Speaking in mundane terms, Sako really was just like any other third-rung city in Japan. Dull, drab, and rapidly bleeding youth and talent to Tokyo. Still, it had its charms. Like affordable, quality sushi.

Rumi finished her last serving of mackerel and made to pay the bill for her dozen or so plates of conveyor belt sushi, walking out of the restaurant not long after. Truly, she'd missed some of the comforts of Japan. Anything of similar quality in London would have costs magnitudes more. And she'd complained about that often...to...

She pursed her lips. Best not to think of it again. Beatrice had made her decision. She wasn't worth the time or effort spent thinking about her. Instead, Rumi slipped her overcoat on and started making her way through the streets again.

"Assassin." She murmured through the magical link binding them. "I'm almost to the church now. Discover whether there are any other Masters around and then return to me, preferably while sane. There's little reason to alert the overseer while we deal with this farce."

Rumi wasn't exactly enthused about having to register her participation, of all the utter inanities thought up by the ones behind this system. Especially not as the master of Assassin, of all things. Best to just be done with this quickly, preferably without anyone else discovering her participation. Unlike the majority of Clock Tower magi, she knew when to stay under the radar.

@Eisenhorn

"Jekyll. Jekyll. Jeeeeekyll. Hey, asshole!"

Assassin was pointedly ignoring his lesser half as he scanned the surroundings, discreetly moving along the paths towards the church. A woman had stood out before departing for the main route, though he had not had the time to seriously analyze her, especially if he wanted to avoid drawing unwelcome gazes and attention so soon into the goings on. He had been lingering around the edges of the church, watching for both his Master, as well as others that stood out as such, one figure that stood out had otherwise concealed himself decently well. Scarification had stood out on his hands, something that was just not normal as far as he had gathered. He recognized a sign of magecraft when he saw it, even if the good Doctor himself had been far from what one might consider a practitioner in any formal regard. For his part, Hyde seemed to notice that Jekyll had finally clued in and mouthed off, mentally, once again.

"About time you perked up to him Doc, you make for a real poor lapdog. Got mages both outside and inside, sure I can't take over for a few to clean things up early?"

"And let you defile not just the concept of this war, but who knows how many innocents along the way? Absolutely not, furthermore..."

Jekyll's intent to lecture his lesser half was interrupted by the mental signal of his Master, who bid him return, ideally sane. An annoyed feeling emanated from Hyde, though the general calmness and lack of true danger made it unlikely for the man, and Jekyll used that term very sparingly, to get a solid grasp on the control of their shared form. Assassin began making their way back to intercept and reunite with Rumi, falling in step beside her before speaking on the mental wavelength they shared. No sense letting eavesdroppers of any sort catch wind of what might be passed along in terms of information. Assassin was just physically far away enough to not be easy to peg as a companion of Rumi's, while still being present enough to act on a moment's notice and allow his Master to be keenly aware of his arrival.

<"Master, fortunately for us both it is far too civil for my lesser half to even care to reach for control. There are Masters already present in the Church itself, and one likely one along his way as well. No overt signs of Servants outside the church as of yet, it seems the others intend to maintain civility until this War formally begins.">

<"Yeah, Doc here was opposed to getting the drop on anyone so soon and break that civility. Came trotting back along like a good little bitch to the Master's beck and call.">

Much to Jekyll's annoyance, exposure to modern slang and media, brief as it was, was having a stark influence on Hyde's vocabulary. At least in the Victorian era he was at least well spoken, now he was little better than some poor soul living in destitution and poverty. Still, while Jekyll maintained a firm grip on the control of their shared body, there was little to be done for keeping the mental presence of Hyde, ever present and ever crass, from mouthing off and manifesting himself. A small mercy that he was content to just run his metaphorical mouth. Still, it was a downside of this particular Assassin, though not being one of the classical ones had its strengths as well, at least one would hope.

@Psyker Landshark

---

@Fish of Oblivion

---

After slipping away from Beatrice, Lancer had quickly found himself a secluded place in which to hide and watch for any others approaching the church. Inasmuch as he could watch in his intangible form; useful as it was, it was still much more limiting than having his actual physical senses to rely on.

But it was useful nonetheless.

Even without actual vision to use, he could still sense the flows of power, and any spirit on approach would be as obvious as the sun at noon. From there he could decide to alert Beatrice immediately or shift back to gather any physical description. In the meantime, he was perfectly concealed from sight, as evidenced by the officer that had completely failed to notice Lancer's presence mere feet away as he patrolled outside the church grounds.

Good for them that they do not have the threats we had to deal with. Indeed, the modern world seemed to have far less to worry about in terms of roving hostile spirits than in his day.

Once he was sure that the patrolman had left completely, he shifted back to his physical form, sinking deeper into the shadowed hedges at the edge of the church grounds. Scanning over the path leading to the church he quickly made note of some that were making their way up—one of whom he'd been sure he had already witnessed coming and leaving not long before. If any of them were Servants, they'd no doubt sense the strength of his own presence soon; that he couldn't sense any of theirs did nothing to reassure him that they might be masters or mere bystanders.

"Be ready, Beatrice. It looks like you may have other visitors incoming."

"Not much," the woman said, gesturing at the church, "The Lucias have been keeping the church in order, and there isn't much call for pastoral support in this backwater town. But that's not what you're asking about.

"Four of the Masters have introduced themselves, and two of those might be choosing to keep themselves hidden. As for the last... well, you came just in time," the woman said, knocking back more of the cheap brew, "It seems that the last Servant in this war was only summoned tonight. Exactly on schedule, but it's not surprising if our last Master hasn't made it yet."

---

"Tonight? Something light, perhaps," the flouncy blonde said, keeping her voice lowered for once to not be overheard over at the other end of the nave--fortunately, this building wasn't quite so echoey as the churches they had visited across Rome. "It is of no concern to me, but if the fighting starts immediately, I would hate to see you forced to run around on something too heavy."

She rubbed her thumb on the back of her Master's hand, more as a distraction to herself--all this waiting and planning was annoying; if another Master and Servant was here then why should she not introduce herself fully and properly? Even this slight skulduggery of hiding her presence was aggravating, this technical violation of neutral ground. Not that she would ever let a Master come to harm here, should they be a worthy opponent, where would the excitement be in that?

But getting to see the Masters now--that would make finding them on a suitable battlefield later easier, somewhere she could show her true brilliance. That would be worth it.

Assassin knew what he was doing, at least. He? They? Dissociative identity disorder was rather difficult to classify when the second identity had a magical consciousness of its own.

Hyde's crudeness was mildly irritating, but nothing that Rumi viewed as getting worked up over. And it wasn't as if she detested his mannerisms so much as what they reminded her of. Unpleasant memories aside, Rumi simply nodded to herself and responded over the mental link.

"Fortunate for all of them that I still have my doubts as to the validity of this Grail War. Otherwise, so many in one place is simply asking for a massacre." That, and that Assassin wasn't exactly a Class suited towards surviving such a situation. It wasn't how a proper Association magus would conduct themselves, but the fact that Lord El-Melloi the First hadn't came back from the Fourth Grail War spoke volumes as to the efficacy of that particular approach.

