u totes have the face of a great and amazing ruler xox england4lyf
my what a compassionate, kind, and terribly handsome 2 boot fellow.
our meeting mustve been predetermined by fate
The lion still had it’s claws.
"On the contrary it makes all the difference." Emphasis being given on all. Her worth as a spirit measured the might of this city. Clearly something that she had yet to realize. Him, he was but a simple catch. Any small distortion in the world caused him to appear. The very building of this city was enough to have a counter guardian sniffing around. The Hive being so dangerous that not only one but two had showed up at it’s doorstep.
At her wish for combat he could only stand there observing. It took all he had within him not to laugh at her then and there. "Do you truly take me for a fool?" He must control this fit of giggles to fall upon him. Archer attempting to turn it serious once more in his mind. "If I had wished for combat I would not have stood within the reach of your blade."
Calculate, imagine, bring forth a scenario where there is no question behind your victory.
If he was to have a plan of action it would be to attack from above, high, away from her reach. He knew exactly how far away he need to stand so that she would be unable to sense him. Unable to see. Yet his eyes would pick her up clear as day as if standing right before her. They always did.
Archer half expected her to lung at him in this bustling city with the way her killing intent was rising. Mind you he was never good at calming down her temper. Never now nor in the past.
So naturally when it vanished like a blink of the eye his brow twitched slightly, a falter in his own mask. Her physical assault halted to instead resort to mental. Back onto a sore topic he had always had to dance around with his previous master. "You know oh so little of me King of Knights." The words sighed out as arms defensively cross along his chest. "This much I will let you know. The Grail is not what I seek, but a stepping stone to what I desire."
&The unsung hero still deceives.
“A stepping stone?” It is her turn to bristle. Provided with very little, there was a definite chance of her lunging at his very person and attacking him for the carelessness that he carries with his words. Temper flares, almost precariously, peering through the seams and teetering from the brim. It threatens to spill, but woe is the king of knights who tries her best to stay her hand, for to act out in ire without considering the consequences will not bode well with her current situation.
“If what you seek is not noble in its intentions I can only hope to slay you before you reach the grail. I shall not allow it!”
Her voice is above a scowl, irascibility evident with the umbrage that twines with words offered. She admonishes Archer like a child, his lack of seriousness pushing her to react so vehemently, enough that the whites of her fists are seen with the tightening of her fists.
But she stands resolutely. She would not be goaded, certainly not taunted by the mere stupefaction that surrounds Archer’s strange veneer. It was not in her nature to be so quick to anger, and she calms herself with several intakes of breaths, loosening her fingers as she does so. “I may know little of you, Archer,” an emphasis on his given class, and she narrows her verdigris eyes. Her gaze is trained upon him like a predator does its prey, veering into the single notion that she will not hesitate to strike him should he jeopardise her chances. “… But I know enough to know when I should stay my blade.”
Still quite embittered by the recontre, her shoulders square and her muscles loosen. There was no need in appearing so hostile in nature when clearly the pieces are yet to be set in stone. Wary she will continue to be, and although she is currently not fond of his presence she takes the initiative to settle down for the time being.
“Pray tell, Archer. How do you find our current… ah, predicament?” An arched eyebrow. Certainly to any Eirei of war, having their prowess and arsenal stripped from their very person would be nonetheless the most frustrating of things.
❀ The clash of the weapons was heard, though seeing was a different story, and while frustrating, to say the least, Zero made no comment on that factor; with the exception of a snarl that seemed to grace her face. This action was coupled with her using the meeting of their two weapons as leverage to leap back. Landing on the ground, she would place her metal arm against the soil for added stabilization, her gaze looking upwards at the blonde who dared mock her.
On one hand, Zero cared little what anyone thought of her, and perhaps this hubris displayed on the part of the woman before her, would be her undoing, much like it was One’s. ❀ "Ah, flower-bitch would be just as good of a name; But, I guess I go by Zero." ❀ Her answer laced with dark, self deprecating humor, which was not surprising. Her stance remained poised like some sort of rabid animal waiting for a chance to strike, although she was much too brash to wait for long.
