Least it isn't Raining. [/fin]

[Adam Wells]

That sleep had certainly been refreshing. Adam practically leapt off the bed. Already a dozen ideas of what to do for the day were running through his mind, although in the end most roughly boiled down to “go to X and see if I can get into a battle” or “go to X and set a trap to force an amazing performance from an opposition”.

But, of course, first thing was first. He had to go to the church and register. Didn’t want them to come down on him like a tonne of bricks did he?

…Well, maybe it would be interesting. But certainly nothing like a Servant battle.

So he would go to church. But of course, he needed some sort of disguise, didn’t want some Master to see him and try to be sneaky! No, no, no. Big epic fights are a must! Slitting throats has its uses, but not here.

Humming the Mission Impossible tune, he stripped off the clown suit and began to prepare a disguise.

Naturally, the mask he just so happened to have brought will be needed, A mystical device he had brought along to escape deranged fans that could alter his appearance. Course, any competent Magus could tell the freckled face with brown eyes and an uncharacteristically large nose was an illusion, but they still wouldn’t be able to tell who he was, even if they dispelled it, the mask would cover his face.

And his costume wouldn’t make it easy for them, either. A long, flowing dress of a drab fading grey colour. Old and neglected, although possibly not enough to suggest a sound mind on Adam’s part. It shouldn’t be too noticeable at least, Adam thought. And it would allow him to bend his knees slightly, giving an illusion of being shorter then he actually was. Not too far perhaps, bend too far and it becomes obvious by the way you walk, but somewhat. An inch or so could do wonders, he supposed.

He had a wig too, dirty blond and long. He put that on too, taking care to cover all his own short hair.

High heels were a bit impractical, so he improvised and picked more practical, yet stylish brown leather boots.

Sunglasses to hide his eye colour, but mainly just for kicks.

The illusion would be roughly the same, probably just a dark brown hair colour for the wig. So dispelling the illusion would reveal… Pretty much the same thing. There was probably a use for the added layer of illusion to his disguise somewhere.

He couldn’t help it, he took a pose.

‘Well well, ain't ye lookin' like a pretty lass. Ready for a night out, 'eh?' It was difficult to tell how far the sarcasm stretched as Rider’s voice spoke rather close to his ear.

Well well, his Servant was watching. Probably should have considered that… Bit odd that they were so quick to judge, considering their androgynous appearance. Not that Adam would be stupid enough to say anything of the sort to someone so deadly…

…Ok, another lie. But not being able to see their face would take out the fun of seeing the reaction.

Still, there was one last thing he had to do.

Grinning, he rummaged through his numerous belongings. Some of which he had bought yesterday just for this, others he brought along for his own reasons. And there they were.

Mint scented wax strips.

Well now, that could help a bit.

‘After all, pain truly is… beautiful.’

Were they something he had bought? Something he had brought along for his own reasons?

The world may never know.

******************************************************

‘You certainly enjoyed yourself, eh?’

‘Now now, Rider.’ Adam waggled his finger at his invisible friend. ‘If it isn’t enjoyable, it isn’t worth doing.’

‘That might get you in trouble some day, hun.’

For whispered words, they had a lot of strength behind them.

Of course Rider had to follow him to the church. Masters could detect other Masters Servant or not, so protection, even in the currently crowded streets as people rushed to whatever business they had, was recommended. The banter between the two was just icing on the cake as far as Adam was concerned, a good conversation did help time fly by.

So far his disguise seemed to be working at least. Incredibly few glances went in his direction. While it was normally against character to try and avoid attention, he kept himself amused by humming numerous different spy songs under his breath.

As he begun humming Snake Eater, he surmised he would be finished with the song at about the time he got to church. It wasn’t far now, a couple of minutes walking.

So long as nothing went wrong, anyway.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Bedwyr Bedryant, or Rider, as he seem to prefer being called, seemed decidedly uncomfortable walking next to Emma, reluctantly trailing around a half-step behind her in the get-up that she had managed scrounge up out of her grandfathers old clothes. For someone who was supposedly a fabled knight from the Arthurian cycles, he sure was an ungrateful bastard, not to mention the fact that he actually expected her to be grateful when he butchered her Vespa. And he didn’t even try to hide it.

“Y’know I’m not too familiar with this area of town,” she started a tetchy attempt at conversation, “I haven’t been to church in years.”

More unambiguously cool silence.

Was Bedwyr upset because he didn’t get to wear his surcoat, or because Emma had forbidden him from taking out the Vespa that he had made ‘better’ out for a spin?

Probably both.

To be fair, Emma didn’t understand why he was so unhappy with the frilly-pink miniskirt outfit she picked out for him. Sure, the tweed suit looked rather dated, and honestly rather Sherlock Holmes-esque, but Bedwyr cut a fine figure in it, if she did say so herself. Okay, the long luscious locks might’ve taken away from the effect somewhat, but it wasn’t like there was anything particularly wrong with the outfit. And it was her ‘Servant’ who had vehemently protested to the idea of getting a haircut as well.

But really, a haircut, and a pipe, and the costume would be complete.

At least the streets of Piazza di Brancoli were mostly cleared of pedestrian traffic, most folks still occupied with the things people tended to do on a typical Tuesday noon. Even so, Emma couldn’t help but nervously pull her jacket closer to her body, the weight of that gun shoved haphazardly in her belt more an added stress than a comfort. She had purposely worn a slightly larger jacket to conceal the firearm, but feeling like a terrorist wasn’t helping jittery nerves at all.

When Bedwyr had suggested they go to the church, Emma’s immediate reaction was to disagree with what he said, and her second reaction was to kick him out of the house to go there by himself. Unfortunately, as was evident with Emma’s current company, it didn’t happen. She had realized, albeit with Bedwyr’s ‘help’, that one, that she would’ve been virtually defenceless if face-melt-man decided to attack again with the wall-mounted-head, and two, she really needed to know more about this ‘grail war’ if she was going to have any hope of survival.

Although Emma wasn’t too keen on a city-wide battle royale, keeping herself alive was far more within her interests.

All the while, as they walked, a feeling of pressing unease grew, at first, only a sliver of a shadow of uncertainty, but growing, expanding to encompass her mind in a vague swathe of discomfort, restlessness pressing up against the back of her skull, roiling & restless. She didn’t even know when, or how it happened, only that it did.

The growing sensation of anxiety peaked when someone intercepted them at the intersection, a rather bedraggled woman with a questionable fashion sense, humming a tune that might’ve sounded familiar if Emma wasn’t too worried about hunting down the source of her inexplicable apprehension.

It took her another few steps before she realized Bedwyr had stopped following after her, and that the strange woman, too, had stopped moving. The inside of her mouth was dry. You could say she definitely had a bad feeling about this.

[] ireallydontknowhowmasterservantspideysenseswork. IftheydontexistchalkitdowntoHanSolo-ishbadfeelings. []

[Bedwyr]

There was… something in the air. It was… a presence that came closer and moved away every so often. A mass of prana perhaps, but it was on the edge of the area that he could feel. He had to pull away from Amaranta slightly; he did not have the ability of eyes in the back of his head, or the skill to see such a distance to detect the being he could feel.

So he paced a half step behind her, carefully looking around as unobtrusively as he could. The clothes on him were a little tight fitting across his chest, as well as they were likely tailored for a man a centimeter or two shorter than himself. But they weren’t bad, as disguises went. Nothing could hide him from the other Servant, if that is what the presence was, but it did seem suitable enough for blending in with the normal populace.

The lack of a surcoat though…

His eyes were hard with concentration as he focused on that wavering sense. They did seem to be going the same direction; otherwise he would have lost it.

Should I tell her? No, no need to worry her right now, otherwise she might refuse to see the administrators.[/i]

Running would probably get them chased as well, and without something to ride, it would be difficult at best to escape. He did not want to take one of the steeds from the riders on the street. He did not have a knight’s privilege in this world, not anymore.

Besides, what were the chances that they would fight each other, in broad daylight and with so many people around? Even Amaranta should know the dangers of that. [/color]

Then again… the lack of allowing him to have a steed, even when he had mentioned numerous times that he was a Rider, was beginning to distress him. If they had to fight, and Amaranta was in danger, the lack of a mount that suited him… well all mounts suited him, the lack of a mount that was trained to his standards, may prove dangerous, or at worst fatal.

If she was in danger, knight’s privilege would be forgotten, he would simply requisition one from a passer-by whether they agreed or not. His need was greater than those who simply used them to travel from one point to another. A liege’s life was far more important than whatever they could be doing.

In fact, once when he had an emergency need of a steed, the stable master had acquired much business by claiming the fact that he had visited the man’s stables, in all of whatever town he had been in at the time. It probably does not quite have the same effect in this day and age.

But there was no time for thoughts like those. The distance between him and the other presence was minimal at best now, and his hand occasionally twitched for his sword hilt, finding nothing there.