Frankly, she wasn't intending on staying long. Or in the presence of other Masters.

<"We'll set up observation near the church. I want to at least see who else is present before we make our next move. That, and it would be exceedingly stupid to announce myself as Assassin's Master, of all Servants, in the presence of others. Do either of you boys have any objections?">

The trek to the church had not proven terribly eventful, though Killian had been cautious in making sure the more identifying features of his methods of magecraft. That was one unavoidable downside to scarifying runes into his flesh, but most of it was hidden. His hands were a harder one to avoid while keeping them unimpeded, as one should in case of a sudden encounter with another Mage or, if especially unfortunate, Servant. Strolling along casually, he reached a point of relative safety that he could pause at, formally on the church grounds now. Given all parties involved were, at least thus far, playing by the rules of the War it meant he could safely wait here and summon Archer to his side, something he wasted no further time in doing so.

<"I have arrived at the Church Archer, once you arrive we will proceed. I have yet to spot anything of note during my approach.">

<Of course. My apologies for the delay, but it turned out rather a fruitful diversion.> Came the Servant's response, after a moment's pause. <I'll update you when I arrive. I'm closing in on your position now, and the path forward seenms clear. Although->

There was a brief lull in his response, as if he was checking his workings.

<I can't say I'm detecting anything quite as distinct as our erstwhile guest, but seems as if we're not alone. Something just outside the Church, not quite material but not quite intangible.> Though the Servant wasn't quite able to see his fellows while they were dematerialized, it seemed his keen senses were able to perceive the way in which their sublimated presence yet distorted the air around them.

<And a woman, not too far behind you.> But it seemed there were more immediate concerns. <Be on guard. By the way she's carrying herself, she's not here on a whim.>

<"Massacre might be the most fun I have heard all day, and of course none of that is going to happen. Slap a church and these other jumped up fucks in the face, but no, we play nice since none of it may even matter.">

<"In this regard Master is correct, tipping our collective hand too early is only asking for an early, ignoble end to the both of us. No objections from me, it is wise to observe the quality of the character we are dealing with in the other pairings, and needlessly announcing ourselves early is unwise.">

As always, Jekyll not only chastised Hyde, but kept him firmly in check right now, taking advantage of the calmness of the circumstances that kept Hyde too bored to make grabs for the control of their shared body. Still, him being this chatty was irritating, but little could be done about the matter. Hyde, for his credit, seemed begrudgingly willing to at least go along with the observation plan for right now, if for another set of reasons completely. Ones that utterly repulsed and disgusted Jekyll, the feelings of such being met with smug satisfaction from the lesser of the two, if Jekyll was to be believed, though he did nothing else to force a change of control at the current point in time.

<"Fuck, I have to agree with Doc for once? I can complain all day, but this will making hunting them later more fun, and make gutting them and stringing them up by their own gore that much more satisfying. Not like I care enough to make otherwise happen right now, all this boring walking around and pleasantries is Doc's thing. Never understood how he ever enjoyed it, especially since we are still one and the same. Even if he won't admit it. Though it looks like our spotted ">

<"I look forward to your briefings, then. As for the spotted individuals, the woman is the more overt concern, a sense of purpose betrays much. I will watch for her as you continue to monitor, and see what she gets up to while you position yourself as you see fit. Should she be another Master, her Servant should not be far away at this juncture.">

Killian did not insult Archer's intelligence by adding needless instruction to his directions, such as statements such as 'be ready to act' and other such obviousness. The man knew he was looking for a woman of some purpose, one who had not been too far behind, and finding himself a spot to dilly dally at without standing out too much, he began observing and watching for the woman in question. Right now, he had to play things without planning too far ahead, given the number of unknowns, even with the observations being given by Archer currently. He was confident in a meeting of minds having the potential to serve them both well. His servant situation was not the most ideal, frankly, Archer was potent, no doubt, but in a contest where most Servants excelled in not only fighting in melee, but closing the gap, he would find it wise to find allies early, even if they would need dealt with later. Even if this was a faux Grail War, it would behoove him to take measures to ensure his survival, and knowledge went a long way to doing so.

<"If the situation calls for it, then by all means, feel free to indulge yourself. So long as it doesn't expose either of us."> Rumi responded to Hyde specifically, reaching the street the church was on. Not much in the way of height for vantage spots. Though if she had to choose...well, no one could fault someone for idling in a coffee shop. Shame that it had to be a Starbucks.

One order of a grande caramel macchiato later, Rumi sat down at a corner table through which she could see the church entrance out the glass storefront. She fished a paperback out of her purse, pretending to read all while keeping watch over the church out of the corner of her eye.

<"Assassin. Keep watch over the street. Given the presence of Masters within the church, there have to be Servants in the vicinity. And do let me know if you want a drink before we leave, yes?">

<"I would suggest not encouraging him, when he gets out of hand things never end well for anyone involved.">

<"Ignore Doc, believe me, when the time comes I'll really put these fucking spirits to shame and see how much they can bleed.">

Assassin, having his orders, found a bench to seat himself at, procuring a newspaper first and settling to seemingly relax and read the news. In practice, while his eyes overtly skimmed the mundane goings on worthy enough to reach the presses, every passing person was analyzed and observed carefully. Master seemed to choose a coffee shop, a Starbucks, as this day and age referred to them, which sounded like a form of needlessly gaudy advertising. A rare point both halves agreed on something, was how gaudy some advertising and modern capitalism seemed to go hand in hand. However, while on watch, the Servant spotted the scar handed individual, a likely Master, heading for the coffee shop as well. Too much innocent traffic for him to be making any sort of attack play, but still, Jekyll took the moment to warn Rumi well in advance.

<"A possible Master moving towards the coffee shop, I cannot say if he spotted you but he seems to be moving with a plan. He is the one with scarification on his hands, blue-ish hair, and an ornament hanging from his left ear, well dressed otherwise. I will be ready to respond at a moment's notice, but no sign of any other Servants yet.">

<"Large black coffee for us, Boss, let's see if these modern folks have figured out how to make coffee worth a damn or not.">

<"I spotted the woman in question, going to have a little chat with her and see what has to be said.">

Killian had spotted the woman that Archer had warned him about, heading for a coffee shop. Coffee wasn't a favorite of his, but he wasn't opposed to it either. He wasn't fond of how the caffeine made him feel, but he could always get decaf while holding discussions with this woman. Entering the Starbucks, he would order a large Decaf and seat himself by the woman who had found herself quite the useful vantage to observe from. He deliberately made sure to not block her view of the church, leaning back in the chair adjacent to her table while speaking casually, taking up the age old past time of people watching, seeming to simply be passing time while his true intentions were subtly different.

"Fascinating how complete destruction doesn't even slow down the wheel of ambition, isn't it?"

Ah. So this possible Master that Assassin had mentioned had her made already. Well, this wasn't entirely unexpected. Magi tended to be able to suss each other out among the mundanes. Still, at least he was being subtle about matters. How refreshing.

"Fascinating indeed." She replied in English, taking a sip of her drink. "I believe everyone involved with any semblance of a brain cell is trying to determine what to make of all this. It really was quite a mess back home when this all blew up, didn't it?"

