[color=ed1c24][b]Berserker[/b][/color]
Interacting with: [@Turboshitter] Albert Prelati
[hr]
There was a long and confusing journey that took place before the duo had arrived at the Fuyuki Hyatt. While most of it was Albert’s calculated strategy at avoiding the eyes of prying competitors, another major contributing factor was Berserker’s own desire to do as she did. After all, the periphrastic nature of their path not only removed prying eyes, but also allowed Berserker’s eyes to pry into the intricacies of the modern age. It was convenient then that Albert’s acquiescence to Berserker’s desire for a more modern set of outfits (a decision completely and utterly motivated by tactical value, or so she’d say if anyone asked) had temporarily abated the impulse towards rampant consumerism, at least long enough to get them safely back to the hotel. 

Fortunately for her Master’s poor sense of feminine fashion, Berserker was not a hard woman to please in this regard. While she did cast aside the ones that were too small, she kept the oversized pieces and of course the perfectly-sized ones. Waste not, want not was what her mother had told her in the coastal cave of her childhood. Even this selection could not compare to wearing rags for the better part of a decade. Overly ornate outfits would only ensure discomfort, so the eclectic combination of poorly-fit clothes was pleasantly familiar whilst also being novel and modern.

For tonight, she settled for a navy pullover with some Japanese phrase or other emblazoned on it  and some light, baggy jeans. The majority of her lengthy dark hair was tied up by a dark ribbon. It was not an accessory that Albert had brought, but rather one that Berserker had been summoned with, and one that she looked at with fond melancholy before using it to tidy up her hair in a low-set tail. 

After getting all readied up, she took a seat at the little table, and lifted an eyebrow watching the magus ineptly attempt to… [color=ed1c24]“...What in the blazes are you doing with that thing?”[/color] she inquired. Her Master hadn’t struck her as the insane sort, and sabrage was not in her Grail-granted vocabulary; thus she could only keep watching with a combination of curiosity and confusion. And then, with a crack, the top of the bottle burst off, hitting the wall with a thud and likely leaving some kind of property damage. Oh well. 

She then listened as her Master exposited their menu for the night as he poured her out a glass. [color=ed1c24]“Only the finest wine for the finest guests; you have been raised well,”[/color] Berserker complemented, giving the glass of blanc a few swirls before lifting it up. [color=ed1c24]“Tchin-tchin!”[/color] she toasted, before downing the drink in a single gulp, like a fraternity member and a stein of beer. 

[color=ed1c24]“Alright Master, let’s finish this bottle up; I wanna try that sword thing next,”[/color] she grinned, miming the motions of sabrage with her empty cup as the blade. Worryingly, her interpretation was a particularly brute-force take. [color=ed1c24]“And what of tonight at the church? Impressions of our competition? Were they as spineless as their Servants made them out to be?”[/color] she poured herself out another glass and took a swig, [color=ed1c24]“Or were the flowers of courteous combat blooming well within holy ground?”[/color]