[h2]Svetleaze von Einzbern[/h2]

The homunculus stood and watched as her Servant--her oddly [i]modernly dressed[/i] Servant--made his entrance. Her first thought was taking in the obvious: he was [i]big[/i]. Not just in terms of height, boasting more than a foot on her, but in both breadth and muscle. The muscle was the most surprising part: she expected Servants to be athletic, but to get one that effortlessly gave off an aura of an international strongman. 

And within ten seconds of opening his mouth, there was no difficulty in guessing what her Servant liked: from the belt buckle proudly proclaiming it to the sheer amount of jewellery he was wearing Kintoki [i]obviously[/i] had a thing for gold. It was something that Svetleaze could respect, both from a seeming desire to look good and her own appreciation for finery. She preferred silver however, at least to go with her everyday clothes; gold on her would quickly mean getting confused with her famous ancestor.

Her Servant seemed... fun. It was the wrong thing to be thinking when called to assist the Wizard-Marshall, but this was the first time in her life that Svetleaze had left Einzbern grounds, and it was impossible to not find enjoyment in a Servant that appealed to her base desire to stand out--as well as look good. Enough so that she unconsciously mimicked his pose with the axe, resting the sword-axe over her shoulder.

"Indeed; I, Svetleaze von Einzbern, am your Master... Berserker?" With his appearance and weapon, many classes could be discarded out of hand: Rider was still a possibility, and distantly Saber, but...

[hr]

[h2]Ghyslaine Vinla-Meir[/h2]

The brunette had been expecting the Servant she summoned to be at least her height, though as a tall woman it wouldn't have been unthinkable to get one slightly smaller. Instead, in looking straight ahead, Ghyslaine missed her Servant entirely for a second. Then a glimpse of white caught her eye and the blood-using magus looked down, sizing up the supposed hero that she had summoned. It was, without any shadow of a doubt, a child. An incredibly poorly dressed child, at that, but she kept her expression neutral until she could ask whether they liked these clothes.

If they did, it would be a matter of persuading her into something more appropriate.

The small girl seemed to happy to see her, yet reluctant to show it and... bearing knives? Somehow, this small and frail-looking Servant must have become a famous killer, as none of the other classes could fit such a frame or weapons. A famous killer indeed, as she said. The mysterious Whitechapel Murderer was this girl? The most famous serial killer of all was a shy girl that... viewed her as a mother? To be called that...

Smiling warmly back at the girl, she crouched down to Jack's level, scarf in hand--and set about covering a bit more flesh, even if it was only because of the length of the scarf against the Assassin's small frame. "Of course! To look after a young girl like yourself will make me happier than any other Servant could."