Rumi studied the blue-haired man for a moment. No one she was particularly familiar with, even in passing at the Clock Tower. Unsurprising. The Association was large enough that past one's personal circle, it was rather difficult to pinpoint any one magus.

Someone willing to be reasonable was a breath of fresh air. One of the many reasons his family had, for the most part, operated on their own was the...peculiar nature of the various options available to an aspiring Magus in terms of allies, though such a term was deceptively ill applied. Even his dealings with the Thule Society, arguably the most prominent users of Runecraft, were by their very nature strangling it to death with their steadfast refusal to even consider cooperating with each other beyond the most formal and necessary of activities. It seemed his gamble to approach would not be wholly a waste, at least initially, given the fluent English and equal discretion shown thus far.

"A rather generous way to put things, by all accounts worth regarding it should have been a done deal. Yet here we are, like nothing had changed at all. Quite remarkable, even by the standards of what transpired."

Killian had the chance to consider the woman after he spotted her and while approaching his current seating position, taking a sip from his drink while thinking. Not a member of the Thule Society, which was frankly a relief given how they behaved, which left pretty much the entirety of the Mage Association or, perhaps, one of the Far Eastern associations as possibilities, assuming she didn't simply pay lip service to an organization and operate on her own beyond that. Given her remarks, however, it was worth considering she might not regard this contest as being entirely valid, something very much worth considering by those with 'any semblance of a brain cell'.

"Determining whether or not it is worth risking being grinded to dust, to torture an already stretched metaphor of wheels, remains too early to tell. At least the choice of locale is pleasant enough, even if it runs the real risk of being little more than a sight seeing tour."

"Oh?" Rumi's lips curled up ever so slightly. "Interested in the contest if it turns out to be real? While I can hardly blame you, the first was dismantled for a reason. A lesser imitation of an already-cursed original is bound to end in disaster."

Indeed, Tohsaka had quite a bit to say about the entire situation whenever she was asked. It was why Rumi herself was so cautious about the Sako war, really. And speaking of Sako...

"Believe me, you could do far better in terms of sightseeing than here. Sako is something of a dead-end backwater, really. There are far better options in every regard, whether you enjoy the metropolis or the countryside. This may really just be the worst of both worlds. Even Fuyuki to the north had more going for it."

"A guarded interest in seeing how it plays out, if you will. Nothing worth gambling life and vital limb over, at least not with what has been revealed so far." Killian kept a pleasant tone the entire time, and by all accounts it was genuine at the moment. The contest had not yet started, so there was no sense in driving wedges quite yet. From the sounds of it she wasn't exactly keen on making any undue risks either, something he could work with for now. Her casually disparaging remarks on Sako being such a backwater and not worth the time got a quiet chuckle from the man.

"I shall take your word for it that there are significantly better places to tour, perhaps when this inevitably falls apart and comes to naught I can see some of the more interesting locations then, if this is truly such an irredeemable backwater. Alas, I am at least obligated to be here until the contest, or at least my role in it, has played out. I might stick to the more tourist friendly destinations, at least without native guides, as I understand it certain locations very much do not appreciate outsiders poking their nose in, looking to get it clipped off." He had no problem letting the woman ramble on as she saw fit, the more she talked the more information he could potentially gather. Even if it wasn't immediately relevant to the Grail War, true or not, it wouldn't hurt to know just in case.

Ah. So this was going nowhere quickly. Rumi took another long sip of her coffee, the entrance of the church still in the corner of her eye. That was the problem when two seemingly reasonable people were in one place, wasn't it? Both weren't stupid enough to reveal information they didn't have to.

"Oh, don't let me keep you. I doubt either of us has much of import to say to each other at this point. At least, not until we each have more information to share. Regardless, it seems we're working along similar lines. By all means, I won't interfere with you so long as you do the same for myself."

Shame, it seemed the woman was smart enough to not reveal her hand too early. She would be dangerous indeed should this contest be worth pursuing to the end, but that was to be determined. For now, he would be content to accept a mutual understanding to not obstruct the other, at least for the early motions of the impending War. Still, no sense overstaying his welcome and souring a potential avenue he could utilize in the coming days, rather, he inclined his head slightly before taking another long sip from his coffee.

"I won't keep your attention needlessly then, and a mutual agreement to not obstruct the other suits me for now as well. With that, do enjoy your novel, it is a lovely day for such a thing." He wasn't going to overtly call her out on watching the church, it was a good viewpoint for it, but he indeed made himself scarce, strolling back outside while mentally contacting Archer once again, unaware of the eyes on him as Assassin watched him while monitoring the street, Hyde impatiently waiting for his coffee.

<"The woman will prove to be one worth keeping an eye on as temporary alliances and rivalries form, we will enter the Church from another angle so she does not spot you. No need to tip our hand as to who you are quite yet, not until we know who she commands ideally.">

Lucia looked down at where she and Nero's hands connected, frowning slightly. Nero's thumb ran gently across the back of Lucia's hand. Was she nervous? Anxious? Excited? Maybe all of them, but she was definitely uneasy. Lucia knew that Nero would much rather be forward about their involvement, but staying silent and gathering information was their best bet until later. Lucia worried about her own inexperience, but had faith that God had chosen her for a task she could complete.

Surely, the location of her command seals was a sign. Divine providence, communicating to her that she should remain hidden until absolutely necessary. Stay the course, and be rewarded.

But with what? Lucia had no wishes in particular to give the grail. Perhaps her purpose was to find a suitable Master with a wish that would not disturb God's Earth? To find such a person among Magi seemed... difficult.

Not to mention, Nero would likely not accept second place, even if that was Lucia's own desire.

Well, it was no use thinking about such things now. With her unoccupied hand, she gently prodded Nero's forehead.

"No cook wants to hear 'it's no concern to me'. Good food, good wine, good company... all things meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. I want to offer you wonderful, delicious things to make you giddy," Lucia scolded lightly, "but... I understand your concern. We can go easy on the bread, if you like. I'm also preparing a delicious side salad in a light vinaigrette."

Lucia gently let go of Nero's hand.

"Also... thank you for sticking with me. I understand the current leg of our journey is difficult, but I am certain that something wonderful awaits us at the end."

---

@Octo

---

I stare at the woman for longer than I probably should, trying to piece together everything she keeps talking about. From 'Holy Grail War' to talking about classes like this was some role playing game. I'm still not sure I haven't found myself caught up in some elaborate LARP, for the record. It was at least less worrying to imagine that was the case than to stick with the assumption that this girl before me was completely insane. But, on the bright side, she was at least willing to find something different to wear.

"Hold on."

Something else in bothering me much more. I get up, walking over to her side of the short table and kneeling down. "Don't stab your food. Look, hold them like this—" I take her hand in mine, arranging the chopsticks between her fingers the right way. "You saw the way I was doing it, right? You're supposed to grab things with the chopsticks, not skewer them."

Rather than remain too close, I back away as soon as I'm sure she's holding the chopsticks right, returning to my spot. Getting her more normal clothing would at least help keep her from standing out too much until I could figure out how beast to deal with her, sure...although who knows what she'll try and do once we're out and about.