Rising, she straitened her posture, pointing her sword at the lady knight. Frustrating, that was the only way to describe a battle with someone who breathed righteousness and morality, and who continually got a rise out of the intoner by speaking. Aware of the limitations imposed by this city, actually defeating this knight, who Zero cared little for what her name was and as such did not ask for her name (certainly a shot at manners), would be impossible. This didn’t mean Zero wouldnt try, or at least send her to the hospital to make herself feel better:
“Such misplaced anger for a mere stranger who shares a resemblance to someone of your past— I pity you.”
The statement seemed to resonate the wrong way with the utahime, then again what actually goes the right way, and her gaze snaps, fixated to the blonde. ❀ "Take your pity, and shove it up your ass!" ❀ As if the sentence had been a trigger, she would blindly race towards the paladin, her movement had no rhyme or reason, but they certainly were quick and acrobatic. It would be the only chance Zero had to win, keep the woman guessing, and wear her down. Strikes had no pattern, left, right, diagonal slash, left, left, right, up, they continued swiftly, of course there was still her ace in the hole, should the banneret draw blood… ❀
So erratic are her strikes that Saber perceives them as oddly reminiscent of a certain competitor of war she encountered upon her first summons. It is not a happy thought, he became a dog, maddened by his anger and shrouded in darkness that should not be. But regardless of that verifiable truth, he was still an old friend— a friend who needed guidance, who needed reassurance… someone who had lost his way.
The dame before her is inconsistent, highly volatile— her attacks are the knocks of a woman who thirsted for blood.
A rabid-animal, indeed.
The impact drawn from the clash between weapons is enough to send her several steps backward. She stands at the ready, hands poised before her, the air around her arms shifting erratically. To the mortal eye her weapon was unperceivable. Was it a bow? A lance? Or a sword? None would be the wiser. “Zero? Quite a suitable name. A moniker, I presume,” words muse about lips and the knight king draws her invisible weapon forward. To participate in a fight with another whose standards of morality much differed from that of her own… it was indeed frustrating. Would they ever come into accordance— or would their morals be challenged? It was indeed no simple task. “Perhaps pity was not the correct choice of words,” she murmurs below her breath. “Sympathy? Empathy? There are words I cannot mince.”
Again and again, Zero’s volatile yet blind attacks are indeed enough to keep her guessing. An agile foe, fueled with strength of extreme enmity that seeks to swallow her whole. But with ill-patterned strikes is where expertise— a trained eye— came into the playing field. Time generates in a slower pace in her very eyes, and she can see the slightest of openings, a possible strike she can take. Her foe wishes to wear her down— something that is possible if she had not taken the liberty to feast upon the delicacies the city has to offer ( was she truly a glutton? one could probably agree ). Every single second counted towards this one possible strike, and if she missed, the wintry dame could possibly draw blood. It is near impossible for her to heal without the assistance of a master…
A fragment of a second passes and wind rushes, pushing forward. Silence amalgamates with the force of her brandish; the ever loud SHHHLING! reverberating through the venue, ricocheting off whatever solid surface surrounds them. Quietus reigns supreme, and both stop in that small amount of time, frozen in place.
Saber’s weapon found its place between Zero’s forearm and arm, not drawing any blood but slicing several tufts of Zero’s hair.
And now, she bounces backwards, sabatons striking earth and cracking it as she descends. She stands once more at the ready, her eyes dancing precariously as a single, taunting smile eases across her lips.
When actually taking in the scene before him he found himself at a loss. Just a moment ago he had been at the ready to strike down this figure. He had feared for the worst, thinking that even in this city dragon poachers existed, but before him was just a girl. She didn’t appear to be that far in age from her body wise but there was wisdom to be found within her eyes. Something more as well….
The scent of royalty lingered around her, a higher presence which reminded him of Lucina. Unlike the female he was familiar with the wyvern was having quite the opposite reaction with this one.
He had expected to have to rescue Minerva but instead it looked like it was the blond in need. His ‘pet’ merciless with her claws. At least she had not made at a bite… yet.
“Then you would be one without good character.”
Or there was something about you that had put the beast on edge. She was known to carry a temper at time but never to draw blood unnecessarily.
As she is dropped he steps forward. A small whistle escaping his lips, gaining the attention of the wyvern and bringing her to flight. His shoulders and back tensing as her weight is dropped on top of them. This having now become her favorite spot to rest. Yet unlike most times that she flew up he would not give her the praise she wished.
