[color=#ED2939][b][h3]Ilse Koenig[/h3][/b][/color][i]Joker[/i] [indent] [color=#ED2939][b]Location:[/b][/color] Deacon Arms Tavern [color=#ED2939][b]Interacting with:[/b][/color] Flame Eyes [@Vocab], Rider of Dick [@KawaiiKyouko], Daddy Daedalus [@Shadow Daedalus] [color=#ED2939][b]Magical Energy:[/b][/color] 385/500 [color=ED2939][b]Command Spells:[/b][/color] 3/3[/indent][hr] [i]Their eyes meet, and in that moment, nothing else matters. Not the dishonored dead and those who join them in the long sleep. Not the battlecry of heroes and the heartbeat of iron. Not the prey left vulnerable and the scales found wanting. Only eyes like sanguine mirrors, reflecting a homunculus born to die and a weapon born to kill.[/i] [color=ED2939]"A puppet that plays the part of daughter? His depravity truly knows no bounds!"[/color] [i]What a disgusting joke.[/i] [i]The irony is lost on her.[/i] [hr] The Deacon Arms Tavern was surprisingly sober when Ilse and Rider had arrived. The key word here being “was”. Not even an hour after their arrival and the tavern common area had devolved into what is colloquially referred to as a “fucking gongshow”. Normally this would not be an issue, but... [color=ED2939][i]’It appears “King of Degenerates” would be a far more suitable epithet for my Servant.'[/i][/color] Was it too much to assume a fractional Heroic Spirit would maintain a sense of decorum around others? Ilse placed a hand to her forehead and sighed, unable to continue watching her Servant flit from one example of masculinity to another. And yet, she could still tell exactly what was happening from the incessant, inebriated jabbering of that shameless Servant’s barbarian tongue. It filled Ilse, a maiden raised by the standards of noble magi, with intense secondhand embarrassment. And it did little to temper the splitting pain in her head. [color=ED2939][i]’In this moment, it is not my responsibility,’[/i][/color] Ilse reminded herself, lowering her hand to her mouth. In this moment, her eyes were a conceptual weapon of rejection, aimed squarely at her own Servant, who was currently propositioning the American for sexual services. [color=ED2939][i]’As long as it follows directions, what it chooses to do with its leisure time is irrelevant, regardless of moral bankruptcy.’[/i][/color] Her hands wrapped around the cup of water in front of her. Slowly and with trembling hands, she brought it to her mouth. A stinging, burning pain wracked her body - a series of internal wounds from her botched landing, left unnoticed until now by dint of the adrenaline pumping through her veins? Odd. Ilse had reinforced herself before the point of impact to avoid that very situation. But then again, maybe it was to be expected. Nonlethal or otherwise, it [i]was[/i] a Servant’s arrow that had forced her rapid descent. [color=ED2939][i]’If my own Servant had not shot me out of the sky,’[/i][/color] she seethed, idly stabbing at her food for the umpteenth time tonight, [color=ED2939][i]’Perhaps I would not be in this predicament.’[/i] [/color] She turned her attention back to Rider. [quote=@KawaiiKyouko] She didn't lie, her hand moving straight to his shirt before pulling him close. In Mongolia you take what you deem is yours, and Leon is in this moment Ghengis', granted to her from the generous Uncle. The boy's head were kept hovering quite close to her own head before she uttered a few words, [color=f9ad81]"I tasted many a folk 'roun'th'worl', but a pink-skin I ain' tried. Hope ya' taste as delish as ye' seem, creamyboy."[/color] Lraving him no room to respond, she darted her head forth, locking their lips. Say one thing about Genghis, say she's a great kisser. And a relentless one too.[/quote] Ilse brought her hand back to her face. [hr] By the time Ilse had emotionally recovered from the severe mental damage inflicted on her being, Rider had ([i]fortunately[/i]) been rejected, and in being rejected, moved to confront the grieving Master of Caster, the girl with the Flame Eyes. Wary of any more tomfoolery on part of her Servant, Ilse stood from her seat and approached the duo, gathering the gist of their conversation as she seated herself next to Rider. However, instead of confronting her Servant, Ilse looked at her fellow Master, eyes unwavering in their scrutiny. The presence of her gaze was off-putting, paralyzing even. It was like Ilse was slowly, silently and methodically taking her apart with through vision alone. After a few long seconds (the very same ones that Caster used to make his appearance) Ilse broke her silence: [color=ED2939]“You are correct. You do not belong here. Your eyes are of fire, but your heart is of glass; your will is weak. Yet you have not slain Caster and abandoned the cause. You have the means to flee, so then why are you still here, Master of Caster?”[/color] Unrelenting. That was the best way to describe how the monotone girl spoke. It was without pause, without hesitation, and without softening her severe gaze. Staying her path, she continued, [color=ED2939]“To succumb to despair is an affront to those who have sacrificed themselves to get you this far. You detest killing? Very well, but as long as you bear those Command Spells, you will be forced to fight, whether you desire to or not. What will you do when that inevitability arrives? And so I ask you again: [i]why[/i] are you still here?"[/color] Having said her piece, Ilse casually dipped her finger in the troubled girl’s newly ordered drink. She visibly winced as her circuit switch was flipped. The two sensations from pain and activation had compounded into a particularly nasty twinge. [color=ED2939]“Incidentally, Servant Caster is correct.”[/color] She stirred as she spoke, applying the alchemical foundation to the swill. [color=ED2939]“Intoxication will dull the mind, and as we know, we cannot afford to be careless when Ayondale and his forces can attack at any moment.” [/color] After completing the minor spell, Ilse quickly plucked her finger out and balled her hand into a fist. The liquid was the same appearance, but different now. [color=ED2939]“Get some water in you,”[/color] she advised, sliding the drink back over to its original owner, [color=ED2939]“Intuition tells me Castle Urquhart may not be the last of tonight’s surprises.”[/color]