Should he materialize it? Did he want to look on the offense when they did come across each other? Could Amaranta even sense it?

That was it; he could remain silent no longer. She had to know. His steps faltered and stopped, as he thought of a way to phrase it.

And it was with that he took a close look. One was a rather androgynous… woman most likely. Not a complete assurance, but that was what his gut said.

The other… thing was shrouded in the same fog as the being last night! Bright lights shifted between floating particles of air and fog, obscuring the one behind it. An illusion, a mask, a something. It was hiding.

And Amaranta wouldn’t notice it again.

There was no time to waste; his halt was short lived as he carefully placed himself between the beings and Amaranta. No outright challenging movements, just be ready.[/i]

“Emma, the one in the back is a Servant.” Outright, and to the point. But now, she had to be informed. Two in two days, and both of them amazing coincidences. That seemed abnormal, in a city of this size. There were only seven pairs after all. If it was a different pair, which was approaching unlikely. The magus could be the same one, but the Servant’s presence was actually detectable. The one last night had likely been Assassin, but this one did not fit that description as far as he could tell.

Then again, it could be a trick.

”Be ready, for anything. It may be the same magus as the one last night.” He would not draw his sword yet; there was no need to fight so close to consecrated ground, and under the noon.

Either way, his sword materialized at his waist. He would not be caught off guard, again.

[Anne Bonny]

“’Last night’, hm? Been doin’ something behind me back already, Master?”

The time for stealth had passed the moment that man had identified her as a Servant, and even as Anne spoke, her form coalesced and materialized, placing a barrier between the man in a suit & her Master. She grinned, amusement evident in her stance, head slightly cocked, hands on hips. The other Servant, being of the dour sort, didn’t seem particularly impressed at all. She didn’t let that put her off in the slightest.

Unlike the other Servant, who looked a little awkward in that suit a few sizes too small for him, she was dressed in her usual attire; rather mild compared to the seizure of colours, fabric, and accessories she used to wear, but still attractive enough in its own, sort of boring, way. It wasn’t quite as bad as some of the metal monstrosities that some Servants tended to have, but it still stood out in the streets of a modern City.

It was lucky for her Master that nobody else was around; Anne herself didn’t particularly care about maintaining a low profile.

“’Emma’, was it?” she supposed the rather confused-looking girl in the back was the Master, “Nice ta meetcha,” a small flourish, and a bow, “You folks can call me Rider,”

A small shudder of misgiving made that line seem off, and the way the man in tweed reacted was enough to tell her something was up. It wasn’t quite enough to make her reach for her weapons, which were hanging conspicuously off her belt. It was daylight, so it was doubtful they were going to fight there and then, but it never hurt to be that little bit extra careful.

Her Master seemed to be of a rather airy variety too; she didn’t doubt his capabilities, but that was partly because she was still pretty much in the dark about her Master’s skillset, beyond cross dressing and costuming. From what she had seen of him so far, she could hardly predict what he was going to do; something, Anne reminded herself, that she would have to rectify.

Still, she had count her blessings that they’d managed to encounter another pair so early on in the War, on the way to Church no less. Even if they weren’t going to have a duel, it was still nice to size up your opponents before you set yourselves at each other’s throats. She threw a backwards glance at her Master, still dressed in drag, waiting for further instructions.

He was the captain, after all.

[Adam Wells]

'Someday you go through the rain. And someday, you feed on a...' Huh, come to think of it, he didn't remember the next words. He stopped quite abruptly, about to ask Rider if they knew the lyrics. After all, the Grail was suppose to bring them up to speed on the important things in the world, surely Metal Gear Solid was one of them.

“’Last night’, hm? Been doin’ something behind me back already, Master?”

It had taken his Servant's words for him to realize the pleasant burning sensation he had been feeling on his hand was warning him of the presence of an opposing master. Well, next time he would know to be more cautious at that feeling, better to do so in a situation that didn't cost him his life. Well, so far anyway.

It was easy to determine who the opposing Master and Servant were in the crowd, primarily because there was no crowd. He could have sworn they had been there a minute ago... He could vaguely see some girl in a jacket behind who he suspected was a Sherlock Holmes cosplayer.

He toyed with the idea that the person in front of him was the real Sherlock Holmes, but he vaguely recalled that Servants weren't fictional characters. The Grail's loss, he supposed.

Still, it would be a pity to fight someone with such a great dress sense. Seriously, it was a lovely outfit. Why didn't he have one like that?

The memory of just why he didn't have that kind of suit flashed unbidden into his mind. Oh, right, now for the great enjoyment of repressing that memory by bombarding himself with excellent memories.

...Right after he deals with the situation at hand. His Servant was giving him a funny look, clearly expecting him to do something. What, to answer the question, or something to do with the opposition mere metres away?

OK then, both of them at once.

'Well, last night was mostly preparing the outfits for that rather formal occasion. And of course there were the groceries, the chalk, the carnival... Wait, scratch that last one.' The mask may only affect appearance, but Adam was pretty good at different voices, and he thought he did a pretty good female voice, even if he wasn't entirely sure what accent he was going for. 'I suppose I might have bumped into you. Did I forget to apologize or something? I am sorry if that is the case.' He twirled some of the wig's hair with his right index finger. It seemed appropriate.

He couldn't see who it was, perhaps that fan from before? If it was she had managed to change her hair color, eye color, height, weight, and dress sense, but it would be nice if this person was at least "A" fan...

...Or knew of him.

Yes, maybe that was it, maybe this was a fan who who lived and breathed Adam Wells and as such would know him through ten miles of concrete!

Unlikely, but damn it, this whole war was one unlikely thing after another; he would let his imagination soar through the skies, thinking of the best possible outcome! Even if it turns out to be wrong, he'll damn well write a script for it!

Nobody could actually see it, but Adam's eyes glittered with childish glee.

...Huh, he had gone a bit off-topic in his thoughts.

'So then, where you headed?' It was a tad more blunt and with less finess then his previous manner of speech.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Blink. Blink.

It was too early in the day for this sort of crap, but Emma rubbed her eyes just to be sure. Yep. No mistaking it. Another funkily-dressed person popped up out of nowhere, right before her eyes. You’d think that you’d get used to this stuff after a few times, but evidently not. Emma supposed this gaudily-dressed lady was meant to be yet another Servant.

She had bowed, introducing herself as Rider. Even if she showed no outward signs of hostility, the flintlocks on her belt & curved sabre didn’t escape her notice. Furthermore, wasn’t Bedwyr already Rider? She wasn’t too clear on the logistics of it, but according to her knowledge, it was one of each of the Servant classes, seven altogether. There weren’t supposed to be duplicates popping up.

Despite that, neither of them felt nearly as threatening as the pair from the night before, and it was difficult to believe that they were. If anything, they looked mildly amused as they exchanged banter, heedless of Bedwyr staring daggers at them. If it was a bluff, the pair of them would’ve been dang good actors, and if not, well, it was a little ridiculous how laid-back the two of them seemed to be. Even if it was in broad daylight, running into people who were going to want you dead at some point or another must be at least a slightly disconcerting experience.

“Um…”

Her meek interjection was nothing in the face of the lady’s recount, whose voice made her sound like she had a bad cold. She seemed not only wrapped up in her own tale, but completely out of what was happening around her. Well, whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t a native Italian speaker, her foreign accent being the likes of which Emma had never heard before.

She felt like she just stepped into a terrible comedy. When was this lady going to stop talking?

“Oh, no, we just sort of bumped into each other,” she said after a small pause.

There was no response. The funny lady seemed deep in thought, distracted. The Servant continued to bear that mildly amused expression, turning around to flash them an almost conspiratory smirk as her Master continued to daydream.

“So then, where are you headed?”

The question seemed to have been blurted out suddenly, when lady seemed to remember she was talking to someone. She passed a brief look at Bedwyr. It couldn’t hurt to tell them where they were going, right?

“The Church,” Emma finally said after a pause, and then, jerking a thumb in Bedwyr’s direction, “It’s his idea.”

She was going to say more, before realizing it would’ve been silly to reveal her inexperience in front of competitors. They seemed like harmless enough people at the moment, but even Emma knew that she was going to be an easy target if her ignorance was revealed.

“Yeah, well, we should get on our way,” there was no point in staying, “ C’mon, Riii-,” pause,” Rider.”

Of course; another added dose of awkward to their social interactions. Hopefully the other Bedwyr & the Servant would know whom she was referring to.

[Bedwyr]

“You folks can call me Rider,”

She had to be lying. Had to. He was Rider, as sure as the wound in his back. A shiver escaped his control. Something was wrong here, very wrong.