“You have done wrong to his girl.”
Gerome first spoke to to Minerva and then,
“I must… apologize for her behavior. Normally she is not quick to strike but I thank you for halting her further progression from me.”
Eyes unseen looking down at the torn sleeves stained red with blood. A frown beginning to crease his features. He would have to keep a closer eye on Minerva from now on less she strike again.
At mention of his security from her natural form of weaponry he merely held a sleeve up. The frown from moments ago vanishing with ease.
“It is simple really. I merely wear clothes with a thickness she is unable to pierce.”
It wasn’t like the winged creature ever meant to do real harm to him. She had been given her claws since birth, unlike him with a sword. They were always there protecting her. She could not sheath them away. So he wore clothing to withstand her, and also to protect her.
With earnest interest she watches the male interact with the Wyvern, curiousity taking hold and grappling tight at her very person. She watches as the creature soars— albeit just several feet off the ground— back to where she rightfully belongs by her master. A light shake of her head and Saber proffers a light, apologetic smile.
“Worry not, for I am certain these wounds will heal given time. It is only my pleasure— I’ve yet to encounter a Wyvern in my lifetime.” This time, words muse about lips at the thought of having a lovely creature of her own. But in this point in time, such things were of little consequence, after all, there are far more important things to consider when
“Is that so? I am not often around creatures of this… caliber. Although I must say, in this venue— anything is possible.”
It must take a good heart and patience to be able to tame a creature that is considered wild— a cousin of the dragon (which in her time, proved to be creatures of immense strength and vigour, nearly impossible to tame). Wyverns should be similar in that nature, and in her mind Saber can only commend the boy for being able to care for a creature of such capabilities.
Highly incredulous, the Saber servant takes several steps forward, hand slightly raised and poised as if wishing to pet the creature. “May I?” she inquires within, asking for permission to stroke the Wyvern. “She is a lovely creature. Petite… though I assume this might be the workings of the scientists.”
Yes, the blonde did present a good point- one should always announce their first name. But Ryoko had become so accustomed to hearing reports of so many dangerous folk that she reasoned that maybe giving out her name so freely was a bad idea. And maybe, just maybe, this was a person hiding some not so pleasant motives toward her. A sword like that could very easily be plunged into her back when she wasn’t looking.
But Ryoko’s better nature won out and she stuck with her class representative persona. if this woman had truly meant her harm, then why would she approach her in such a forward manner? Adding to that, she, this Saber, genuinely sounded kind.
"Saber, is it? That’s a very interesting name that you have there, miss!" Ryoko noted, briefly wondering if it was only Saber. “And you’re a knight? I’ve never had the honor of meeting a knight before! Nor a female one at that. But as for my name, I’m Ryoko Asakura. A student from North High School.”
Well, former student, anyway. She wasn’t going to mention the incident that had resulted in her so-called transfer. After Saber had made her second question, Ryoko took a careful step toward the natural gate of vines.
"Hmmmmmmmmmm. Not really. This is my first time in these parts, so I’ve never met the local wildlife. I never saw anything like deer or birds on my way here." The lack of wind arose some suspicion in Ryoko, but she didn’t detect any notable life-forms in the nearby woods. It didn’t feel like any animals or citizens were spying on them. "I don’t hear anything. Maybe there are a few squirrels scuttling in the-"
The moment Ryoko laid her hand upon the gate and tugged, something long and green shot out from it and wrapped around her wrist. She froze and tried to pull away from it, but it held fast. At first she thought she had disturbed a snake that had been hiding among the vines. …Except that her attacker lacked facial features and was dotted with tiny leaves. A tendril from the gate itself.
"What the- Get off of me! Help!" She cried again and again at the vine in terror, but it was all just for show. She would have looked even more suspicious if she had just stood there and smiled as it slithered up her arm. Normal helpless teenage girls didn’t do that. people here seemed to be much sharper than Kyon and her classmates; she had to be smarter.
She backed off as far as she could, but the vine just stretched along with her. her eyes caught wild movement from behind the plant, and before Ryoko’s eyes, the whole gate was suddenly very alive with movement. It undulated and sent three more vines right at her. One twisted up and went straight for her neck.
