[color=bc8dbf][b]"Our last...supper?"[/b][/color] Cordelia asked, absolutely 100% certain that she was about to die, likely poisoned by the soup that she had already tasted before her. Looking around nervously, Cordelia would spot Da Vinci, the shining star of Chaldea and feel at ease. Leonardo Da Vinci PAINTED the Last Supper, so that was just a...a very fun art history reference. Yeah, that had to be it. 

[color=f9ad81][b]"Hm..."[/b][/color] Samson would say, standing behind Cordelia's seat at the end of the table while observing the canine girl at the podium, then shaking his head. Then he'd eye each and every single Servant present at the table, and then eye the empty seat before slumping forward, poising his chin on his palm while saying: [color=f9ad81][b]"...Assassin's missing. Or whatever class they're meant to be. So, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that pooch over there is Assassin."[/b][/color] It was, admittedly, not the most unfair of assumptions given that the being munching cake was DEFINITELY not a normal human, but the Berserker didn't have the capacity to know something was a Servant until he activated his [b][i][Destruction of the Temple of Dagon][/i][/b] skill. As such, he'd do just that, flooding the room with what could only be described as the malignant feeling of "something being stronger".

On a fundamental level, humans understood being physically outmatched by a different species with just a glance. Men didn't go out and fight bears unless they were prepared to kill a bear. A python could constrict, kill, and eat humans, but humans could guess that from their size. Even on a fundamental level the idea worked with other humans, so long as one understood that Mass=Power. But for a Servant, such a concept didn't exist. A small Servant could be significantly stronger than a large Servant, and a more powerful Noble Phantasm could always overcome a stronger opponent. But in the moment Berserker activated his skill, a single fact stood out. 

[i]Powerful.[/i] Foolish and brash, but powerful. With a hand on his belt, reaching for a gradually manifesting weapon of bone, Berserker was legitimately poised to strike at the strange being, solely to see "how" much stronger he was. That is, before his Master's hand shot up and grabbed his nose, sticking out just barely within reach. [color=bc8dbf][b]"Samson, stop!"[/b][/color] she commanded, before the feeling in the room faded in its entirety. And, with it, Samson's interest in what was going on. Sighing, he would childishly sit down with his legs crossed, easily shaking his Master's hand off as if it hadn't been there at all. [color=f9ad81][b]"Yes, Master...tch. I never get to cut loose here."[/b][/color]

Cordelia meanwhile would slump into her chair, looking positively mortified that her Servant had just almost caused a scene. [color=bc8dbf][b]"A-Ahem. I apologize for my Servant's behavior. He's crude, lacks manners, and doesn't know when it is and isn't appropriate to use one of his skills,"[/b][/color] Cordelia said, looking like she'd been the one closest to death just now. Technically speaking, she was, having overcome that basic instinct of fearing something stronger. Perhaps a regular occurrence, given that she was prepared with a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow. [color=bc8dbf][b]"I'm sure that Assassin's Master will be here soon!"[/b][/color] the mage girl said, hoping to do some damage control with small talk. [color=bc8dbf][b]"Also thank you very much Da Vinci, how did you know my favorite soup?"[/b][/color]

Samson would continue to sulk, interest completely waned in the dinner at hand.