It has to be a lie, doesn’t it? She was carrying pistols, which could prove her as Archer, but in that same sense he was carrying a blade. And those didn’t have the presence of a Phantasm. Yet that meant little. He only had one visible phantasm on him, even now; if one measured him by the same stick he was measuring ‘Rider’ by they would be sorely mistaken.

His phantasms were all created by work, and the sweat of his brow. Learning, building, riding. And so becoming the greatest knight in service to the Riothamus.

Would this ‘Rider’ be the same? If she even was a rider. If she somehow was… perhaps they could find a way to compare skills off the battlefield, if fortune decreed them not to fight. That would be enjoyable. Right now, she is the enemy.

As his mind raced, the fog spoke… and it was not distorted this time. In a clear woman’s voice. Even if the accent was a little odd, perhaps the thing had learned more languages before the one he spoke now. Which was.., Italian, the second mind helpfully provided. He had not even heard of the language when he had lived, it seemed to be Latinate in structure, now that he thought of it.

The fog was denying any previous meeting, and it was possible if the voice was any clue to go by. The Servant was definitely not the Assassin from last night, so it may even be true that they were a different group.

But Rider. He could not get over that. Hopefully Amaranta could sort this out, if she was even accomplished enough to receive information like a class name.

'So then, where you headed?' The fog spoke bluntly, and the accent shifted a little. It was not his place to answer a question like that, despite the fact that it was quite possible she knew already. They had maintained travel in the same direction for the past little while, and realistically there was only one reason for them to head in the direction they were, as Master and Servant.

The Church… The thought occurred as Amaranta said as much. And she continued with “It’s his idea.”

Well, he supposed it was. A safe haven, neutral ground, for Masters, where perhaps she could get a grasp of what she had fallen into, and learn more than what he could tell her. His own information felt disjointed, out of sync even. The request may have been slightly selfish as well, because of his own lack of information.

And maybe they could settle this Rider thing.

“Yeah, well, we should get on our way. C’mon, Riii- Rider.” She did stumble along that, so clearly she believed the other one was telling the truth. Or perhaps she was just that kind; he still did not have the full measure of his Master yet. It had not even been a full day yet, and he had already come fairly close to death. That was something to be expected, however, one should always be waiting for death to beckon on the field of battle.

Well, he wasn’t about to look like he had not noticed them for quite a while. Prove that he should not be underestimated. “Of course, Master, but I think they will be heading the same way as us. In fact, they have been walking the same general direction as we have for quite some time now.” He paused, sweeping his hard gaze across the two oddities. ”And, personally, I would not like for them to be behind us as we walk.” His own back twinged slightly as the words left his mouth. Even if his wound was healed, it was still a reminder.

They may not have even been thinking that, but either way he was not going to give up his back to a potential enemy. They would either travel together, or the other two would move first.

Unless his Master got another one of her bouts of courage again. That would be the only way his back would turn on any such threat as this. He would move, always, if his liege commanded.

[Anne Bonny]

Yep. Her Master certainly did have his head up in the clouds, but the bemused expression on the other servant and his Master was worth it. So they were going to the Church too. It made sense, considering that they were both Master-Servant pairs, but she couldn’t help broadening her grin that little bit more. What a great way to start off a Grail War, and with what find company. A meeting right on her very first day, and they didn’t seem like half-bad guys either, if a little dull.

“Yeah, so we should be on our way, c’mon Rii-,” Anne raised her brow at that title more than the words, “Rider.”

The girl couldn’t possibly have been referring to her, could she? But then, who could she possibly be referring to? Her Servant? Anne looked at the man in tweed sceptically. He didn’t move, staring them down. The fellow seemed intent on intimidating them with his scary face. It was sort of cute, in a kind of overzealous way. But that still didn’t explain the Rider thing.

Now this was certainly an interesting turn of events.

“Two Riders. Now would’ja lookit that,” Anne chuckled, and then continued, “An’ it just so happens that me an’ me Master are headin’ the same way.”

Of course, the girl-Master seemed pretty eager to go on her way, but the Servant seemed to think otherwise. All the better. Her Master was fine company, but he was only one man. As they said, the more the merrier, and this pair seemed like they’d be fun to tease. Especially the blonde one. The dour ones often were. But she would leave the decision to her Master.

“So, whaddayathink, Master?”

[Adam Wells]

“So, whaddayathink, Master?”

Adam thought many things, but now was not the time to be a smartass, he eyed the two opposition cheerily. 'Well now, I suppose I'll be unable to refuse such an idea. Whaddaya say? How about we walk together?'

Even as he spoke what may have been some incredibly offensivse stereotypical italian accent, his mind raced with thought. It would be nice to learn a bit about opposing Masters and Servants, even if they learned something in return. After all, he wasn't a jerk who was going to wait for others to get picked off and fight the weakened ones, no, someone had to start this war off with a bang. Maybe not this spectacular looking Servant, but certainly someone!

'Unless you think we're going to stab you in the back.'

Anyway, neither the Servant nor the Master were particularly recognizable. Then again, he didn't know many families of Magus anyway... The Servant did have a rather British look, although that was probably just the outfit. In conclusion, only combat or managing to sneak some information out of them was going to tell him who they were.

'Several times.'

And they didn't seem like a particularly dishonourable bunch, at the very least. Could be safer in case they were being watched by Assassin, or Assassins if the fact there seems to be two Riders was anything to go by. Could be a lie, but it seemed a bit too stupid to be one.

'With a rusty dagger.'

Their reaction seemed to indicate that it wasn't the best choice of words. He hoped that it wouldn't affect their relationship too much.

'Note to self, they seem to be paranoid of being backstabbed.'

[Amaranta Bastillo]

“Whaddaya say? How about we walk together?”

Emma didn’t find that request in itself particularly suspicious. It was more of the way she said it, with that ridiculous accent, smug look, and far-too-cheery demeanour. But even then, there wasn’t really all that much ground for her to object at all, and even if she did, they were still going to end up going to the Church together, whether she liked it or not. She was going to make herself look silly, not to mention rude if she acted on some sort of weird not-too-logical hunch. Oh well. That was too bad. She opened her mouth to speak -

“Unless you think we’re going to stab you in the back.”

Um.

“Several times. With a rusty dagger.”

Obviously, the woman was kidding, but it was anything but funny; especially since that guy yesterday tried to do the exact same thing. She looked to Bedwyr for any help. Nope. Her Servant was preoccupied with staring daggers at the other pair. Thank you, Bedwyr. You always seem to be so very helpful. Then again, she cringed to think of what sort of lines he’d end up spouting out.

“Alright, look,” she said after what felt like too long of a pause, squaring her gaze to look the lady in the eye, “I’ve already been jumped by a guy once because of all this Master & Servant nonsense,” she made a sweeping motion that encompassed both Bedwyr and the other Servant,” So I’m going to the church to get this mess sorted out. “

If she was going to come across as a little abrasive in dealing with matters, then fine. Having your property destroyed, then kidnapped then almost murdered tended to make one a little less than agreeable in the mornings, not to mention all of a sudden being shoved up to her neck in things she would much rather not be. Sure, this pair might not be presently trying to gut her, but Miss face-melty from the night before seemed like a decent enough person too before she transformed and tried to stab her to death.

“Look, you can come with us if you want,” she crossed her arms, “But only because we happen to be going in the same direction. So, although I’d like to think you wouldn’t stab me in the back, what I’d like is sort of a far cry from reality.”

One more good, long look at the pair standing in front of her. Lips pursed, brow only slightly creased in thought, her unamused expression certainly a contrast to the frivolity that the women before her positively exuded, their careless nature almost offensive; that Servant looking on at her Master’s performances with a permanent expression of delight, while the unfunny jokester twirled her hair with an exaggerated display of innocence.

“So yeah, I’m not really in the mood for fun an’ games right now,” she turned, motioning for them to follow if they so desired, “And you never introduced yourself either.”

Emma doubted that they were going to be backstabbed in broad daylight anyway, and if the antics from before were anything to go by, this female Rider and her Master didn’t seem like the sort to resort to such underhanded tactics either. But a terrible morning and an even worse night had made her irritable. They would just have to deal with her bad temper.

“Alright, let’s go. We’ve got places to go to after the Church anyway.”

[Adam Wells]

'Yippee!' Adam almost moved to give her a friendly pat on the back, but the look on her Servant's face suggested that could well lead to a bad end, so he settled with an air-five. 'I'm sure we'll become the best of buddies.'

Hey, she clearly had strong feelings, even if it seemed to be distrust. All that was needed now was to turn it into super happy fun friendship!

'As for my names, well, You can call me whatever you want.' Sure, it was just asking for her to give him an insulting name, it will be fun to see what she comes up with, or if she is more insistent. 'And if you want, I can give you a name too. I'm thinking starting beginning with V, you seem like a V person. Probably a W in there too.'

He made sure that they walked side by side, but with a couple of meters distance. Wouldn't be good for their paranoia to get up close, he supposed. It was a pity though.