She can understand why one might be wary of proffering their identity to a complete stranger— there is no mistaking the dangers that lurk among those who reside in this vast citadel. Although she herself is not so much worried about the alarming hostilities that run rampant in these parts, for as it is with the Knight’s Code one who wields strength should use it to aid those who require it.
It was not difficult to surmise the unease that settles within the girl who stands before her. Remaining vigilant is something she can at least commend her for— for after all, even perceiving her small stature (five foot tall, petite) one can just as easily believe she was a blood-thirsty monster capable of transforming to and fro at will. Much to say the least, her old enemies weren’t as keen as individuals of this era were (and thus, they fell to the mercy of her blade…).
The girl who she now knows as Ryoko’s cheerful disposition can only be contagious, for Saber herself too, offers a gentle smile. “Ah… you are still in school. Are you not worried that your being here might disturb your studies?” Says the girl who spent more time with a wooden sword and a make-shift horse than learning maths with her brother. “It is certainly a pleasure, Ryoko.”
Listening to her explanation, Saber cannot help but furrow her brows in slight perplexity. To not see a single living creature in these parts… it certainly brought upon the question of what exactly prowled about these areas. Squirrels scurrying about definitely did not answer her query— the aura that sudden permeates and breaks the stagnant air is more sinister in nature. And it is until she hears the girl’s scream that the knight is alerted into motion.
Swift as a river and as graceful as a ballerina does she strike out, her arm extended forward whilst brandishing something invisible to the eye. She struck the vines, watching the chopped tendril slither and flop about, still animated despite being removed from where it originates from. “Hold on—!” comes her quick response, her hand grappling for her invisible blade and brandishing it quickly and swiftly.
The vines that take a hold of Ryoko lessen in numbers and fall onto the ground, but the gate itself now becomes behemoth, towering above them and writhing about menacingly. Their only route for an escape has been sadly cut off, and now they must act swiftly.
“Ryoko— let us go. Deeper into the forest where this creature shall not take us.”
And without a second’s thought, she offers her hand to Ryoko, gently pulling her forward before dashing past the various foliage of the terrain, hoping that they will not encounter yet another loathsome creature.
「 ♛ 」 Even though he had been the one to reach out, Patrick was still mildly surprised — pleased, but surprised — that someone would actually stop for him, and he let that show on his face. But then again, he really had no idea what kind of characters had been gathered up by the scientists. (So far they seemed a lot more pleasant than the Californians he was used to— although the type of people he approached were suspects in crimes and more often than not just told Patrick to fuck off before he got more than a sentence out.)
"Oh," he said, letting disappointment flood his voice, an odd child-like sadness filling the single sound. "So I guess none of my possessions made it here then?" His teacup. His favourite teacup, left behind. What a shame, having it would’ve made his days in what was essentially entrapment a little easier.
When the girl spoke up again, a grin graced Patrick’s face, full of teeth. It was his showman’s grin: only a little more genuine than it would be whenever he smiled smugly to the victims of his intellect as he pointed out their inarguable guilt, cutting them off ruthlessly as they stammered out panicked excuses. She looked young, in body if not composure, and Patrick briefly wondered if whole families had been abducted and inducted into the Hive, or if there were just children running around town, those poor souls.
"Oh, would you? That’s awfully kind." His voice was light with its usual flippancy, but genuine. With a thoughtful click of his tongue, Patrick eyed her again, this time with amused curiosity. "Might I peg you as a fellow tea-lover too?"
Not oft it is that individuals of the modern age exchanged pleasantries, that enough is something she has been accustomed to. And they say chivalry is dead. Under the circumstances the Knight King is willing to proffer her services or assistance to any bloke who requires aid (after all, there is not much to do in this venue that she has not done before— a servant of war does not have much place in a world where daily droll is to be expected).
“It would appear so,” she answers in turn. “Unfortunately there is very little that comes with us when we enter this dominion… We are only given the clothes on our backs and only keep an item of importance. I would assume that whatever item you hold dear should have come with you when you appeared in your room.” Saber reassures him with a small smile.
“I would not mind at all. I haven’t much to do in this city, and the lack of companionship is quite so dreadful. It would be an honour to have you to accompany me in a cup of tea.”