But she keeps calling me her master. And she took direction earlier. Maybe that'll be the ticket to keep her from causing trouble outside?

"So. Kimonos, you were saying? Not a bad idea, but they aren't the most practical clothes in the world. We probably ought to find you some more typical wear, too, especially if you're going to be staying undercover. Unless you do want to borrow some of my spares." I look her up and down more appraisingly than I did before. I already know we're basically the same height, and she's not much thinner than me either.

"Fit should work. You're not too far off from me, shouldn't even be too tight in the..."

My metaphorical train of thought runs off track as one half of my brain catches up to the other. I look back down at the food quickly, not bothering to finish that thought.

"Anyways. Tonight?"

---

'The Lucias', huh? Beatrice had been fairly impressed with the ship the Overseer had been running up to this point, between her efforts to keep whoever the Einzberns had sent in line and the poise with which her little underling had carried out her end of the Church's typical inability to leave well enough alone, but looks like she wasn't winning any points for imagination.

Maybe a few for brazenness. She could always respect that.

"Well, would it really be a Grail War if someone didn't stumble in at the last minute?" She replied, only somewhat facetiously. That in and of itself was something to follow up, but even without it the woman's words, lazily delivered but obviously carefully chosen, offered some decent intelligence. The four that had dropped by presumably included her- perhaps she should interrogate that a little more, but the Overseer was definitely the type to talk about you like you weren't there- which left three outstanding visitors. The last minute addition to the war, and two unknowns. Whether or not one of the Lucias counted as one of those unknowns was a harder call to make, but-

<Be ready, Beatrice. It looks like you may have other visitors incoming."> With absolutely providential timing, Lancer notified her that at least one of those unknowns was on their way. You couldn't write this kind of timing if you tried.

<I'll wrap this up quickly, then. Stay where you are, I'll slip out the back and head for the chokepoint..> Beatrice hadn't intended to linger anyway, not with there almost certainly being a Servant here. The arrival of the others was almost a relief, giving her impetus to break things off before anyone here could find out more than she owed. She'd learned enough for now, and for all his mithering, Lancer had been speaking sense when he'd advised against lingering about too long into the closing hours of the day.

"It looks like I might have more on my plate tonight than I expected, so I'll keep it brief." She began to the Overseer, fixing her with her best 'serious professional' face and look as she pulled out an envelope from her coat and passed it over. Inside, if the woman was so inclined, she'd find a collection of notes, some samples, and a handful of photos; conveying the image of an utterly burned-out wreck of a homestead and what seemed to be the faded and scorched remains of some sigils and magical instruments.

"Found this on my rounds, just north of the outer limits. Doesn't seem to fit the profile of anything the Einzberns would do and if I didn't completely sleep through alchemy back in the day, I don't think the timeframe I'm picking up from this really implicates anyone who you'd have encountered." It was her honest opinion; she didn't really have the luxury of time to unpack the particulars. Perhaps the Overseer would have more pieces to pull together, but until the opportunity availed... "Whoever set this hooky Grail up may know how to keep themselves hidden, but it looks like they're not flawless at it. I'll follow up some more once I get back to base and have a chance to interrogate it at length, but until then-"

She let her gaze wonder past the Overseer, to one of the doors to the back half of the church off to the side of the pulpit.

"A little birdie tells me you have more visitors coming." She said, gesturing towards the door, "I'll meet them soon enough, but for now I think it's best I slip out back and get on my way. Will that cause any issues for you and the Lucias?"

---

---

As Killian elected to greet the likely fellow Master head-on, Archer instead decided to press on ahead, past the end of the street leading to the Church to the outermost section of the green it was nestled in.

A preliminary sweep of the surrounding streets didn't reveal any presence of a Servant nearby the woman, but that didn't have him entirely at ease. The man he'd encountered before hadn't the subtlety or the discretion for his claim to be Assassin to be anything more than an attempt at getting a rise out of him, but that only meant that they still had the actual Assassin to account for. Archer's eyes were such that even a Servant attempting to avoid notice by dematerializing couldn't hide from him, the way in which their not-quite intangible spiritual bodies subtly disturbed the vectors of the wind and light moving through them betraying them to him: even those who resisted his gaze would find themselves laid bare if he were to focus and peer beyond immediate material reality. But from the information the Grail provided him with, Assassin had means to conceal themselves beyond that, circumventing the senses entirely.

He had little quarrel with Killian so far. Lackadaiscality regarding the potential of the war up until this point aside, he seemed to respect his experience in these matters and allow him to conduct himself in a manner appropriate to a 'Heroic Spirit' rather than a mere 'Servant'; better than the vast majority of the alternatives, considering the circumstances. All the same, however, he was starting to have concerns that the man's prudence was borne more of flippancy than caution. He'd elected to meet the woman without fully considering that there was a very real possibility that it could end with his neck on the chopping block; or that Archer didn't precisely have the luxury of 'regrouping' if he were to stumble into a fatal encounter.

For now, though, the man clearly had experience of his own, and though the concept of those wretched symbols engraved into his forearm was enough to make him grind his teeth, they gave him a lifeline to flip the script on anyone brazen enough to try their luck. So Archer deferred to the man's decision, however grudgingly, and soon found himself set down upon the grass reaching up the somewhat slanted land towards the church.

The presence he'd felt before lay shortly ahead, his clairvoyance not quite enough to get a full read on them, but besides their obvious nature as a Servant it was yet sufficient to pick out enough detail that he wasn't going in unprepared. Even at a lazy glance, he could tell they were eighty-three meters ahead, roughly thirteen away from the building, likely in observance of whatever armistice was supposed to exist within its immediate limits. For that, they seemed to have positioned themselves strategically, standing among ones of the trees dotted along the grass away from the thicket behind the church so their presence wouldn't be immediately obvious.

But of course, that only afforded them so much success here. It made Archer's job a little trickier, but with a small amount of focus he had them made; two meters and ten- no, eighteen centimeters tall, and built like an animal raised to fight. Further details would be risky to press for without alerting them to his intentions, and while they seemed to honour the Church's arrangements, his clairvoyance didn't exactly furnish him with knowledge of how grudging or performative that might be if he were to tip his hand too soon. He was also reliant on context to try and piece together which of the seven they were; his best educated guess was Berserker, and that didn't exactly bode well for any attempt to glean information from a dialogue.

Archer paused upon his ascent up the hill, scanning the trees and offering a look back over his shoulder to Killian's position back down the way. With nothing forthcoming from their link other than some minor chatter, he raised a hand to his mouth in thought; and then retrieved his box of cigarettes from his pocket, sliding one out and taking it between his teeth as it lit seemingly apropos of nothing.

He had some time to kill, he concluded to himself as he resumed his advance, since Kilian was yet to conclude his business with the woman. And uncertain as his odds were, as before, he stood more to gain from an exchange at present than he stood to lose. Even hostility from the other Servant might serve its purpose, to help clarify where they stood in this farce of a war.

Besides, he was no stranger to dealing with animals that didn't know when to behave. A shot between the eyes tended to instil discipline rather quickly.