His movements were sadly unexaggerated, don't want his new friend to feel shorter then they already were, after all, best keep the illusion of being shorter then he actually was.

Uh oh, there was a few moments of silence as they began to move. Quick! Say something!

'So, what kind of music do you too like?' Oh yeah, Adam was as smooth as silk straight from the silkworm's behind. Yep, he was just plain awesome, and despite her rather brusque exterior, to have a Servant like the finely dressed fellow with the piercing gaze, you had to be a good person at heart. Perhaps she just looked like that because she made being pissed off look adorable.

Probably just one of life's mysteries. To be solved by Adam later in life because he is just that good... Well, if he denies reality enough it will be true to him, and in the end, isn't that what really matters?

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Was it bad that that lady was already grating on her nerves before they’d even walked two steps? Emma was already massaging her temples when the woman elicited a cry of childish glee. So they were walking together after all; as if Bedwyr wasn’t enough trouble already; she now had another pair of questionable characters tagging along too.

And of course she’d refuse to reveal her name. Why would Emma have even conceived otherwise? At least the woman seemed to have overlooked Bedwyr calling her name earlier; at least on that count they were even. But what was that about giving her a name? Alright. Those juvenile antics were downright exasperating.

“Agh. Call me whatever,” Emma waved a hand irritably, unable to keep that slight edge off her words, “And I’ll just stick to call you ‘lady’.”

The four of them walked in silence for the next few moments, and, with any luck, all the way until they reached the Church. Emma could already feel another headache coming on; just from speaking with that ridiculous woman. Unfortunately, that respite was not to last. Of course, knowing her luck, the world was doing this just to spite her.

“So, what kind of music do you like?”

Emma could’ve facepalmed. Except for the sake of everyone present, she didn’t. Somewhere, on some plane of existence, some sort of god was probably laughing at her. There was only so much outlandishness a person could take, and Emma was sure that she was fast approaching that limit.

“What does it matter what music I like?” she ran a hand through her hair, “I’m not really in the mood for small talk, you know?”

Now that both servants had materialized, they were taking up most of the street walking side by side, and the lady in the fancy-coat was drawing attention enough for all of them. Yes. It was very lucky that the streets were comparatively empty at this time of day. Sure, there were odd glances from the occasional passer-by, but it beat the pressing crowds of peak-time traffic by a long margin.

The church shouldn’t be too far off anymore; a few more minutes and they’d be there. And once there…

Once there, it’d make sense to get rid of that ‘contract’ thing with Bedwyr immediately. Except it would never be that easy. For one, she had the pair from last night hunting her (who now had her name as well), and, for another, stories of a similar sort hardly ever ended well in the first place. From the improbable turn her life had taken, she wouldn’t be too quick to separate it from fiction after all.

[Bedwyr]

Neither of the pairs seemed to be getting along well. Amaranta was rubbing her head in frustration, and her annoyance, anger, and exasperation were clearly evident, even in the way she was walking.

And this ‘Rider’…[/color] She had been playing some sort of game with him while they walked. He was strategically placing himself between the other Servant and Amaranta, yet for some reason, ‘Rider’, was enjoying moving herself around, to make him switch locations.

It was kind of like an elaborate dance. ‘Rider’ would slowly drop back, or slightly pick up the pace; to give her a clear line to Amaranta, and Bedwyr would be forced to respond. It was rather annoying, and difficult to pay attention to the interactions between Amaranta and the bright fog. At least she was keeping some distance from it, this time.

Again she moved. And there was a smile on her face. Of course she enjoys this.[/color] He quickly shifted a few paces forward, as the Master of this frustrating Servant started to talk about music of all things.

Well at least now he doubted that this Master was the same as the one last night.

Amaranta shut down every possible avenue of conversation though, and then he gave up on surreptitiously guarding her when the conversation came to a close, and just walked directly beside her, his good hand free and ready to draw the blade that still drifted lightly in its sheath at his waist.

He could have sworn the swirling cloud was admiring his clothing. It was rather suitable, and did get him the occasional glance from a passerby. That might have actually been his blade though, he wasn’t quite entirely sure, as the entirety of his concentration was still on the odd pair.

At least when they arrived at the church this would be much easier. Then again… the second mind was supplying him with occasional worrisome information about it. Namely the fact that they would not take it well were he to step through the doors with Amaranta. In fact it would provoke violence, most likely targeted at her.

That was particularly odd to him. He had served a king who had set up ecclesia across the country, had received blessing from bishops in her kingship. Even now, two crosses connected by a thin metal strand lay in the pocket of his temporary clothing. A choker for his surcoat, which was currently hidden underneath his outerwear.

Rules were rules, however, and if the other magus attacked Amaranta in consecrated ground, he would die within moments of raising his hand. But what if he killed her before dying himself? That would serve little purpose for any goal, unless he already had a tryst with the church. From what little he was provided by that detached second mind though, the likelihood they would make an alliance with a magus was very small indeed.

He supposed it was possible to let go, but on any hint of danger, any feeling of worry, there would be no wall that would stop his return to her side.

As his mind drifted once again, riding off on random thoughts and plans, they arrived, rather uneventfully. He would remain outside, after much deliberation, but he would have to tell Amaranta that. If he did not know before the grail told him that he had to, she would not know either.

”Emma,”he whispered, ”They would forbid me and the other Servant entrance to this place. This is something you are going to have to do alone… I have no fear for you, though.” That was not a lie, at least not anymore. Besides, if she came across anything she couldn’t handle, she would be able to tell him easily.

It’s not like she would do anything stupid, she did seem rather intelligent, at least in matters other than magecraft. He should really ask her about how she came to summon him with such little knowledge, anyways. That matter had never been resolved, after all. It was most definitely a question for later.

[Anne Bonny]

The girl might’ve been a killjoy, but at least her Servant partner was fun to tease. She had pegged him as one of those chivalrous characters; stern, rather dour, a little bit of a bore, kind of a stick-in-the-mud, but always a good target for ribbing. So when the other Rider had surreptitiously attempted to place himself in strategic positions that blocked direct access to his Master (not that it would’ve done much in the long run), Anne took it upon herself to conduct a little ‘experiment’.

All in the name of good fun, of course; she doubted that anybody besides the other Rider would be aware of the little game she was going to play.

So she dropped back a few steps, flashing a mischievous wink at the Servant in tweed as she did so that her little ploy wouldn’t be mistaken. As expected, he matched her movements, that stoic expression yet unchanging. Alright then; she’d pick up the pace a little. Once more, the other Rider shifted to shield his Master. The way he treated his Master was rather charming, even if she fashioned it as being rather overprotective.

She continued to play at the little diversion for a good portion of the way. Nearing the end of the little episode, she was sure that she caught flickers of frustration crossing his features. She delighted in the reactions; as muted as they might’ve been, playful sparks of amusement never leaving her eyes as she grinned openly.

Unfortunately, their clandestine operations drew to a close when the other Rider decided it was too much trouble to keep up with her, dropping back to trail behind his Master like the good little watchdog he was, and just when his Master proved herself to be a constant downer. Her eyes didn’t overlook the way his hand hovered over his sword, though. Evidently, even after all that (or maybe because of it), he still seemed to harbour enough suspicion to warrant that such constant vigil.

Or he was just that type of character. Either way. It was cute.

She spent the rest of the brief walk to the Church at her Master’s side, completely at ease, even pulling a languid stretch when she was sure the other Servant was watching. Even if the rest of the trip was made in silence after the killjoy-Master denied all possible conversation, she was plenty amused at their reactions.

“S’cuse me, Master,” she tapped Adam lightly on the shoulder, “ Seems like the Church ain’t wanting me to go any further than this.”

They had stopped a few steps ahead of the other pair, the Cathedral di Santa Elena staring them in the face; a sweeping stone structure that would’ve certainly been impressive to behold; a vista of late-medieval gothic architecture. Of soaring spires that pierced the heavens, towering above their meagre human presence.

“Well, wouldn’t want to keep th’ nice priests waiting now,” she offered a playful shove to her Master’s shoulder, “I’ll be waitin’ out here.”

She’d amuse herself with mister Rider in the meantime.

[Adam Wells]

Any attempts at polite conversation were met with groans and moving their hand to their face. So unless it was some primitive form of language, he doubted he was going to get anything intelligent out of her.

Not that it stopped him from talking, or indeed asking further questions anyway, although he only gave a few seconds for an answer before answering them for her.

'When is your Birthday anyway?'A pause. 'Really? The fifth of April you say? What a coincidence, I think it suits you.'

Anything that popped up into his head he talked about, from birthdays to video games to Servant weaknesses to favorite foods to the best way to skin a cat. he only half payed attention to what he was saying, the other half, having learned it's lesson previously on giving anything his full attentioned, surveyed what was going on.

