The city was odd.Very odd, the very air itself charged with something. Yet even if he cared, even if he knew of the circumstances surrounding the city and the ritual that descended upon it there was nothing he could do. To starve, to be cold, to be living a life without friend or family. Surrounding him were but enemies and rivals, that of the dockworkers that so held the treasures of the sea in a vice-grip. The fish that they dug up from deep in the sea were a dreamlike bounty, able to feed one for days. Some of the fish were behemoths that could even be enough to feed one for nine lifetimes. The fact that humans not only caught such treasures, but also brought them into the harbor by such obscene amounts day by day both terrified, and induced wonder in him. But he was but a cat, so it did not matter what he felt. He simply acted as needed to survive, to not starve. This city of humans was something that he lived in. It was a place where he survived, a place that he held no love for. There were no great concepts or higher-order thoughts in his mind, no ability to truly contextualize the many things he saw and were surrounded by. All that he knew is that he lived in a world where he starved, watching a world of plenty. There was no need to snatch fish, competing with the dockworkers as of late, the rodents that scurried around the city gathering in massive hoards. They too were acting odd, a mirror and reflection to the strange air that settled upon the city. So they had been eating well as of late. At times the mice were strangely savage, fighting back and acting with a will beyond what they usually held. But they were still food, and so they ate and feasted. But there was desire for something greater, an easier, more filling meal. All the more when suddenly one day the rats began to dwindle. Ah, a fish. Abandoned in the streets of the docks where no human lied. Fresh, still holding the vigour of life, and even a little damp. Strangely he smelled the scent of others of his kind, but did not see anyone else come to contest this prize. So he, without reservation went in. If it was a trap then it was a trap well worth it. The guiding instinct of a beast warned him, yet the growl in his stomach pushed him on. It was not a matter of deciding that it was an illogical trap, that there was no reason for someone to bait out cats in such a way. It was simply a matter of food being before him, and him requiring it. His teeth sunk in, slipping past the scales and he- The world became dark, and he found himself drowning in the cries of his brethern. What… What was this? He was drowning in a sea of cats. His kin were forced together in some cruel sealed off world. The salted breeze was no longer there, and he found himself losing himself to the heat, and hunger and claustrophobia. Let him out, let him out, let him out. He felt the claws of other cats on his body, he heard the others cry out, acceptance of their situation drowned out by a momentary burst of desire as the newcomer was brought in with the fish. He clung to the fish. It was his, it was his fish. No matter what world he was thrusted into, no matter how many of his kin crawled upon his body, that would not change. Something happened. The world they were stuffed in suddenly shifted, whatever they were in suddenly sent flying at speeds that exceeded that of the devices and vehicles of mankind. It came to a stop and he heard cracks, of his kin, of his own body. Blood gushed, bones shattered, and amongst the cries of cats all of them heard one faint and yet clear thing. The death cry of a rat. Something primal stirred in them, a role of theirs reinforced and fulfilled as a vermin died. Mixing in with their pain, with their hunger, with their confinement. That feeling took a certain form, and mixed together. Together the cats suffered. Together the cats witnessed death. Together they saw the death of vermin. As night fell the harbor was strangely silent, an unease settling in that even a normal human could feel. Ah… but more importantly. He tasted his own blood dripping into his mouth, leaking past a broken fang still clutching a fish. He still had what was his. -- [@Argonaut] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/YtRcuY5.png[/img][/center] [center][h1]Lancer Lily - Fuyuki Harbor[/h1][/center] What was he doing? Asked his master. He was fishing he answered. What was he doing? Asked his master. He was getting cats. Why was he getting cats? Asked his master. To kill rats. Why was he killing rats? Because that was a good thing to do. That was what his intuition told him, what the voices that guided him told him. To remove vermin from a city one simply used cats. However the way Lancer utilized that logic was perhaps a bit odd, and quite