It is her turn to finally assay the male that she speaks with. He does not appear to be anything but human— no supernatural aura, nothing too terribly extraordinary. His peculiar palette of emotions that swathe his face however are quite so intriguing, for she has never seen an individual quite so colourful.
“Indeed, I do enjoy tea quite so. It is not something I have plentiful at home. I am glad to see another has such refined tastes as well,” she replies whilst walking several steps in the general direction of where their ideal store belongs. “The tea shoppe should be just down several blocks.” With patience, she awaits his presence by her side before continuing onward.
“My name is Saber. It is a pleasure, I am most certain.”
The streets were filled with an air of anticipation. A dark promise of carnage and warfare blanketed a section of the industrial wasteland that was Sector oo2. Abed glanced at the other players, their expressions drenched with the type of bloodlust found in wild animals at a feast, before turning to look at a colorful banner that hung over the area.
Pᴀɪɴᴛʙᴀʟʟ Fᴇsᴛ! sᴘᴏɴsᴏʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ Yᴜᴍ Yᴜᴍ sᴏ Yᴜᴍᴍʏ
$100 & Aʟʟ-ʏᴏᴜ-ᴄᴀɴ-ᴇᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴘᴀɪʀ
It wasn’t the prize that Abed coveted—although the money would have been nice considering that he had already spent all of his money making his pillow and blanket fort amazing. The thing that mattered to him was the opportunity to have another episode centering around paintball. In his five years at Greendale, he only had two paintball fights—technically three—technically four if he counted the one where he live vicariously through Jeff’s imagination. But he wasn’t about to miss this chance to play, especially in this other timeline. All he had to do was find someone to team up with.
Aside from the people that joined in on Abed’s fort in District Alpha, there weren’t that many people that the student was acquainted with. He wasn’t terribly opposed to the idea of asking a stranger to be his partner. In fact, if he did have any reservations, they fizzled away immediately once the realization that he had no option came up.
He scoped out the crowd, trying to discern which pedestrian was there to play or spectate—or even just passing by. Quickly finding someone, Abed ducked around the masses to face them.
"Would you be interested in teaming up with me for this paintball fight? And if not, can I interest you in it?"
Dire is the need to exert some sort of vigour; the lack of activity prior to her finding this event was awfully dreadful, so dreadful she had practically walked the entirety of Hive City by foot in a single day. Despite her usual daily routines, the absence vitality creates for an irate knight king. So used to the customs of fighting in battles and wars alike was she that the sudden change of scenery is enough to incite within her a sudden need to employ herself in the whims of ‘exercising’ within gyms allotted in the city ( though that in itself comes with not-so-fruitful results; she destroyed too many of the machines with her pure strength alone… ).
That is why when she hears of this ‘paintball fight’ that her attention is quickly arrested. The word ‘paintball’ clearly eludes her for she does not quite understand its mechanics, but the word ‘fight’ arouses a rush of familiarity. Saber is clearly not an individual who is slow on the uptake— she would be willing to learn anything possible of this ‘paintball’ activity to ensure she remains victorious.
Ah, the sweet smell of competition.
Competitive by nature, it is in her beliefs alone that she can carry on a fight without the aid of another.
It is no wonder it comes as a surprise when a rather strange-looking fellow addresses her. Upon registering his words does she realise of his intentions— a camaraderie for this event.
He appeared like an individual who was well-versed with the art of this… ‘paint-ball.’ It is then that her mind is made up— she would take up on his offer and join him as a pair to ( granted, in her mind she believed she could take on others quite fine just by herself— but rules are rules, after all, and one must certainly abide with them ).
“—Yes. Of course, I am more than willing to have you on my team,” she agrees readily, almost perhaps too eagerly. The once Knight King appears like an excited child as opposed to an astute knight— she is a girl in all sense of the word, enthused by the prospect of being able to play something after having abstained for so long.
“Although… you must forgive me. I am not quite familiar with this… paintball, yet. But I am willing to learn. I am quite a fast learner— if you do not mind?” A slight cant of her head and her visage is riddled with worry. Would the man mind at all—?
“But if we are to be team mates, it is only just that I introduce myself. I am known as Saber. It is a pleasure, I am certain.”
