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[b]Canal District, Arondissement 10, McDonalds[/b]

[@ItMeGritty][/center]
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A steady sound of wood descending upon porcelain echoed throughout the sparsely populated room, it's residents have long gotten over the peculiarity of a seemingly young man relying upon a walking aid to get around. They could not have been aware of the relatively advanced age of the wielder of such an implement from his outer appearance, but within the magical community the age of 48 was but a blink of an eye and those who chose to conceal their age was a nonsubstantial percentage of practitioners. 

His steady pace betrayed his thoughts not, his stony face kept in an almost perpetual grimace as he crossed the room.

170. A curious number not deprived of meaning. In the mystical community assigning meaning and power was not uncommon, Numerology was a popular field of study in itself. Descended from the belief Pythagaros held within the "practicality" of numbers, then spun off into a myriad of beliefs, all adapted to the systems they have attached themselves to. Prominent examples include the 72 Names of God which the Kabbalists utilize, to the even the I Ching of the Chinese.

How auspicious it would be then, for him to have received 170. One added to seven created eight, eight was the number of success. The influence of zero indicated the support of a higher being. 170 also encompassed the complete number of names Odin was said to possess.

It would seem that even the stars have aligned to hand Eichhörnchen victory.

Having the end of his journey, he cleansed his mind in order to complete the task required of him.

"170 would be I."

Eichhörnchen responds smoothly. Taking his tray with nary a word, he began his treck back, ignoring whatever response might have come forth. Stopping before his designated seat, he sets down his bounty before seating himself.

Unwrapping his meal, his shades hid his gaze, yet there was an unmistakable sense he was looking to his acquaintance across him. 

Silence passed, another bite was taken.

Seconds pass, the audible sound of his chewing filled the awkwardness between them.

Until finally, he swallowed, savoring the crispness of the shredded lettuce. The ripe juices of the tomato running through his mouth, melding perfectly with the toasted buns slathered in special sauce. Cheese barely melting, it's viscousness holding together the unrecognizable mash that the burger became. 

Almost the pinnacle of perfection.

Almost.

But it was not the time to pursue perfection. Not yet at least, that comes after what he had come here for.

Setting down his Big Mac, Eichhörnchen finally began to speak to his partner for the first time he had entered the McDonalds.

"I'm going, to be frank here Lancer. I have no high hopes for us as a team to be quite honest. Your identity is an obscure one, and while that may be to our advantage, I have no doubt that the others will have summoned legendary heroes of this continent instead of some backwater in the Pacific. Here you are, without the support of the fame you have gained on that island."

He paused for a moment as if to let that sink in.

"I got no confidence in you, but to be honest I don't really give a damn. As long as you can hold your own and distract their servants, I'm confident in my own ability to overcome the others, and if you do happen to take one out, hey, good on you buddy. So let's go and I'll win the grail for both of us capiche?"

Finished with his scathing diatribe he returned back to his meal. Finishing up he rose back up and motioned for the door.

"Now let's go out and kick some poor fuckers ass."