They were getting a few stares from people who were out and about, but no-one had gone out of their way to do anything about the oddball group.He was pretty sure the word "tourists..." had been muttered a few times though.

'Francium is your favorite element? How shameful, it's too pompous for it's own good.'

He considered trying to strike a conversation with either Rider instead, but they seemed occupied doing a merry dance. Probably best not to interrupt, His Rider was having fun at least, even if his opponent's Rider seemed to be as much of a stick-in-the-mud as his Master, but he was forgiven due to his taste in clothes. On the plus side, it looked like the opposing Master might snap. Can't be healthy to be quiet for so long, after all, it could damage your health, and the irritated noises wouldn't be able to vent enough to stop the rising pressure. He could almost imagine her face turning red as the pressure built and...

...Huh, for a second he though he saw a bird glint in the sunlight. That would make a nice movie, Archimedes creating sunlight-reflecting birds to scorch enemy armies.

'Personally, I think the Lancer of the second war should have won. I mean, I wasn't there, but when you consider the facts, all that really stopped him was Archer's Noble Phantasm, which just happened to be a strangely specific counter towards Lancer's abilities...'

“S’cuse me, Master,” Rider, his Rider, tapped Adam lightly on the shoulder, “ Seems like the Church ain’t wanting me to go any further than this.”

They were at the church? A quick reality check confirmed it. Damn, he had done it again. Oh well, he can just try harder next time! That was what he thought with a smile on his face anyway, but in reality, what were the odds?

“Well, wouldn’t want to keep th’ nice priests waiting now,” A playful shove that murdered whatever civilians were on that train of thought. “I’ll be waitin’ out here.”

Aahh yes, of course neutral ground wouldn't allow Servants. He moved towards the door, allowing himself a moment to admire it. Large, highly decorated with swirling imagery and numerous colors, incredibly impractical as far as doors go... It was awesome, simple as that. Would probably make a great prop too.

And then, he opened it, marvelling at the weight and ominous creaking that came with it.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Despite how much of a respite it was, the brief silence wasn’t to last. The maddening woman seemed insistent on continuing to pepper Emma with meaningless questions about the most inconsequential things. No. Emma wasn’t particularly inclined towards the schoolgirl gossip that spewed out of the lady’s mouth in incessant strings. Before long, it had gotten to the point where she was automatically tuning out what anybody was saying, relegating the chatter next to her to mere background noise as they walked as she turned her thoughts inwards.

Mulling over what to do once they reached the church wasn’t getting her anywhere, her thoughts chasing each other in circles. There just wasn’t enough information to make an informed decision. The material she had gone through the night before wasn’t even the barest fraction of what was even in their basement, and even then, there was still precious little information on this ‘Grail War’ that she had somehow dragged herself into, and she doubted a quick Google-search was going to turn anything up either.

“Emma,” a whispered voice by her ear made her start, snapping her out of those vague musings, “They would forbid me and the other servant entrance to this place. This is something you are going to have to do alone…” if the ominous pause was for dramatic effect, Emma wasn’t amused, “ I have no fear for you, though.”

Those words did the exact opposite of allaying whatever misgivings she might’ve held as she turned to regard the church, the old cathedral just as cold and imposing as she remembered it last. From where she stood, she could just make out those small flourishes on the stonework, those medieval aesthetics serving to make the structure seem sinister. But that was probably just her jittery nerves getting the better of her.

“Very reassuring, Rider,” she muttered dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “been working on that line long?”

She went on ahead, not questioning the odd logistics of the whole business, while all too aware of the muffled ‘thud’ that each step made, as if there was somebody judging her every move. And yet the courtyard was conspicuously empty of people beyond the party she arrived with. She groaned, cracked her neck; pushed her hair back from her eyes. There really was no reason to be this nervous; like a child waiting to be scolded.

The door creaked open with, the pitched keening carrying with it an eerie weight as she and the other Master stepped into the walls of the Church. Somewhere along the way, she had forgotten to breathe, and it took a surprising amount of willpower not to let it out with a single explosive breath. The air felt stale, the atmosphere bringing with it cold tendrils that crept up her back. Despite the beaming sunshine outside, the stained glass windows failed to afford the interior the lighting it deserved, casting the surroundings a dull, filtered light.

She licked the roof of her mouth. If they were going for ‘disconcerting and creepy’, they sure as hell pulled it off, although, to be fair, her present mindset also deserved no small amount of the credit. She shook her head clear of any misgivings. The church was still the church. She wasn’t about to let her imagination get the better of her.

“Uh,” her voice sounded obnoxiously loud as it broke the silence, even if it was barely past a whisper, “Hello?”

[Father Scaltro]

The dimly lit interior of the church seemed almost black after the bright sunlight just outside its door. A single ray of sunlight pierced the gloom and cast a bar of flittering motes to highlight the doorway. Beyond that seemed a wall of darkness that, once crossed, might grab the unwary and draw them in forever. Sound seemed muffled, colors muted, and as the eyes crew accustomed to the dim light of the interior one got the feeling ancient watchers and probing eyes were focused on the back of your neck.

"Hello?"

Emma's voice didn't echo, the sound was small and weak sounding as the dark galleries swallowed it whole.

From the altar a tall mound turned, something that might be a man if it could be made out through the gloom. Sihlouetted by the bank of prayer candles against the back wall it shuffled forwards, soft slippers rasping on the carpet and a long robe trailing and giving it a shapeless, amorphous appearance.

When it stepped into the light it resolved itself into the incongruously pleasant face of an older gentleman with a bushy white beard and thick eyebrows. He was of middling height and clad in the draped vestments of the clergy, simple brown robes covering a hunched figure that had once been tall and proud. The man's face was crinkled and friendly, a large nose dominating its center and laugh lines radiating from his eyes giving him a good humored and grandfatherly appearance.

In one hand he was holding a folded letter that he had evidently been reading by the light of the candles and he set it down on a nearby pew as he approached the two newcomers to his silent realm.

"Welcome, my children." He said, his voice deep and inviting. He gestured for Emma and Adam to have a seat on one of the benches as he shuffled over to them. "What brings you into my humble abode on this most fine of days?"

{{ Sup. If this is an intrusion and you already had plans lemme know and I'll delete this post. If you need the Father to say or do something specific in order to advance your individual plots PM me on this account and I'll make it so. }}

[Adam Wells]

Today just kept getting better and better!

Seriously, to start with someone like this "Emma" person, who he suspected was not too far from snapping, then go to the smartly dressed Servant, and now this cheerful man with a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. A grandfatherly face that made you feel more calm and secure then knowing this was neutral ground.

Or, in Adam's case, it made him feel like a kid again.

'Well, don't be angry with us sir...' He squirmed around on the bench. 'But we're kinda both Masters participating in the war. You know, just registering. We'll be good, you don't have to worry. Keep it all clean and not turn Lucca into a smoking crater, no matter how much some of us would enjoy it.' A quick glare in the other Master's direction, as if to shift blame. 'Nope, if it's ok with you we'll have our little war and then throw a party for the victor. You can come too, if you want. You're as much a part of it as the rest of us.'

'Come to think of it, I hope he isn't taking any of this the wrong way...'

His trademark beaming smile was launched at the priest. 'Be super effective, be super effective.' Behind his back, a pair of fingers was crossed.

'Oh, and I believe this other Master wanted to talk about getting her hand chopped off...'

A few awkward seconds passed. Adam quickly noticed his little slip-up. He dared not see their reaction, lest his eyes be the trigger for some violent reaction. Violence was fun, yes. But it would be rude in front of Grandpa. Best correct what he said.

'Wait, no, it was to "get this mess sorted out"' An exaggerated impression of the other Master, whose name should totally have started with a "V". 'I don't think she likes getting threats to her health, probably has a sadistic doctor for her regular check-ups or something, poor thing.'

Wait, this was probably babbling again. Back on track Adam, back on track.

'But yeah, we're here to register, and this other Master wants to talk about the situation.'

There we go, now it was all summarized.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Emma sat herself down as far as was humanly possible from the strange woman as she squirmed like a little girl in smack-bang in the middle of the bench, trying her best to be leery-eyed of the old priest as well, as warm and unassuming his demeanour might’ve been. And without further input from her, the crazy lady began to speaking in that rambling voice she had learned to hate over the course of their brief time together.

“Well, don’t be angry with us, sir,” she sounded like a bloody schoolgirl, “But we’re kinda both Masters participating in the war. You know, just registering,” Emma opened her mouth to interject, but the other woman continued speaking without pause,” Keep it all clean and not turn Lucca into a smoking crater…”

It really was just her luck that she had run into such a character on the way to church. She felt her headache returning already. But did this old man know anything they were even talking about? He had given no clue, only that strangely compelling aura that only the elderly could present as he offered them his ear.

