[@Yukitamas]

[h2]Janika Edelfelt, Bridge[/h2]

Choice. Hah, easy for the Servant to say, he did not have to carry the consequences of whatever path she took on his shoulders. But nonetheless, the lion-headed man had a fair point—whatever it was she was going to do, she had to make up her mind now.

Tapping herc fingers against the railing, she felt the urge to sigh once more. Her orders were rather explicit—take this location for the sake of their continued efforts, and she understood the reason, of course. Besides, who was to say there were no others lying in wait around Shinto, wishing for them to congregate and witness what they were capable of, if not use the chance to kill more than one of them?

Yet, at the same time. . .

She trusted—wholeheartedly believed—that her sister would be able to handle herself. She was always the better of the two when it came to this sort of thing, and Janika could admit that much, but at the same time, the risk of the enemy Master and Servant getting away with whatever they did to Brauer and Archer was not so low that she felt as confident as she could have been.

That was the thing, precisely, wasn’t it? Attempting to take all the locations as quickly as possible was a fine opener, but it also left them somewhat isolated from one another. For Brauer and Archer, this meant greater trouble—if the enemy was canny or simply powerful enough, they would be able to crush the pair before Frederica had reached them, and that would leave them down to six versus eight. Not odds she fancied, especially considering the lack of knowledge on those eight. Yet, what could she do? Foolish though it might have been, Frederica was closer than she, and if her sister did not make it in time, what chances had Janika to accomplish anything?

She should just stay put and carry out her orders. That is what the rational part of her mind told her.

And yet. . .

She did not have any particular ties towards either Brauer or Archer. She had not much in common with any of them, nor were they people she necessarily liked or even respected beyond what she afforded as their current status of colleagues required. However, just because she did not like them, that was no reason to sit by and do nothing while they were in trouble, and just because she was better than them, it did not mean she was free to not care if they were slaughtered. She would lose no sleep over their deaths, but there were certain things she had to take into account in this situation.

Noblesse oblige, as it were. She, who had greater power and status, also had greater responsibilities thrust upon her shoulders. To leave their allies to potential demise and to leave their would-be-killers free to escape would be a stain upon her own reputation and the Edelfelt name as a whole. She could not—would not—allow for such things, and so, for the second time, her features hardened and her eyes gleamed.

“Saber,” Her voice was cold and clipped, a hint of decisiveness breaking through. Janika was gone, Lady Edelfelt took the reins. “Carry me to the church grounds, as swiftly as you are able without breaking my neck in the process. This bridge—this entire side—can be taken later, when we are sure no allies will be lost this embarrassingly early.”

And it [i]would[/i] be so dreadfully embarrassing. At least it could be washed away somewhat if Brauer took the enemy with him, but as things stood. . .

No matter, fixating on that was not important. What mattered was taking action.

“Do make sure to be careful with our approach,” She said as she came to stand by her Servant, facing in the direction of the church. “There is a nonzero chance they will attempt to make their getaway via the shortest paths straight towards the river, considering my sister will be approaching them from Shinto. Even if we cannot discern the Servant him or herself, if two Masters pass by close enough. . .” She traced the Command Seals on the back of her left hand, hidden by her glove. “Well, suffice to say, we will know, and that might make things all the easier.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

[hr]
[@Angry Hungarian]

[h2]Rider, Eastern Fields[/h2]

“You might feel me, Master, but I can’t really say that makes me feel much better,” The spirit sighed. Perhaps he should have been more careful with his words, but now that his Master had engaged him in conversation, his nature reared to a head. “Misery might love company, but I’m not infatuated with misery.”

Standing guard around the car, he could practically feel the dullness of the situation attempt to shatter his mind, but he did try to endure. At the very least, he now had someone to actually talk to, and his Master was an agreeable enough man, even if he did not particularly seem to share in his interests. He dearly did wish to become corporeal, if only for a scant few instants, in order to actually stretch his legs, feel the crisp air on his skin and the blades of grass bend underfoot, but for now, he would stay like this. Throwing some sideways glances towards the people walking about the place—few as they were—he realized it would not be wise for a man that looked straight out of raiding a museum exposition to suddenly materialize from nothingness. He had toyed with the idea that maybe one of them would also be a Master, but at this distance and considering his own’s lack of care, he knew it to be an empty hope.

He had also toyed with the idea that, perhaps, if the Lancer was still unknown, he could. . .

“Do you think a small wish would become true if you believe in them hard enough?” The question was posed so softly it was almost boggling to think that it came from the same man. Oh, how he wished to meet her again, to make that declaration once more and, if nothing else, even if she killed him again in the end, it would make any pains worth it. But then he shook his head. “Ah, never mind. My luck’s never been that good, anyway, and the odds are, what, a million to one?”

For a second, it seemed as though he had forgotten about his Master, tone wistful, speaking as though he was the only one there. For a second, his Master was privy to a side of Rider few had ever seen. But it only lasted that much, and vanished like the morning dew. In a heartbeat, his standard persona had returned.

“Say, Master, I never did get a chance to ask, is there any particular reason you chose me?” He seemed curious as to the answer, perhaps wanting to know what had the man seen in him to grant him this second chance. “Was it just my strength and my dashing good looks or did something else also play a factor in it? Can’t say I’m the greatest expert, but I’d have though someone like you would have been fonder of a subtler sort—though maybe that’s just because I don’t yet know you very well, I suppose.”

Indeed, his Master so liked the part of the soldier he would have guessed he would have gone for a less overt and—dare he say it—less demanding Servant. He did not much care for the fact that the man had diminished his own abilities, but considering the fact that their faction seemed rather keen in attaining victory, he wondered if he shouldn’t have picked a Servant he would know for sure he would be comfortable with, or one he could utilize to the fullest extent without worries. 

Oh, well, it mattered little, in the end. At the very least, it would fill up the air with some more chatter to distract him from the growing boredom—

And then he heard his Master’s mutter. Quickly growing restless, he made his way to the other side of the car, looking in the direction of the place their ally had been ordered to take.

“Are the magus and Archer in trouble?” He asked, gazing in the same direction as his Master. “If so, we could always move in to help them, I suppose—then again, considering the distance, perhaps it would be better to leave that task to our other allies. Grani is swift, but not as swift as a Servant proper in most cases, and if I were to attempt to move at full throttle. . .” He stopped rambling, but it was rather easy to understand that he felt concerned as far as his Master stood. A human body would not really be able to withstand Sigurd’s full speed, diminished though it may have been. Furthermore, it was one thing to employ it in the thick of battle, but such a sustained burst from one end of the city to another would not be good for the man even if he could handle the forces he would be subjected to, and Rider would guess his Noble Phantasm would fall to a similar pitfall, considering the circumstances.

Not for the first time, Sigurd found the fact that he was so reliant on someone so. . .[i]fragile[/i] to be irritating. Grumbling, he resumed his position.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled in case any of them show up around here, though I doubt it,” He said. If he was trying to conceal his disappointment over the fact that the first run-in with enemies was not his, he did a poor job of it. “If you decide to move out, just say the word.”