"Let me guess", he spoke in the direction of the mystery Servant as he reached the step of the approach to the church that brought him in line with their hiding place, pausing upon his path and taking a deep drag from the cigarette to steady himself. He spoke softly and carefully, but an unseen force projected his voice across the way so they'd be able to hear him clearly. "Another called across time on that blasted cup's whims?"

"No need to hide away, you'd have to be a damn fool to start a fight here." He continued, taking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a long plume of smoke as he offered them his best approximation of a friendly smile. "Why not step out for a little? There's been scant few opportunities for any of us to talk so far."

---

@Fish of Oblivion

---

Evidently, not every servant shared Lancer's desire not to make themselves as obvious as possible. As he'd warned his master, he'd been aware of the other approaching for quite a while; said other rapidly became aware of him, eyes falling right where Lancer stood, staring back. As if that was not brazen enough, the other never once looked away; he stopped, calling over to him, words magically carried straight to his ears.

Lancer's face was an impassive mask as he looked on towards the slender man that was calling out. Taller than most, professionally dressed, but not particularly heavily built. Not that there was too much to draw from that in terms of conclusions—not enough to decide who he was, but it gave some clues as to how he might fight. Even if he was disinclined to engage in such so far.

Noticing him so clearly and easily, though...

Lancer stepped out from the trees, sauntering up to the shorter man with his hands held loosely at his sides. He did not, however, offer any greeting in return.

"Beatrice. Evidently one of them desires to talk. I'll humor him for a bit. Be careful when you leave."

He stopped a couple yards away, his stone-faced stare not having let up at all. Even without words, the message was clear enough—speak your piece or quit wasting our time.

"You misunderstand me, Master. While I would love to instruct you in the finest of Rome's cuisine, from the simplest to the most intricate preparation, I simply mean that I need not fear fighting on a full or empty stomach. The existence of a Servant has its own benefits," the Servant replied, unable to mask the pout at being admonished like a child over her wording. So uncalled for, to poke her like that!

"Yes, of course, soon we will enter into glorious battle! Ah, I look forward to seeing who was called. A chance to meet fellow heroes is a rare thing indeed, even if there must have been some amongst my associates." That transformed into a dark look for a second.

---

"Of course someone already broke the rules…" the overseer said with a sigh, accepting the packet and then looking through the photos, then pocketing the envelope, "It was too much to hope for more than plausible deniability, I suppose."

The woman took a drink from her can, eyes drifting the ceiling, "If you're quick, you might be able to go through the kitchen and out. The church has a small graveyard, and the path through it rejoins the main one a bit further down. If you're slow, the chatterbox might get you."

No indication of which one that was. Though, their appearances should make it obvious.

---

"Thanks, doll," Beatrice replied offhandedly to the Overseer, raising a hand in farewell as she took her advice to beat a hasty retreat and made for the door to the side of the lectern. She spared one last glance to the woman, and then to the others at the other end of the church, 'the Lucias'. She'd have to keep an eye on those two: though as was the case with the discovery she'd passed on to the other representative, she had bigger fish to fry for now.

<Beatrice. Evidently one of them desires to talk.> And it seemed Lancer had a bite. Her head snapped back around to her path out of the church, and she left her curiosity about whatever arrangement they'd put forward to secure their interests to focus on her own, more immediate interest; getting out of here without getting ambushed by an enterprising Servant. <I'll humor him for a bit. Be careful when you leave.>

<On my way out now.> She responded, picking up her pace as she rifled through the ground floor of the Church's living quarters. The 'Lucia' she'd spoken to had mentioned focaccia, so the kitchen was presumably in use: sure enough, following the telltale smell of warm olive oil, rosemary and garlic led her to a small room nestled at the edge of the floor, near the staircase leading further up. Stepping inside, it was longer than it was wide, with a central island with all sorts of utensils and ingredients laid across it bisecting the room lengthways. To the one side of it was an impeccably clean and tidy sink, while to the other an assortment of pots and pans hung over a main unit with a range cooker, heat radiating out as the bread cooked inside.

<We'll proceed as planned, keep him busy until I call you.> As promised, at the far end was a door out of the side of the church, overlooking the headstones of the site's graves. She stepped through the kitchen towards it, taking appreciable pain not to upset any of the preparations- she didn't trust the girl as far as she could throw her, but she wasn't a savage- and was soon beyond it, heading into the warm evening outside. <See if you can get anything useful out of him in the meantime.>

---

---

"Had the chance to meet any others of our number so far?" Archer asked the man pleasantly, as he stepped out from his hiding place at the other Servant's beckoning. In keeping with the spirit of the occasion, he carefully extended arn arm to offer him a cigarette from the still-open pack.

Well, he'd initiated contact knowing they were a veritable giant built like an underfed bear. All the same, he hadn't fully anticipated him to look and feel the part too. Wild hair ran in myriad shades of iron, with dark eyes peering down at him from the scarred and gaunt face it framed. His head emerged from amidst a mass of heavy furs worn over tanned hide, hanging over his frame as such that it was hard to determine whether he was large or simply tall. Even with that, however, one thing was unmistakeable; he was powerful, with an unmistakeably intense aura that had been absent from the man he encountered before radiating from even this indifferent posture.

The man's silence and presence was certainly such that one would be hard-pressed to fault Archer for falling back upon his initial assessment of him as the war's Berserker, and it was still within the realm of possibility. But he wasn't oblivious to what silence could articulate, and the man's expression spoke volumes.

"Hmm. Shall I take that as a no?" Another pull, to steady himself. It wouldn't do to show any weakness; or worse yet, let the hulking bastard get to him.

Ludwig carefully filed Arthur's instructions in her head as the young la- lad. She'd get it. As her young Master taught her how to use the chopsticks. So... they were like food-tweezers. How novel! Truly, this was an interesting country. What adventures awaited them in this vast new land? Her face brightened at the mere thought of it.

"Ah... are kimonos not typical wear in this land?" she questioned, tilting her head demurely, "well then, I shall trust your judgement, Master!"

Ludwig food-tweezed the dishes in front of her, accidentally dropping a thing or two, but quickly adapted and began piloting the chopsticks like a pro. Or perhaps not a rank amateur, at least.

"I would like to buy some fantastically ostentatious new things, but for the time being, I believe I should be capable of wearing your own clothes. You are correct in the assumption that my bust is not very impressive," she said far too loud to be comfortable, "though I admire your valor in wanting to begin our quest this very night! Truly, Arthur is a fitting name for one so brave."

Ludwig stood up dramatically, and pointed her chopsticks at him almost as if appointing Arthur to a position of prestige.

"And I concur! First, to the boutiques... then, to the vile blackguards that hinder our path!"

---

Lucia simply stared at Nero for a few moments. She knew that the woman did not require food, but having it said aloud was yet another reminder that Nero did not belong here, and it bothered Lucia to think that way. Whether or not it was a requirement...

"You-"

Then, the sound of footsteps as Beatrice quickly approached the kitchens. Lucia turned to greet her, but the woman simply kept moving.

"The focaccia is almost do-"

And like that, the woman was out the door. Lucia puffed her cheeks out, tonguing a couple of piercings where some jewelry currently wasn't in annoyance. Didn't anyone want to eat the delicious food she was making? She turned her gaze back to Nero. Perhaps a softer touch.