“...this other Master wanted to talk about getting her hand chopped off.”

She did a double take. And then.

“What?”
“Wait, no, it was to ‘get this mess sorted out’,” Emma was positively glaring daggers at her, “I don’t think she likes getting threats to her health. Probably has a sadistic doctor for her regular check-ups or something, poor thing.”

Back on track. Please? Her brain was even trying to make her ask nicely.

“But yeah. We’re here to register, and this other Master wants to talk about the situation.”

And finally, there was an opening created for her to speak. Except she didn’t know what to say. Raising one hand to her face, to brush the stray strands of hair out of her face, in both an effort to calm herself down and look maybe a just that little less unbalanced. Although it was more than a little trying listening to that woman ramble, there was that strange sense of security in not having anything expected of you.

“Well, I suppose I’ll get straight to the point,” she said after a pause, tracing the grain of the wood as she ran a finger along the width of the bench, “ I need some way to get out of this. Obviously there are much better candidates than I am for this ‘grail war’, erm, activity out there, and with all due respect, I’m not particularly interested in it either. So… Um. Yeah.”

She managed to belt it out with less awkwardness that she was expecting. A small victory. All the same, she was bracing herself for information she might not like to hear, expecting the worst. Trying not to make him disappoint her too much.

[Father Scaltro]

Father Scaltro's wrinkled face alternated between concern and confusion as Adam spewed words through his disguise, obviously trying to follow the thread of the conversation but just as obviously lost. He shook his head, looking from Adam to Emma and back again as they spoke and taking a weary seat on a pew.

"So you are masters, correct?" He said in clarification, waiting for their nods of assent as he finally seemed to catch on.

"And you are here to register for the Grail War? I will need to see your Seals." The old timer continued in a businesslike fashion, unphased by the fantastical development of a pair of mages walking into his church to register for a battle over a magical artifact. Perhaps he was not so bumbling as at first he seemed.

"I'll fetch the registry and you can...what's that?" The aged priest said when Adam spoke of chopping her hand off and Emma added her piece about not wanting to compete in the War.

"I can't say that I blame you, child, the Grail War is not an activity that does wonders for the life expectancy. But if you have no desire to fight how did you come to possess the seals in the first place? Such things are hardly freely available. No, no, I don't know of any way to remove the seals short of using them up. But I would advise against that as well. After all, if your main aim is to survive you'll need all the help you can get. And little help is more effective than a Servant."

The old priest pushed himself to his feet and began to hobble back up the line of pews but stopped as if remembering something. He turned back with a look of, not suspicion exactly, but caution written on his features as he looked at Emma and Adam. He shuffled forwards, his eyes still on them, then retrieved his letter from where he had left it on the pew. He made his way to the lectern and slid the letter into a drawer before opening and closing several others, a growing look of annoyance on his features.

"Wait here, ladies. I will have to get the Registry. I will need your names and the locations of your seals. You can tell me in private, if you wish. I know you...youngsters are a suspicious lot." The priest had changed his words at the last moment, he sounded like he had been about to say 'you mages'.

"You can return here if your servant is killed. We offer protection and safety, we have no desire to see innocent people killed. But know this, this church is neutral ground. Any servant activity is strictly forbidden. If we are made to enforce our rules there are branches of our organization that can be most...unpleasant." Father Scaltro capped his ominous words with a friendly smile as he disappeared into a back room.

[Adam Wells]

He couldn't help but chuckle after Grandaddy... Sorry, the priest left. Finally, some thinly veiled dislike of Magi being shown. It would have been worrisome had it not shown up, priests who liked magi tended to be quite a bit... scarier.

Most of the information was old news to him, but of course that wasn't why he was here. No, it was to get registered and get "the man" off his back. Then the real fun could begin, finally.

Hold on, there had been a total of ten seconds silence, this could not be allowed to continue!

'Best be careful out there.' He stood up slowly, so as not startle the poor thing. 'Unless you want to carve off your command seals, which I think works.' He paused. Did it? He couldn't remember if it was that simple. Oh well, best keep going and not give her the chance to talk back until your done. She'll have some choice words to say, for sure. 'You'll just have to stay safe and hope your Servant can take care of the nasty people who want to hurt you. Kinda like me. Hell, I should really attack you and your Servant as soon as we leave neutral ground.' a quick breath, before laughing perhaps a little too late to not be deemed suspicious. 'Don't worry, for the moment I won't fight you. After all. There isn't enough build up for a good fight, or suddenness to the encounter for a good skirmish. This war doesn't happen often, and we all have to work together to make it a memorable one.'

'And I don't want to ruin your Servant's clothes. But nobody will ever know that, EVER.'

He tilted his head as he continued to speak.. 'Just think happy thoughts and go along, it will all be over before you know it.'

Perhaps a little more foreboding then it needed to be, but it couldn't hurt. No doubt any sense of foreboding was nullified by the deep intake of breath, followed by a beaming smile.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

No luck, then. It’d been what she was expecting, but disappointment clouded her features all the same. Command seals? She pressed her lips together, before suddenly recalling the tattoo that had managed to find its way onto her arm. As good an explanation as any. Command seals. She frowned, rubbing her forearm, where she knew the angry red of the seals would’ve been staring up at her had she pushed her sleeve back in a futile gesture to rub the ink away.

When the priest had returned to retrieve his letter, his expression had changed, regarding them with a look that could’ve been mistaken for wariness. Emma briefly considered inquiring about the contents of the papers, before quickly thinking better of it; the contents of the letter weren’t why she had come to the church in the first place. And so he shuffled away, leaving Emma to fidget on the bench, although not before dropping a thinly veiled threat that even Emma could’ve seen as he shuffled off, the smiled he flashed them a cold contrast to his words.

They had been left in an oppressive silence, an uncomfortable alternative to listening to them speak. At least until words started shooting out of the other woman’s mouth again, leaving Emma uncertain as to which alternative she would’ve preferred, not that she was given much choice in the matter as she stood, as if preparing to talk down to her. She clenched her teeth; all she really could do was weather the tirade of passive-aggressive remarks.

Except.

“You were threatening me,” Emma shot up like a sprung coil, voice snapping, “ and even if you might, I’m not just going to brush it off as some bad joke. I’m not chopping my arm off, I don’t intend to fight for your amusement, I’m really not interested in making a ‘memorable’ show. I’m not taking this for some sort of game. And above all, I’m definitely not going to close my eyes and wait for all this to brush on over because it. Won’t.”

Her voice became increasingly heated as she spoke, her posture tense. By the time she realized how agitated she had become, she was practically standing on tiptoes and attempting to stare down someone a head taller than her.

“I’m not going to apologize,” she muttered, bringing her voice back down to levels appropriate for the church, sitting herself back down stiffly, “ but all this is something that I never asked for. And your attitude is rather grating.”

She wasn’t going to try to justify herself. She didn’t need to justify herself. Just get this over and done with. She was acting like any other rational person would’ve in her position. Hopefully the priest managed to miss her tirade, and she resisted the inexplicable urge to just bury her face in her hands as she waited for his return.

[Father Scaltro]

After several minutes the aged priest re-emerged from the darkened back rooms of the chapel, a massive leather and brass bound tome held in his gnarled fingers. It's pages were yellowed with age. It's binding was wide enough to require finely wrought hinges on the brass spine that allowed the covers to swing open. It had no label or title but minutely detailed scrollwork wound its way over the dark leather and etched itself to the fingers of metal that reinforced the corners. The book was much too large to spread on the pews so Father Scaltro opened it up at the pulpit.

"There is a pen and an ink well here." The father said, motioning to an antique writing set on the lectern.

"You must write your given name and the class of your servant. You may also write down anything in your heart at this moment. Fear not, nobody will read it. But it can be comforting to leave a record of yourself if the worst should happen. After you have written all that you wish you must prick the third finger on your left hand, your ring finger, and leave the print upon the page."

He motioned first for Adam and then for Amaranta to approach and sign. He had them come up separately, one at a time, so that neither could see what the other wrote. The book was opened to somewhere near the middle, Father Scaltro had opened it straight to the page he wanted without flipping forwards or backwards although there was no indication of a marker to hold his place. Each received an entire page to write on. There was no form or other ornamentation within the book itself, just a broad expanse of parchment devoid of markings. After opening the book the Father had taken a few steps back, close enough to see that all forms were observed but far enough that he himself could not read what was written. After Adam had finished writing he stepped forwards again and the page was turned with the cautious solemnity of one handling a centuries old artifact, then Emma was waved up.

After they had both entered all they wished in the massive tome Father Scaltro moved forwards once again to close it. His movements were formal, deliberate, and possessed the air of one completing a ritual in a very specific and time honored manner. Save for his beginning instructions he did not speak once during the entire procedure.

[Adam Wells]

Adam swore he heard a "snap" moments before she sprung started ranting at him. Or perhaps it was just his mind making life seem more epic, it was good either way.

