[b]Amina[/b]
[@Shadow Daedalus]
Amina listened to James as he responded to Saber, and nodded to herself. His way of speech and methodology hadn't changed much, if at all, since she had last worked with him. Her hand left the handle of her sheathed rapier, resting calmly at her side now as she felt more reassured by James's reliability as an ally. 

When she heard James mention teams, her eyes flitted around the church, taking in those present. She sized them up immediately. Togami represented the quintessence of high class magi. In other words, an overconfident fool. She had spent too much time hunting his kind to really get along with him. Leon, on the other hand, held a certain human earnestness within him even as a magus. Even so, his untrained body didn't appeal to Amina. 

Then there was the woman, Brynhilda. She, too, appeared to be a typical magus. On top of that, she also seemed to have an untrained body. Amina realized her criteria in judging people basically came down to the awfully simple metrics of not liking magi and liking physically trained people, but she believed she had good reason for her bias. After all, she herself had rejected the path of magecraft due to how reckless and selfish it was. She could only imagine how utterly self absorbed and amoral those in the higher paths of magecraft would be. 

She also held the belief that a well trained body equated to a strong spirit, but that was a personal rule that she could give more leeway to when considering others. As long as a magus appeared to break from the selfish mold the profession typically cast, she was willing to give him or her a chance. So Brynhilda for now was a potential ally, as was Leon. Togami, though, just seemed to embody the magus stereotype a bit too well.

When her eyes landed on Jonathan, she got the impression that he seemed quite similar to Leon. Amina hadn't heard him say anything or doing anything as of now, so she reserved judgement on him for later. The newcomer, a foreign magus apparently, just gave the same magus-y impression. Particularly untrained body. Perhaps a bit eccentric, but eccentricity seemed to go hand in hand with magecraft much of the time. All in all, quite average impressions. Really, this was something Amina had expected. The holy grail war was a ritual for mages, and so mages would make up most of its participants. It was obvious from the beginning that a magus hunter such as Amina wouldn't fit in well in such an environment.

Even if she interacted with these mages, the moment she let out that she had worked with enforcers would instantly raise eyebrows and cautions. Knowing all this, she put a hand on James's shoulder and drew him to her. She stretched her head forward and leaned into his ear, stopping when she was close enough that her breath gently brushed his skin. 

She whispered so as to not be heard, "Teams there may be, yes, but I personally am against them. They are all, as you can tell, mages. We hunt, or have hunted, them. We won't get along. That is my opinion, what is yours?"

[b]Lancer[/b]
[@Loki Odinson]
For now, Lancer simply relaxed on the crook of a branch, resting his materialized spear point down on the branch, letting the ecstasy of the disease flow through him. His mind wandered as the disease worked its wonders, flashing him with memories of both his and the Dagda's pasts. It felt like an out of body experience to have his mind shift between his own and another's, eventually all coming back into one mind that drew from both beings. It was a spiritual, and perhaps physical, high that Lancer enjoyed, letting loose a drawn out sigh of satisfaction. 

When the high subsided and the disease stopped growing within his body, Lancer sat up. He felt invigorated in both body and mind, feeling like he could challenge the world and come out on top. He placed one clawed finger on his breastplate and began drawing. The black claw easily slid through the armor, creating a neat little inscription that could best be described as a scribble. 

Lancer whispered out another song, this time one more melodious and pleasing to the ears, but still full of words alien to modern man. The song lasted almost a minute, and when it ended, the streaks of golden yellow that constantly pulsated under Lancer's skin faded away with the song's passing. 

He had to utter this incantation to keep himself alive. By injecting himself with the divine disease, he made himself liable to be destroyed by the world itself, meaning he had to keep the infection in check to a certain degree. 

With his life assured for now, Lancer took his spear and pointed it at the ground and focused. He could feel the existence of servants other than himself and record their general profiles, making sure to transfer the information to his master's clairvoyance to update it. From parameters alone, it was obvious that the woman that had just come to the church was superior, with the servant standing guard being of similar stature.

These were the two best candidates to infect, and the two worst to ally with. After all, Lancer performed far better against stronger targets. Letting the strong cull the weak while Lancer stalked the darkness was an easy way to ensure victory by proxy. Then the other servants would be ally material. Or disposable tools, depending on the perspective. Lancer himself didn't give much thought to it. Among these, the one with the weakest parameters would be the best.

Weaker parameters likely meant a support type servant or a Caster, both of whom would appreciate the frontal power that Lancer could provide. To that end, Lancer decided that perhaps he could strike up a little bit of interaction with this servant. With a short incantation of divine words, Lancer caused an underground root to expand and split apart, releasing a Slaugh, an Irish spirit type familiar that was useful to relay messages. 

The spirit, a humanoid mass of wispy shadow, phased through the ground and floated towards the servant on the rooftop, releasing a non-hostile aura that hopefully would let the servant consider what Lancer had to say.