"...I'd like to learn them. Your favorite dishes. Even if you don't need to eat them, I'd like you to enjoy them all the same," she said, a little quietly just in case Beatrice was still near.

Then Lucia paused, sighed, and continued.

"...I think we should try and gather information early on. Not show our hand too much. I have the utmost confidence in you, but these are heroes, as you said. They must have some pretty impressive abilities of their own."

The oven beeped, and Lucia removed the focaccia, placing the pan on the island to cool a little. The smell emanated out infectiously, a heavenly little slice of Italy.

"But... I will not command you. If you truly wish to engage with the others, I only ask that you do so in disguise. I don't know if I can do a lot to help you... in fact, I may only hinder your efforts. I am still inexperienced in these matters. That said... are you worried about something? Do you think that someone you know might be around? If you have any concerns, you can talk to me."

---

Lancer glanced down at the offered cigarette once, the slightest twitch of his eyes downwards, before they rose to meet the other servant's gaze once again. The reek coming off of the man from it was patently offensive to his sense of smell, though in life he had dealt with worse. As distasteful as it was, he could stand firm, assuming the wind didn't shift and blow it directly at him.

The other man didn't wait long, inhaling the smoke from his own before providing his own answer to the offer and the other question that had accompanied it. Unperturbed—or at least making an effort to appear as such. But not comfortable enough with the silence or the stare to simply wait it out himself.

"You would be correct, though I wonder at your readiness to answer for me."

"Pardon me, one can never be too sure where they stand." The man came back with a response quickly, maintaining the unruffled impression he seemed to be trying to put forth to Lancer. "In any case, it cheers me to be the first to have the chance to talk to you, rather than a certain other."

His words were at once measured and a little provocative; politely spoken, but with the implication that he knew something Lancer didn't and wanted him to interrogate that.

"I respect that your time here may not entirely be your own, so I'll cut to the heart of the matter." After wavering a little at the silence, the pleasant smile- or at least whatever approximated such a thing amongst the man's features- slipped back across his face. "What have you gleaned of this Holy Grail War so far?"

Fast to respond after the silence had dragged on, and fast to start angling towards something. "So that is what this is," Lancer rumbled in reply, a flat monotone in contrast to the other's measured pitch and rhythm. The faintest quiver at the corners of the shorter man's lips was noted, the urbane smile resumed the moment it passed.

Lancer was familiar with the hunt, both of men and of animals, and of all the forms it could take. It wasn't difficult to determine what the other was angling towards, when he had made it so obvious. Traps like that were put out with the intent that the unwise would fall into them, and those who thought they knew would spring them intentionally under the assumption that they could make their own way out.

"I have gleaned that you have good eyes."

Rather than try and turn it around, it was simplest to step right over it. He turned, looking down the path and the road that the other servant had come from, visibly unconcerned with the proximity they were in, before he turned back once more. The man who was alone, at a time when a majority of servants would be remaining closer to their masters.

There was one inside the church now, as Beatrice had told him. Others he had witnessed coming and going already.

"You seem comfortably familiar with this place already."

This time, the man extended Lancer the courtesy of letting him answer for himself, maintaining that dubiously amiable smile as he spoke. If he was conscious of the fact that his fellow Servant was all but telling him he wasn't interested in his games, he didn't let it show; though there was a sudden glint in his eyes as Lancer queried his vision.

"I have been told as much." he chuckled, plucking his cigarette from his mouth for a moment and raising a hand in some oblique gesture. "One of the... tricks of the trade, shall we say?"

"Truth be told, I'm no more familiar with these surroundings than yourself. I would wager we're here under the same circumstances in more ways than one." He continued, letting the arm with his cigarette hang at his side as he furnished Lancer with a meaningful look. "Men like us learn quickly, long centuries melting away into experience as we hit our stride. But not all are so adaptable. I know of certain parties in this war for whom a millennia of continuous failure couldn't elicit so much as a moment of self-reflection."

"Mmm."

Lancer couldn't give too much away by explaining just what he'd meant, though the man's reaction was answer enough. Tricks of the trade indeed. No doubt, in life, he had been a proper hunter of some sort. Or perhaps on the other side of that same coin, maintaining the hunting lands and the animals upon them, and turning the hunt back on any poachers.

If so, his ability to spot a man hidden was no surprise, and could only be amplified with this service after death.

He stood silent for a moment after the noncommittal grunt, before he pointed at one of the glass windows on the church. "You're right. That would need a mirror."

The man quirked a brow at Lancer's comment, the smile flattening out as he returned his cigarette to his mouth, taking a long pull of it as he seemed to appraise the man. Perhaps the Servant's intuition was correct, and the hunter was reassessing how to approach difficult prey, sorting between the right psychological tools to accomplish the task at hand.

Or perhaps he was simply frustrated by Lancer's refusal to play along and needed a moment to collect himself.

"Rather." He exhaled, a deep plume of smoke drifting up into the night air. His tone was as measured and polite as before, but the smile, likely affected though it was, remained absent from his features. "After all, no amount of knowledge, talent or aspirations can save one from a lack of sense."

"Well, perhaps it's too early to speculate on such things." But a short, sharp chuckle heralded the return of the smile as something seemed to click into place. "And besides, there's no sense in wasting time contemplating on behalf of those unable to. No, I'm much more interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

"What brings you to this day and age? Duty alone cannot compel one to return from beyond, after all- even if the purported prize is hardly what was advertised."

"I have no clue what they found to drag me back. I didn't think I would be exciting enough to consider."

A moment passed in ponderous, heavy silence. Lancer felt the man's eyes stare into him, even as the smile lingered.

"I see." The side of his mouth twitched a little as he finally spoke, the glint in his eye dulling. "Not to sound a broken record, but perhaps it's not worth contemplating on the motives of those who don't seem to give much thought to them themselves."

Lancer's stare continued to fall on the shorter man, unwavering. "You speak much of motive and intention, for one who is to be a servant," he said slowly, as though pondering a very difficult concept. "It seems you struggle with such thoughts. If you are lost in them, I doubt I can aid you much."

"Clearly." This time the reply came fast and terse, the man's polite tone finally wavering even as his expression remained nominally amiable.

"Perhaps this was a little too much too soon. I apologize. All the same, give it some thought." Smile flattening out into a neutral line, he took the cigarette from his mouth andincinerated what remained of it with a flash of black flame. As the remaining particulate from the stub dispersed into the wind, he cast his gaze past Lancer towards the Church. "One can never be too sure of where they stand in times like these."

It had taken surprisingly little to break the man's facade, Lancer felt. For someone who was playing such an obvious-seeming game, he was very unsuited to having it thrown back in his face. Of course, given the small talent he'd just shown, it was obvious as well that he'd been some level of a magus in life—though if Lancer had to guess, not nearly enough so to earn himself a place as Caster.

Nor would he expect one such time have so transparent a ploy, even to his own eyes.

The man before him, with his thin-set lips and discomfited stare, not only had his own designs, but had no qualms pursuing them whether he had leave to or not. Atop that, he sought to drag others into them, leaving tidbits of information as bait, trying to appeal to whatever motives he could to sweeten the deal, whether base or lofty.