Not too bad a snap either, although her posture could be better. Standing on tippy toes just highlights the height difference. Still, her voice was nicely done, not squeaky like some people he knew, firm and believable. All in all, about eight out of ten.

Not too bad a rant either, although where the bit about closing their eyes came from was a bit vague.

'Oh, no need to apologize! No need!' He raised his arms up to emphasize the words. 'One does not apologize for being who they are, one embraces it. Be joyful for who you are... Although I would perhaps prepare a more violent tactic for the next death threat, because a sign of weakness in this was is quite fatal. Odds are another Master will be more serious with their intentions. You said something about already meeting a Master, yes? I assume they weren't as passive as me. Keep your Servant around at all times, trust only those you knew before the War... And, as the priest said, keep survival as the primary concern. You have the advantage of not being after the prize, so odds are they'll be the ones to make the first move.'

Huh, Adam sounded like he was seriously. Technically Adam was always serious about what he said, but you wouldn't know it from listening to him. His voice now was... Well, ignoring the slightly higher-pitched tone in an effort to emulate a female voice that came off perhaps a little too high that someone like Adam would notice, sounded quite serious. To add to the effect, he kept silence after.

After a minute or so, the priest came in.

"You must write your given name and the class of your servant. You may also write down anything in your heart at this moment. Fear not, nobody will read it. But it can be comforting to leave a record of yourself if the worst should happen. After you have written all that you wish you must prick the third finger on your left hand, your ring finger, and leave the print upon the page."

He beckoned Adam, who was all too happy to rush forward. 'I must say sir, I love this writing utensil. It's very classy, elegant, and of course stylish.' He gave the "writing utensil" a bit of a florish before dipping it into the ink to write.

'To this charming priest I give my estate and all my money.' He said, emphasizing each word as he wrote down his name and the class of his Servant. To whoever reads this if I die. If the war is still going, make sure it's the best one to date and, if possible, record it for future generations to see. If the war is over by the time osmeone reads this, remember life is always joyous, you just have to learn to enjoy it... Yeah, that's enough sombre words, quit ya reading and go nuts!

His writing Would seem elegent to some, but an expert in handwriting would call it "over-the-top and unnecesarily swirly", although not in those words.

Finally, the time came to prick two of his fingers. He gave his third finger on the left a stab with the pen. A bead of blood lazily stuck to the tip.

'Hmm... You probably want a bit more then that.' Putting the pen tip back, he practically drilled the pen in, the tip glistened red and the red slowly trailed down further.

'Whoops'. He wiped it on the page and pressed his finger on it to leave a mark. His ring finger was merely pricked pressed it on the page. 'No need for them to know that yet, no need at all.'

[Amaranta Bastillo]

The old priest announced the proceedings with words that seemed like they had centuries of tradition behind them, only serving to make the atmosphere more uncomfortable. When he had returned with the massive tome in his hands, Emma could’ve already guessed what was going to come next. Her eyes flicked over the bound volume; it looked like it could’ve fallen apart at any moment, those yellowed pages and leather-bindings that would’ve looked out of place anywhere else astonishingly appropriate for the setting.

Emma hadn’t even agreed to sign anything yet, but she remained silent not out of some misplaced sense of respect for the proceedings, but because she didn’t want to make herself look stupid by speaking up and then not having anything to say. Even though she wanted to disagree with whatever the priest was getting them to do, she knew that his words to her earlier were rational. So she merely sat there as the other woman was called up. And then sort of cringed a little as she watched her drive the pen into her finger.

And then her name was called. And she stood, making her way to the pulpit. She really couldn’t find fault in the priest’s logic, but yet she still didn’t exactly want to sign her participation in blood (and nor did she particularly want to catch whatever might’ve been in strange-lady’s blood and get herpes or something either). She frowned, tapping her finger on the side of the lectern. She picked up the pen, still dripping with the other woman’s blood. She tried not to stare too hard at that solid-red chunk that seemed to be attached just above the nib which might or might not have been finger-flesh.

And then she had a wonderful idea. Her unlikely companion’s rather… bloodthirsty? Masochistic? Unbalanced? Well, whatever she was, the blood that the pen was soaked in was enough for her purposes. As long as the priest didn’t actually read the tome, she’d be fine. Placing a look of intense contemplation on her face, she scrawled ‘Antonio’ in a barely-legible script, the name of her grandfather taking up a good portion of the page. And then she ‘pricked’ her fingers on the pen, or, rather, just wiped some of the blood off. And when she finally pressed her fingers down, she made sure to smudge the prints. Just a little. And then she shut the book without even making sure if it was dry.

Of course, now she had somebody else’s blood on her fingers, and she wasn’t particularly inclined toward wiping it off on her own clothing, so she merely held it out a good way from the fabric as she returned to the pews.

“So? Is that it?” Emma jerked her thumb at the woman with the bleeding fingers. “This guy won’t attack me on the way out? In that case, thank you and goodbye.”

She was eager enough to leave, but her brief exchange with the other Master had raised other concerns on her mind. She didn’t end up giving up the Grail War, or Bedwyr. Or her command seals, whatever they were. And it suddenly struck her that she should’ve asked, except she was already halfway to the door in her haste.

[Father Scaltro]

"Yes, that's it." Father Scaltro answered Emma as she bid him farewell. He moved back up to the podium and reverentially closed the massive tome they had both signed. He did not seem to have noticed Emma's deception and slid the book into a deep drawer.

He tucked his arms into his sleeves and followed them to the exit, his grandfatherly air somehow melancholy as he paced along behind them.

"Remember, this is neutral ground. You can always return here to seek sanctuary. Try to make it here if your servant is killed or the Church will not be able to interfere." He said, his voice laced with concern.

"Best of luck to the both of you, my children. May you be well in the coming days."

His words were like the benediction that a loving father bestows on wayward children. He may not approve of what they were doing, but he wished them only safety and peace. The aged priest stood in the door way as he watched them go, a look of deep sadness on his face. Mourning for lost innocence. His kindly eyes followed them until both were out of sight of the church.

-----------------------------------

Some time later Father Scaltro stood alone in the quiet shadowy interior of the small church. His head was bowed, his attitude was somber. He stood as if in meditation, contemplating the meeting he had just had with the pair of mages. Deep silence presided over his thoughts.

After a time he looked up and strode back to the lectern on the desk. He pulled the great blank book from its drawer and quickly flipped to the pages that Emma and Adam had signed. He read them quietly and then, with a brusque, business like motion, tore them from the book. Church protocol dictated that he get the name and verify the command seal of every mage that came to register. Instead he had a name, a servant class, a short dossier, and most importantly; a blood sample.

Father Scaltro retrieved the letter from where he had placed it on the lectern and opened it once more, reading it again as he stood before the massive ornate crucifix that dominated the back wall. His brow furrowed in worry but at last he tucked the letter and the two pages from the book back into the envelope and placed the envelope in an interior pocket of his robe. From above him the deadened eyes of a vast relief of the Savior on the cross regarded him reproachfully.

The priest looked up into those eyes for the longest time. Finally his gaze fell in shame and he crossed himself, lips parting in a penitent prayer.

"Madre di Dio, mi conceda il perdono." He intoned, his words barely above a whisper. Mother of God, grant me forgiveness.

Then his head snapped up and with determination in his eyes he strode to a back exit and out into the daylight.

[Bedwyr]

He had been about ready to kick down the door at one point when he heard a liquid, blood as he now knew, dripping onto stony floor. Of course when Amaranta came out of the church, she was none worse for wear, although she was holding a bloody, yet uninjured hand out in front of her. Accompanied by the fog.

It was very difficult to not reach out and touch her, to see what lay beneath the mist. But most assuredly the other Servant, the other Rider, would not see that as a thing to be allowed. He would most definitely strike off the hand that grabbed at his Master, and likely she would do the same.

Despite his earlier show of confidence, he had had his ear perched close to the crack at the bottom of the great doors, although with the echoing of the great halls, it was difficult to tell exactly what they had said.

And the jabs of the other Servant had not made it any easier to hear. She had seemed to take a perverse delight in asking him “Whatcha doin?” just as he was focusing on his Master’s speech.

The first few times, he had responded with ”Nothing important.” or just ”Nothing”

But still she continued. Purposely. Preventing. Him. From. Hearing.

Somehow, he managed to keep from shouting at her, or even attacking her. Either choice would have ended particularly poorly. The only thing he managed to gain from his work had been an affirmation that she had most certainly not left the war, even with his explanation of the situation to her he still feared for that, and he heard her coming to the great doors, so he quickly pulled back from the threshold and leaned against the wall, slouched so that his scabbard did not jam against the wall.

He would have been ready to draw even then.