A humble one at that, it seemed. Although the voice of the eirei carried noticeable sort of sadness, without a doubt, it was clear that she was a leader. Even if she did not believe herself to be one… it was not just that look that gave it away.
Right away, Miko understood well. She was natural leader, through and through. Despite Saber’s own feelings towards the matter, Miko felt a small sense of similarity within the other.
“… I see,” is Miko’s sole reply— eyes closing for but a moment as the smile on her features grows still.
There was no sense in prying on something which the other seemed to be filled with dismal nostalgia upon thinking of it, after all. It would have been simply uncouth of her.
Thankfully, Saber soon brandishes a returning query to counter Miko’s own, and with that, the prince’s smile quirks upwards a tad.
“I mind not. Truer words have never been spoken, Saber. … True to your name, you are as sharp as blade, it seems. Indeed. A great many years ago, I ruled over the country of Japan… albeit, the days of my rule are so far in the past that many believe me to have never even existed in the first place, having been but a myth. It’s amazing what time will do to one’s history, is it not?”
Trailing off, a hand sheepishly raises as Miko scratches the back of her neck.
“… Ah, I’m rambling, however. My apologies. Nevertheless, I’m certainly no such ruler now. I am but a mere ascetic.”
There is no doubt that the moniker she received from the war she was summoned upon held no truer meaning than to the blade she wields. Of course, it is rare to see an Eirei so fitting to their given class title, and Saber cannot help but commend Miko for her astute pondering (as flattering as they were, she feels quite embarrassed).
With a slight shake of her head, the Saber servant proffers yet another smile. “Fret not— for I do not believe you are rambling,” she offers reassurance. For sooth, it was
“Nay, I do not believe it as so,” she murmurs. In hindsight, it is not so much of a disbelief but a strong conviction that she holds within the once fettered chasms of her heart. To be a ruler means to provide that which one can possibly do with every fibre of their being. “A ruler is a ruler even after death— it is impossible to remove such a title lest one is capable of rewriting history.” Her words hold a particular melancholy semblance, one that twines with the now austere expression that swathes comely features.
&that is why she wishes for the greater grail. No longer does she wish to be inked or etched down into history as a King— a King who has failed her country and stripped from them the salvation they truly deserved.
“But I must profess, I am quite interested in learning of your tale as a ruler. Perhaps you would enlighten me over a cup of tea? It is only just that I share with you my tales… although I do believe mine are not quite as happy… or for the lack of better words, quite as justifyingly splendid.”
—— Maybe his assumptions had been wrong. Not that he didn’t think there was a possibility of that, but he had genuinely thought that was the cosplayer’s goal. Perhaps these kinds of people had their own divisions? Either way, he knew better than to continue on with it.
"It’s, ah —…"
A hand pressed along his neck, rubbing at the nape subconsciously. “— It’s nothing.” Better to leave it as is then to press on further. Still, the way she spoke —-
'Maybe she's a little more in-character than I thought.’
Even her mannerisms and speech patterns were unbearably
similar to those he had met then.
It had seemed so long ago —- there was simply no way for him to match her. Despite the fact that he would rather like to try.
An anachronism. That was what she was.
"As for that congregation —- I have no idea. But the way you’re dressed,” He continued on, casting jade hues along her visage, “— gives another impression.”
“Is that so—?” Words muse about parted lips as a look of curiousity strikes porcelain features. Still, she remains just as incredulous despite the stranger’s notion of its lack of importance. With what little time she is offered upon this playing field, she wished to learn more of what the modern man had to offer. Technologies aside, the differences between thought & moralities certainly intrigued her enough.
Indeed an anachronism, Saber was very much an individual who did not belong in this point of time. But that goes without saying, certainly.
Upon assaying the stranger, the knight king cannot help but notice something is off. He appears a human, indeed— but his very person permeates certain experience, or was it perhaps wisdom of yore…?
It is her turn to return her gaze to the tresses she wears. Unfortunately for her, it has escaped her mind to actually change her attire before setting out. “Ah… it appears it has eluded me that my old dresses are not suitable for this e— time,” she quickly remedies her folly. None should know that she is not of this time. “Pray tell— are you perhaps interested in this…” a small flourish of her hand, she addresses the congregation of individuals. “… sort of revelry?”