A talker. Not so much a fighter—certainly not as a first choice. Yet, unless he was exceedingly foolhardy, not an Assassin. Others, perhaps, were still quite open—until he could see the man's armament, at least, assuming his Noble Phantasm was some form of weapon.

"You value your own company," he said at last, breaking the momentary silence. "And that of those who think like you. Hunters often behave as such—it only makes sense. I would not feel confident if I were in the wilderness with a party I found myself constantly at odds with. Yet it seems you forget that your fellow hunters are not your prey, to me."

One foot slid slightly backwards. Hands half-raised, relaxed, yet ready. "I do not appreciate your overestimation of your own intellect, or your overvaluing of your own wants and choices in this. Unless one comes to exist between our masters, there will be no accord between us. I suggest you run back to whoever they are and keep that in mind."

Lancer's words brought no immediate change to the man's stance or expression, his expression still neutral as he looked over the church. But as he slowly craned his neck to look to him, there was an unmistakable shift in the air. The glint in his eyes had been one of appraisal, but now they seemed to size him up far more keenly, not merely curious but actively searching for anything that could be used to his advantage. The warm summer breeze seemed momentarily absent, as did the ambient sounds of the Sako evening in the distance.

"Take from my words what you will, it makes no difference to me." It didn't seem as if he was ready to answer Lancer's words and stance with violence, though now his tone was as cold and clear as the air around them had become. "You and your Master can conduct yourselves however you like, as shall mine and I. But do not make the mistake of believing everyone is willing to be so even-handed over this sham of a Grail."

A smile returned to the man's face. This one, however, much like the air about him, was rather devoid of warmth.

"For some, even the most uncertain promise is cause enough to bring out the long knives. Centuries of vain hope resting perniciously upon something that's as likely to set this town aflame as it is to alleviate them. When faced with a beast like that..."

The object of his gaze shifted once more, this time past Lancer and back down the direction he'd arrived from. Raising a hand to his temple, some exchange seemed to take place beyond the other man's ability to perceive-

"Well, I've kept you long enough. Make whatever arrangements suit your tastes, but it seems I'm needed elsewhere." And the world seemed to resume regular course as the chill abated, the sounds of the summer evening rushing back in as the man chuckled, taking his hand from his head and starting back down the way. "Take care, lest the hunter become the hunted."

The facade shattered entirely, the even-keeled demeanour gone in an instant. But the man's words, tone, and expressions were not the only things that Lancer had to watch—the movement of his hand, wrist, elbow, arm; the way the cloth of his sleeve bunched and bent against the muscle beneath it; the uncanny stillness that came over him as the rug was pulled, eyes on Lancer without a hint of emotion or ego, but only cold observation.

And when he turned, watching his back, his shoulders, the peculiarities of his walk. Every detail being committed to memory. Here was a man who was no stranger to a fight, certainly, but one who would never fight so close if he could avoid it. One who would always prefer the hunt over the struggle, and yet one who likely knew that subterfuge and deception were as effective within a melee as without. A stalker, but not an Assassin, indeed.

He was sure of it.

Too controlled, too level to be a battle-rager. Not the sort to be a Caster. That left him with two options, in his mind.

"If you take a shot at me," he said softly, a low rumble that he knew the other's ears would pick up with no trouble, "You had better make sure it does not miss. I will not afford you the courtesy of a second."

"Oh, rest your dog's heart, you've nothing to fear there." The man seemed to pause for a moment as he went; but as that moment passed, he simply kept walking, raising a hand to bid Lancer farewell. Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn't see the man's expression. His choice of words was as careful as ever, but this time, there was no certainty with which you could use to catch hold of them.

"Don't forget to say hello to the Einzberns for me." And with one final jibe of some peculiar intent, he was gone, the outline of his body collapsing into fractals and his form into black smoke that was quickly swallowed by the night as he made towards his new destination.

Lancer watched the man disappear, standing resolute for a couple moments more before he turned and made his own way away from the church grounds. He'd yet to catch any semblance of a call from Beatrice, but he wasn't about to leave her wandering alone after that conversation. It did leave him wondering one thing, however; shortly after his summoning, his master had made a point to bring him somewhat up-to-date on the nature of the prior grail wars. The origins of the one that this seemed to be trying to recreate, the families involved.

He wasn't sure if the other servant thought the mention of the Einzberns would be a surprise or not.

His long strides carrying him through the graveyard, he came to Beatrice's side once more, slowing down so as not to entirely outpace her. "Did you learn anything useful?" he asked, with a half-nod back towards the church. "Or was it as much of a distraction as I expected?"

---

---

As she imperiously points at me with the chopsticks—at least she'd started holding them properly—I turn away, half-heartedly lifting another morsel to my mouth. "I was trying not to point that out," I mumble in response to her completing my earlier thought without any shame, thankful that, thanks to the design of the inn, we had quite a bit more privacy than in any normal place.

Probably for the best that she doesn't know I'm thinking that. She might not call me so brave if she did.

At least, somehow she seems the type that would be more likely to laugh at me knowing I got embarrassed by something she didn't.

"A-anyways, your hips are still wider, so it's not like that was the only thing. And don't point with your chopsticks, that's rude." Trying to save a little bit of face, but still not making eye contact again, I lift up my left hand, pointing back at the bedroom. "Find something you like. Once you're changed we can walk back to town."

---

Beatrice was almost clear of the woods behind the church when the deep voice intoned towards her, bringing her steady pace down to a slow advance as she looked over her shoulder to see Lancer approach.

"Less than I'd have liked, but we still got something out of it." She raised an eyebrow as her Servant seemed to disregard her order to wait for summons; but she let it pass without comment. She doubted he'd have moved ahead if he were anything less than confident that they were safe.

So, instead of admonishment, a gentle stream of information flowed from Beatrice's mind into Lancer's, as she leaned into their link to apprise him of what she'd learned. Some of it, he was already aware of, but now they weren't in imminent risk of an attack or ambush, she had some breathing room to unpack and make sense of it.

<Seems like we have three Masters unaccounted for on the last day.> At least one of them seemed to be on their way now, judging by Lancer's own encounter and testimony, likely leaving two whose positions were unknown. It wasn't as if the others were entirely likely to be on the level, but the fact that they'd been willing to make an account of themselves to the church at least suggested they wouldn't be looking to turn the city upside down from the word 'go'.

She'd already taken care of one individual who likely would have, her own Command Seals a testament to his foiled ambitions. She very much doubted that dullard had been the architect of anything but his own untimely demise, so that meant their U.N. Owen was likely among the remaining two Masters. Following that, the question was whether or not they were the latecomer the Overseer had mentioned; the aftermath of the ritual she'd discovered suggested otherwise, but the factors were by no means mutually exclusive.

<But I think we have more immediate concerns.> And on that note, there was the matter of the Overseer's companions. Even more so than in Fuyuki, the potential for the Sako Grail War to go awry concerned everyone, and as far as Beatrice was concerned, the Church hedging their bets with a team of their own was understandable. Not disclosing as much was perhaps a little more dubious, but with all the uncertainty around them, perhaps that prudence was for the better.