As Amaranta walked towards him, he inclined his head towards her. “Good to see you safe and…” He looked at her bloodstained hand, then offered her the kerchief in the lapel pocket of his clothing, gently wiping the blood off. “…unharmed, Master.”

He would ask no more right now, unless she provided. There was no need to inform the other pair about anything important, even if one of them knew.

However, he could at the very least be cordial, even if the other two were not.

“It was good to meet you two,” he said, raising his eyes to meet Rider’s… mainly because he had no idea where the fog’s were, “Even if one of you has taken pains to hide yourself, I now very much doubt you are the same pair we met before.”

The next part he addressed directly to the other Rider.

“I hope to test your skills firsthand one day soon. I have always enjoyed the tournament between two soldiers, and their steeds. The fact that there is another Rider in this war gives me a slight hope for some enjoyment.” A smile managed to break on his sombre face, “Stay alive until then, Rider!”

He wouldn’t lie about something like that. In fact, he had at one point considered challenging her right there, just to test the truth of the ‘Rider’ name. But it was broad daylight, and who would fight, or challenge another, in such a time? The war was supposed to be a secret after all.

Testing her name however, was still quite an attractive thought, and he was actually excited for the chance. Some went into battle afraid, or completely fearless. He had rode into battle to serve first, and to test his skills second. However, now was definately not the place, nor the time.

Also he didn’t have a mount. That was a slight deterrent.

[Anne Bonny]

Just because Anne had stated she was going to wait didn’t mean she was a particularly patient person; indeed, the truth was quite the opposite. Staying put was certainly not one of her strong suits, but as luck would have it, neither was it the other Rider’s either as he pressed his ear against the great chapel doors in a vain effort to hear what was being discussed.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Rider?” Of course she had just about figured precisely what he was doing, but it still never hurt to ask.
“Nothing,” he had replied with a utterly straight face, the side of his head pressed against right up against the grain of the wood.
“Alright, if you say so.”

A momentary silence.

“So whatcha doin’?”
“…Nothing important,” he had replied again, a pinch of irritation in his tone.

She grinned at him, arms crossed, casually resting her back on a lamppost, looking as sensible as could be. She had no real urge to know what was being discussed behind those closed doors; her Master’s business was his own, but this other Rider entertained her with his reactions. A perfect way to kill time.

And thus they carried on in that manner for the duration of their Master’s foray into the church, Anne’s grin growing all the wider as the look of annoyance on Mr. Rider’s face grew. Somewhere along the way, she recalled wondering if she could get him penalized for drawing a weapon on her, but no such luck. Just when she thought he was going to snap, her Master sauntered out of the church, sending the other Servant scrambling to regain some modicum of dignity in his stance.

Very, very entertaining to watch.

“Hurt your hand there, Master?” she motioned towards his right hand, still dribbling blood from an open wound, casually moving up to meet him, “Might wanna to wrap that up, hun. You didn’t stab yourself on anythin’, didya?”

Other Servants might’ve been at least a little distressed that their Master had a great big hole in one of his fingers. For Anne, it was only mild curiosity as she wondered what could’ve possibly created that wound.

“Either way, hope you have some,” the next word just popped into her head ,”band-aids at home, hm? But looks like blondie’d like to have a word with us first.”

She turned to regard him, casually resting an arm on her Master as the other Servant strode up to them with solemn steps. Of course, it ended up being the usual formalities; she should’ve expected as much from him.

“Gotcha, blondie. You try an’ stay alive for me too, mm?” she inclined her head in a show of what could’ve been respect, but then she winked, “And do try ‘an enjoy yourself more. You don’t look half bad with that expression, an’ I thought you couldn’t smile. Well, do send my regards to your Master. Seems like she ain’t too eager to be keepin’ us ‘round, so we should be off too, ‘eh, Master?”

[Adam Wells]

Adam raised an eyebrow at the fleeing girl, but said nothing.

Oh sure, he had considered a "tallyho guv-na." But a solemn moment like this shouldn't be disturbed by such words.

Even if she was already ruining the moment by leaving at a much faster pace then him, thus ruining any final words they could have.

'Oh well, I’ll keep them for next time, I’m sure we'll meet again, it has been decreed thus, and it shall be a memorable battle when it happens...'

Yes, this first time he would let slide to build up tension, next time he will break it with a confrontation.

So as tempting as it was to put on a performance as soon as they left the church grounds, he will be patient.

'Maybe to make up for it, i'll skip straight to the combat on the next opposition I find...' Adam paused, his movements gradually coming to a halt at the church door. 'No, if I want to get the maximum entertainment of this war, a battle that is a clear loss for me should be avoided. A near loss is fine, but it needs to be not a battle that is one-sided from the beginning, but one that tests both of our abilities.' A smile curved on his face. 'Of course, a truly strong opponent will probably grant me little mercy or chance to escape... But I suppose that will get the adrenaline pumping.'

He stepped into the sunlight. 'Back to plan A I guess. Stick a smile on your face and see where life takes you, prepare some stages but all-in-all relax and enjoy your vision come to life. One way or another, I’ll make this war remembered for years to come, be it my shining victory... Or gruesome demise.'

There was no change in emotion with the thoughts of victory or death in his head, both could be done well, and he would be sure that either way, it was.

With that thought, he reached his Servant, and couldn’t help but notice that the other Master and Servant were still in the general vicinity. That was certainly unexpected, destroying what little planning he had on what to say at the moment.

“Hurt your hand there, Master?'

He had expected that sort of question from Rider, but the unpredicted people still here called for a different answer then originally intended.

“Might wanna to wrap that up, hun. You didn’t stab yourself on anythin’, didya?”

'Good job stalling to let me think of a good answer.' 'Oh, we were supposed to draw out a little blood, but those old fashion pens do tend to slip. I'll be sure to wrap it up when I locate something to do so with. I'd rather not ruin the dress, you know.

Said dress, already rather drab and unappealing, was currently stained with blood. One guess for whose it was.

“It was good to meet you two,” Aahh, the Servant. “Even if one of you has taken pains to hide yourself, I now very much doubt you are the same pair we met before.”

Well, that was close enough to the final nail in the coffin. They had fought another Master and Servant already. Damn their luck, he had yet to have one fight!

He gave a happy grin to the opposing Servant. 'Yes, sorry that I’m a bit clothes. However it suits our tweeds to be a bit careful about our identities.'

Wait, did he say that right? They seem to be giving him an odd look. Adam gave a mental shrug, and eventually the opposing Servant started chatting up Adam's Servant. 'Hopefully some character development going on there... I could know for sure if I actually paid attention, but I have oh so much to plan! What should I have for dinner tonight? Oh, who am I kidding, this is Italy. Of course I’m having Pizza!'

"We should be off too, ‘eh, Master?”

Aahh yes, leaving. As tempting as it was to try and break the other Master's mind even further, it would suffice for now.

'It shall be so, my dashing Servant. We shall move off to a far-off land and prepare for the madness to come!'

Doing a little twirl, Adam began to walk away with a wave in their general direction. 'tallyho guv-na.'

...Oh Adam, you are weak.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Bedwyr was looking rather awkward when Emma finally left the musty atmosphere of the Church. Still, his suspiciously sheepish expression quickly hardened after he saw her walking towards him, and Emma knew she caught his gaze wandering to her finger, still stained in the blood from earlier. She offered him a shrug, and a small inclination of her head.

“Good to see you safe and,” his eyes wandered down to her hand again, before Bedwyr retrieved a small scrap of fabric from his lapel pocket,” unharmed, Master.”

Oh. A handkerchief. Yeah. Those old suits her grandfather wore often came with those, although she doubted he’d appreciate her staining the fabric with blood. Oh well, stuff like that was a dime a dozen; they probably had many more lying around at home. She never would’ve expected granddad’s fashion sense, of all things, to come in handy like this.

“Thanks…?”

When she moved to accept it, Bedwyr had instead taken her hand in his own, wiping the blood off himself. She offered an irritated sigh in return, averting her eyes to regard the other Master-Servant pair.

“I could’ve done that myself, you know,” she caught him eyeing the other pair too, “Go on, you can send them my regards for me too. I’m not sure if I want to deal with that woman any more.”

So while Bedwyr exchanged farewells with that other woman and her Servant, Emma ran through what she had learned today in her mind; absolutely nothing. The visit to the Church had been nothing more than a waste of time, and she had almost been roped into signing a contract by blood that bound her to it. Or something.

“Hn? Finished, then, Rider?” she had just caught the last bit of Bedwyr’s challenge, rolling her eyes as her Servant returned. “It’s a bit early to be arranging challenges, isn’t it?”

She raised her eyebrows, and pursed her lips as if in disapproval.

“Well, whatever,” Emma waved for Bedwyr to follow her down the road as she started off, “You can tell me about this other ‘Rider’ while I show you the other areas of town. Might as well make something of this trip.”