[h2]Janika Edelfelt, Bridge[/h2]

She hummed, gloved fingers tracing the railing by her side, white dress gently swaying with the breeze, looking towards the rising sun from her position at the bridge. There was admittedly not much that she liked about this backwater place she and her sister had journeyed to, but in the end, she guessed the dawn was much the same in every place—and it was always a beautiful sight she could admit to frivolously enjoy. The air was crisp, though not uncomfortable by any means, and the early morning was overall refreshing.

But she couldn’t really stop to just dawdle around, now could she? Alas, her stay in this place would hopefully be kept short and smooth—but for that to occur, she needed to get to work, and so, Janika Edelfelt tore her gaze from the rising sun in order to look at the bridge she and her Servant had set up shop at.

To be certain, she guessed it was more correct to say they had been ‘ordered’ to set up shop there, but she did not particularly like thinking about it that way—and it was far from the only thing that rubbed her the wrong way. Her sister, who had for most of her life stood side by side with Janika was now on a different part of the district, likely securing her own little piece of land. She wasn’t worried for her, not really—Frederica was more than able to deal with most anything that came her way, even in (or perhaps especially because of) her current state, but that did little to diminish the fact that not having her sister by her side in this situation felt just odd.

Though she assumed it was a feeling she would need to grow accustomed to over time. Nothing would last forever, and she knew that better than plenty.

Sighing and banishing such gloomy thoughts from her mind, she simply focused on her task to the point he forgot about other worries. The bridge was not one of the fallen leylines, but as the ‘proper’ path between Shinto and Miyama, it had some value regardless—which is why she and her own Servant had been sent to secure it. Twirling the cane she held in her left hand, glimmering silver catching the sunlight, she scoured the area again—though the lack of feeling from the Command Seals indicated that she was apparently on her own, familiars were a different matter. Nonetheless. . .

“Well, then,” She began, tone even and attempting to keep the air of aristocracy about her without fail, even if there were no others around them. “I suppose we shall begin for now. Saber, please, be a dear and keep your eyes peeled for any possible interruptions, though it seems we’ll be free of those for the time being—which means we should start establishing our territory for now, no?”

It was not a statement she expected a response for, given that their situation and set of goals were plainly obvious, but she was the sort of woman that apparently did not mind small talk, idle as it were, and she would admit to not being sure as to how to initiate the conversation otherwise—even if it made her grow frustrated with herself. Here she was, alongside a hero of antiquity, legend made flesh by the very miracle she and her sister and their collaborators sought to steal and she could not think of any suitable topics?

Truly hopeless.

Regardless, she attempted to not let such things show—instead keeping her placid smile in place, even as she began to walk down the bridge to assess the perimeter of the Bounded Field. Considering the nature of the position, she could not be too careful, but there was a small hint of boredom cracking through her façade, features smoothing into a blasé mask.

The peace, however, was not to last as she received Brauer’s report. Her placid expression grew cold, brow creasing, and her eyes shone with unnatural sharpness. The hand twirling her cane stilled, knuckles perhaps white beneath the gloves, and she took a deep breath.

“Understood,” She called out on her own. “Do call if you need any more backup, but expect us to try and make our way there as soon as we are able.” And that was that. She kept her silence for a second before bringing a hand to her face.

“No plan survives contact, huh?” She muttered, voice muffled. “Argh, how annoying,” Huffing as though it was more a minor setback rather than anything else, she moved to continue her task—but her steps now were quicker, more decisive. The question, then, was ‘for the sake of what?’. “Saber, do you have any input? I could really use some advice right now.” A position, an ally, and her sister. She trusted Frederica to handle herself completely, but the fact remained. . .

Which was more important at this moment?

[hr]

[h2]Rider, Eastern Fields[/h2]

Outside of the black car, Rider stood, for lack of better terms. The man was not particularly fond of staying in Spirit Form—he much preferred having a body to walk around with and enjoy the breaths of fresh air he had been granted for as long as this second chance endured, but he understood that his Master was not particularly the most gifted among magi, and so, he chose to do this as his token favor. It was small, and probably worthless in the end—the man could have just as easily told him to and Sigurd would have obeyed, even if lacking in enthusiasm—but he liked to think these gestures had greater meaning when one did them on their own will.

The fields were mostly empty and quiet, some people here and there carrying out their daily lives, and they made Sigurd wish to grimace just by standing around. The sleepiness permeating the place, bluntly put, did not agree with him. A man of action rather than words, perhaps he could have seen the value of peace and quiet in his older years, but as it was? Frankly, the fact that he took longer than five minutes before starting to bemoan the current situation was no less than a miracle. Shooting a glance his Master’s way and finding the man busy with his toys, he asked the gods to give him patience and resigned himself to watch people pass by, attempting to ignore that gnawing feeling that quickly grew within him.

What wouldn’t he give for an opponent to show up and cross blades against. . .right then.

. . .No? Oh, well. It was worth a shot. He had known there would be moments of respite within the timeframe of the War, but the lack of anything to do with this time drove him restless to no end—truly, idleness was one of his greatest enemies. Had he been allowed, he would have certainly gone to get whatever passed for drink these days and enjoyed himself in that manner, and if he ran into enemies, all the better. There was nothing that said he could not enjoy drinks with anyone he fancied, being enemies just meant they’d have their weapons at each other’s throats once the mugs were finished, but that apparently was no longer the norm.

It sure became a boring world while he was not around.

No people to fight, no drinks and his only possible venue for conversation was busy fiddling with that toy of his, he wondered if this was actually some form of punishment, before deciding that, at the very least, the weather was far too nice, and there was no Regin in sight. He had not particularly minded the dwarf’s plan to kill him—it had been par the course, really, he should have seen it coming even without [i]that thing[/i]—but by whatever gods listened, had he almost talked Sigurd’s ear off with the chatter about ‘Fafnir’ and ‘Fafnir’s treasure’ and ‘gold’, repeating the terms so much he was fairly certain they made up more than half of the conversation’s content (if you could even call the dwarf raving about the untold riches and Sigurd answering some rhetorical questions and otherwise nodding along and shrugging noncommittally a conversation)

. . .

“Hey, Master,” Deciding that staying quiet was most likely not the best course of action for his continued sanity, Sigurd spoke up, addressing the man that had summoned him. Their countenances could not be more different, but he hoped he would be able to establish what could, at the very least, be considered a ‘working relationship’. He had little desire to be stuck with a stick in the mud, but a more traditional magus would have probably managed to be even worse, and so far, the man had not offended him in any manner, so that was fine. Maybe the small talk would be just what they needed at this time. “So, do you think any one of our enemies will pass by? Being completely honest, I feel like we should hurry up with the preparations as it is and set up shop as quickly as possible—if you all are so keen on preparing this side as a base of operations, we should also be quick about things and press on the offense.”

Seemingly mulling on the facts, he pondered whether he had overstepped his bounds before deciding he did not care much and continuing.

“Lancer, Assassin, Caster and Berserker—those four and their Masters are still mostly unknown, right? Perhaps I’m rushing too much, but. . .I think we should start attacking as soon as we’re able, and that we should make sure we are able soon, lest they use the time to prepare more traps for us to deal with. We don’t know what tricks they might have up their sleeve, and I won’t say that I wouldn’t like facing someone of worth, but I’d like to think my words are not devoid of sense because of that.”

He would freely admit that he enjoyed battling, perhaps too much, but he was also someone who had lived long enough to admit it, and he would also say that he had learned from that life.

Whether the Master listened or not was another matter—though, really, he just wanted to get some talk out of the man, because the silence would otherwise drive him up a wall.