramped corridors that passed for roads in Avignon. The Servant closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Aaaaah,” he sighed with satisfaction, “It is good to once again taste the air of this world… It is the savory aroma of freedom with a hinted promise of adventure!”

The valiantly insane knight turned toward Erik, his enraptured grin having yet to leave his face since his summoning and asked eyes ablaze with determination, “Which path leads to our new fortress, Mir Rey?”

[Doctor Gabriel]

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Mr. Kite exclaimed once again wriggling free from his Servant’s intoxicated grasp, with considerably more effort this time.

“I’m not Annie!” he bellowed in exasperation, “I’m not even a woman!”

Nearing his wits end with her incoherent howls, he resorted to drastic measures. Ensuring he was a safe distance from her violent battles against imaginary enemies he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his needlessly tight jeans, and presented the glorious treasure hitherto hidden behind them.

“See?!” he demanded, hurriedly stuffing away his Precious once more, “Now would you please, for the love of God, calm the fuck down?!”

[Gallagher]

"House," Erik replied, staring down a narrow street. In each hand, he held the handle of one of his suitcases, one tilting far to one side with its broken wheel, and the other making muffled clacks and bangs whenever the mage moved. "It's not a fortress until we've fortified it. I think we have to go..." He shifted his weight, then looked off toward a narrow alley. "... That way. The mana feels better over there."

[Quiet Man Cometh]

"Rider" as he was, may have been about to say something else when he turned in his chair to look at his summoner, his Florentine cap leaning lop-sided over his furrowed face;

"What is a "dodo" and in what manner would you 'resurrect' one?"

He turns slowly back to the window, lowering his hand where his brush was still clutched. "But yes, France has changed. So we are here for a war, are we? Over a chalice."

[Salone]

"Heh, no use for the Grail."

That made him think. What would he want with a cup anyway? What did he want? As far as he was aware, he was essentially immortal. Sure he could still be killed, but natural causes weren't a concern for him. Even age was something he simply allowed to happen, the wrinkles upon his face and silver in his hair were mere allowances to show how old he felt.

All the power in the world, and he didn't know what he wanted. Isaac figured that that was the problem with people. Everyone wanted something but didn't know what it was that they longed for.

He looked up, about to ask Catherine a question before realizing she was already gone.

"Maybe my mind is going after all..."

[notDEADyet]

She snorted, but decided not to continue the conversation on a bird she didn’t really care about. “Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “A magic cup. So… You know.” She moved over to lean against the wall nearest the window, watching his face as she spoke. “It won’t be all that awful. Probably. I mean, it’ll be pretty shitty, because it’s a war. Magic cup, though.”