[center] [b] Yuri Fyodorovich Romanyuk, Team Black Provisional Base, Inside [/b] [/center]

“And you look like you belong in a ballroom, little miss noble,” Yuri crudely stated, spitting on the floor as he spoke. 

”I met a man like you this morning, you know. Straight laced, formal speech, though he had the courtesy to dress a bit more appropriate for a stroll through the town. But that didn’t stop me from bashing his front teeth in,” Yuri boldly stated towards the rather sarcastic tone taken by the the snot-nosed brat before him. Yuri towered over the woman by around nearly twenty centimeters, but in a battle of magics size hardly mattered. After all, with all of his strength, his Servant claimed he had “returned” a blade back to England with a single toss. But he felt no such power from the little noblewoamn before him. Causion was to the wind. 

”Now what kinda stupid cult are ya’ bastards. I’ve been possessed by one of your evil spirits, and together we had some spirits. I don’t know what he is or what he wants me to do, but I figured I would come here and ask, with my mouth or with my fists. Really up to how quickly you want to divulge what is going on here.” 

To someone like Yuri, who did comprehend the fantastical due to his innate mutation as a person, but never entered the world of mystery, such a gathering seemed almost like the witches of old; the yaga who terrorized children’’s tales he had heard from both his mother and older sister growing up on his ranch. A cabal that should be beaten and strung through the street. But considering he was “possessed” by one of “their” spirits, it was not really clear what his part in this all was. And that was what he was here to find out. 

There was a knight, a child, a noblewoman, another in the attire of a military officer compared to Yuri’s battered and bruised tsarist uniform that perhaps might be lost on those who were not either old enough to remember the Great War, or Weltkrieg, or the War to End all wars. But his attirer seemed to have been stitched together several times over, well done stitching, but stitched nonetheless which gave him a shabby appearance. There was also a rather pessimistic man sitting in the corner talking about burning books or something, and of curse, a strange, white-haired man who seemed to be the “leader” of the area. Or at least, the person who was trying to gather these people. 

“Now ... what the hell is going on here?! This was the address in that bastard Fairchild’s wallet, after all. So, are you going to explain to me what the hell is happening here? ‘Association’? ‘Magi’? My evil spirit also mentioned a ‘Grail War’ … Are you communists or something!?” 

The name Fairchild. The name of a Lord of Clocktower that was supposed to enter this contest. And the drunk Russian man had used his name in his speech in such a vulgar manner. It was clear the two had not enjoyed any sort of contact together. Had this lowly man beat a Clocktower Lord, as he so boldly claimed? 

Of course it was a mistake on his part. Jeremiah had not anticipated the arrival of another, and Yuri’s fighting style of “dragging others in the mud as well” was not something he could really compete with. Not only that, but Yuri should have died if the Servant he had summoned, whom of which was merely a ghost to his side right now, but regardless, to come into contact with a Lord and make it out alive was a rather impressive feat by any magi, let alone a person who claimed no knowledge of magecraft. 

But to someone who could not have known this story in its entirety, not being a particularly interesting fight at all considering neither force in the picture was able to unleash any mystical power and it essentially being a drunken brawl on the floor, it sounded as if he was some sort of powerful being. But clearly, by his statements and questions, he was not a magus, and had no idea what the hell this Grail War was, and he had been “possessed” by some sort of spirit. A mysterious drunken man who was either completely crazy or dead serious. And not even he knew which of these lines he tread. .

“I don’t give a damn which one of you answers or doesn’t, but one of you better answer, or Yuri Fyodorovich Romanyuk will have to choose who answers for you!” 

As he said that “something” happened. At his hands, the air itself seemed to shift slightly. No, it was not a physical air, but there seemed to be a shift occurring. Subltle, but it existed.

Even though he had came to speak, Yuri tended to find him “speaking” usually lead to him “fighting”, and since he was not sure what or who these people were, he could not be so sure. After all, even if he couldn’t “see” the beings that remained in their spirit form, he sure as hell “felt” other existences similar to the “evil spirit”’ he had summoned.