inhumane. The fish that he gathered earlier were used as bait and food to collect the various strays of the city. Then it was a simple matter of transporting them and using them to kill rats. Stuffed in a bag, the gathering of cats became a strange anti-rat projectile, thrown again and again against rats wherever they were found. Lancer, with his sixth sense found many of them indeed. When night fell he began his self-given task. The population of the vermin in Fuyuki’s Harbor taking an alarming and significant nose-dive as a result. The broken bodies of the cats were healed again and again after each use. Quite alarmingly some of those cats were in fact familiars by some of the masters in the war, giving them a confusing view of the inside of a bag, and a very confusing circumstance that was very hard to understand as far as what their familiars were being subjected to. All that was able to be gathered then was the fact that they encountered an oddly (and poorly) dressed young boy. - [img]https://i.imgur.com/Flfan1p.png[/img] [center][h1] Sensei - Tohsaka Manor[/h1][/center] He smiled, then frowned. “Hideyoshi, Hideyoshi. Your response is not proper! It seems what you are hungry for then is a correction, and a reprimanding!” Tlilpojuan swung out with a mighty fist. It was a fist Hideyoshi could follow, but one that simply presented an obstacle, a crushing hoof that he could not stand up against. His body could not follow his sight against such a blow, his knowledge could not compensate for the power that it held. In the first place the punch of what the magus called teacher was one that was born of the arts he studied, and evolved beyond it. It stopped before his face, the air pressure rushing over his face, messing up the hair of Hideyoshi even further, and also pushing his head back, straining against his neck. A slight blast of air that was his way of berating his student, holding the fright of a blow, and yet not holding the damage that came with one. Focused in his fist was a certain killing intent, and yet he held himself back and restrained it from being a blow that made contact with his student each time. “Hungry for food, hungry for knowledge, hungry for strength, hungry for nothing. One must survive so that they are able to grow and gain knowledge. Lose or not if you survive you can learn. The ways of some of the swordsmen are foolish, choosing death after loss. One must live heartily so they can grow beyond life. There is no sacrifice in tempering one’s self away from the temptations and ills of life if they have not experienced the poisons and temptations. Another strike roared out, the jab aimed this time at the chest of Hideyoshi. It stopped moments before smashing into his chest. Before it could shatter his ribs and burst his heart and veins. “We are hungry for knowledge for knowledge is a ladder. We wish to climb, but there is nothing to climb if there is nothing to learn.” Perhaps that wasn’t the most eloquently put, but the man wearing the visage of a horse did not care, nor think that it was anything but profound. A fourth strike stopped before the side of Hideyoshi. A strike that would have shattered his clavicle, and also his neck. A strike that kills, a strike that knocks one down, a strike that cripples. A strike against those who defied common sense that would not simply be rendered useless with a break, that could withstand a strike to their throat through various means. “We are hungry.” he paused. The eyes of his mask stared into Hideyoshi, a seeming mirror to the strange logic (insight?) the man held at times. Was it a matter of a madman? An enlightened man? A foreigner’s values? A fool? “We are hungry for strength as the end of our path, as proof of our growth. If we are strong we gain all we wish, if we walk with our hunger then we will attain strength. Ah? As for what comes first that does not matter. As long as it happens. Our path is not a path of thinking of such things, it simply is a matter of thinking that leads us to something.” He broke away from Hideyoshi, suddenly releasing all the tension and deadly intent held in his body and waltzed right into the manor. Tlilpojuan dug out a bottle of beer and began to feast, alternating between it and some skewered chicken that he and Saber had decided to partake in as they were going from bar to bar. “We are hungry for nothing because that is our end goal. I shouldn’t have to say that, should I?” Ah, the most profound and important step wasn’t even thought about or really discussed!... A most questionable move by a teacher. “Please, meet Saber. If you don’t mind I’d like to meet your dinner of the day. Let us eat. We can then go to the Matous and ask to sit in at their dinner as well before talking with them further.”