They seemed to have picked their Master well, at least. Charming and shrewd in equal measure, and shamelessly bold when it came to her interests; she'd be a hypocrite to disapprove. That just left making sense of the girl's apparent Servant.

<Considering the circumstances, I think she's about as likely to be Assassin as she is to be Lancer.> The flow of information continued, playing back what she'd observed of the mysterious woman. Though maybe 'mysterious' was the wrong word: puzzling felt more apt. Loud, colourful and flamboyant, she was like an open book compared to her likely Master; but one that offered no easy answers, concealing whatever truth it held amidst an overload of information.

<I'm slightly less confident about ruling Berserker out, but it doesn't seem to fit the arrangement.> There wasn't enough certainty to make a call on the woman's identity, but the information they had could still help them determine a broad plan of approach. And while the Servant in question didn't give them much to work with to eliminate any of the remaining four classes...

<What did you manage to get out of your close encounter?> Perhaps the Servant Lancer had just encountered would offer a little more clarity there.

"Good eyes. Built like one that's not unfamiliar with the direct fighting we expect here. Fancies himself a smooth talker, independent, and stealthy in his own way. But too open, too well built for the sort of duplicity in talk and battle you would normally expect from an Assassin. A magus, but unless he was better at hiding himself than I thought I would not assume him a Caster. Too controlled in the face of everything for Berserker, to my mind."

Not that every Berserker could be assumed to be a raging maniac, especially if their mad enhancement had not been triggered—but there was a certain instability he had come to associate with similar types in life, Sétanta having been one of many. Whether it be an uncontrolled temper, a divorce from reality in some aspect...there were many things he'd known to look for.

The servant who had addressed him bore none of those.

"I figured him for either a foolhardy Rider, an overconfident Saber throwing his weight around, or an Archer. He had the sense of a hunter. The way he moved, the lay of his muscles as he turned and walked away from me...I called him out as such as he walked away. I must have touched a nerve, because he finally made a point to try and hide his reactions when I did."

As information flowed from his mind to hers in full detail, Beatrice pored over Lancer's recollection, weighing up his words against the finer details of what he'd observed. A tall, well-built man with a confident demeanour; or at least that was how he chose to present himself, until Lancer refused to play along with his games. He might have felt her recoil a little, as if recalling bad memories, but it soon passed, and she returned to analysing the information.

The picture Lancer and his memory painted for her was of a man neither careless or quite so controlled to fit satisfyingly into the role of Berserker or Assassin. While she wasn't as certain as him that they could rule Caster out, considering her own experiences, perhaps that was just her ego talking. Of the remaining options, it was hard to make a conclusive judgement; but perhaps, as with the strange woman she'd encountered in the church, it was best not to assume too much too soon. Lancer seemed to believe he fit most readily into the role of Archer, judging by his observations, and she wasn't inclined to disagree...

"Don't forget to say hello to the Einzberns for me." But as she ran his recollection of the encounter through her mind, something else interesting sprung out to her.

It wasn't exactly unusual for the Servant to speak of the Einzberns. She was sure any Master worth their salt would have warned their Servant of the war's most infamous founders, of whatever ridiculous entity they would bring to the table for this last hopeless grab for their insane dream. But for whatever game the man had intended to play, the comment seemed more than a simple ploy to ascertain where Lancer stood; there was a very palpable rancour in the way he spoke their name, his tone dripping with contempt that seemed misplaced for one working off of secondhand recollection. The story of the Einzberns extended back into the distant past, but they were reclusive, with the Holy Grail being one of an infinitesimally small number of affairs they held outside their fief. Had this Servant known them in life?

<That's fine intelligence indeed, Lancer, fantastic work.> In the end, it seemed like they'd both come out of the trip to the church with some useful information. As Lancer took every available opportunity to note, however, tarrying into the night was going to leave them vulnerable, and so she picked up her pace as she offered her praise. She'd picked out a few spots over the past handful of days in Sako that they could use as temporary bases of operations, and if they could make it to one without incident, they could go over their discoveries at greater length there. <We should get set up for the night, where do you t->

Beatrice's words cut off sharply, and she tugged on her link with Lancer to beckon him back to spirit form as she stopped in place. Up ahead, against the setting sun, she could perceive another figure making their way up to the church through the clearing in the trees behind it. One of the outstanding Masters, coming to announce themselves? Clearly not one who put much stock in the armistice that existed upon the church's grounds, if that were the case; but at the same time, seemingly not one who was out to take advantage of that arrangement for their own ends. She resumed her path forwards, narrowing her eyes, focusing her senses to peer through the haze of dying light to better appraise the approaching form as she did-

...

"Don't waste too much time, now." She heard Lancer's voice, but it suddenly seemed far away as she realized who was approaching them.

"I'd ask what you're doing here, but I really should have expected this." Beatrice's tone was cold and level, but Lancer would almost certainly perceive the sudden buzz of static, of intangible and imperceivable thoughts going every which way through her mind as she came within speaking distance of the all-too-familiar woman. "Got tired of hiding away, did we?"

The other blonde gave one of her usual massive smiles at her Master's words – truly, she was fortunate to get a Master so willing to indulge her. Who else could say the same? And maybe they could work out how to recreate some of the dishes of her time… many would be quite difficult, yes, it would be difficult to get mice, for instance, but some form of fish sauce to substitute for garum? There was a thought

"Disguise…" she trailed off, "Do you mean I should feign not being a Servant or obscure my identity? I cannot promise the latter for long, not if we wish to get close enough to learn anything of great import, but the latter should be of no great difficulty."

It was just another form of acting, was it not? And she was nothing if not a great artist.

"No, I doubt any of my associates are here. If Locusta were… well, that would hardly be a concern, we would have an unshakeable ally, then."

@Octo

Ludwig stared at Arthur, eyes sparkling with adventure and excitement as her young Master awkwardly explained things to her. With gusto, she stabbed her chopsticks down into her rice bowl and stood straight up as quick as a bolt.

"Of course, Master! I wouldn't wish to use these fascinating utensils rudely! It would be unbecoming of a knight-king as beauteous as myself. I must thank you for the aid of your wisdom and the nobility of your candor!"

With this barrage of compliments, Ludwig turned on a heel and dashed into the bedroom. Shutting the door did little to mask the noise of rifling and tossing as Ludwig tried desperately to find something she liked. It was all rather plain, nothing loud or ostentatious enough for her kingly form. Still, a handsome enough knight could elevate even common garb with her presence alone. Certain in this fact, Ludwig made her grand entrance back into the living area in only a few minutes. On any other person, it would look like a simple white shirt and jeans (with a weirdly conspicuous aquamarine pendant adorning the neck), but on Ludwig the outfit practically glowed. She hit Arthur with her gleaming, fairy tale smile.

"Well, Master? I think this blouse looks rather lovely on me, don't you?"

---

"Well..."

Lucia began cutting the focaccia, smiling to herself as she thought about all the joy her delicious food would soon bring.

"I would be happy if the other Masters couldn't immediately trace the Servant they're contending with back to the church, as long as that might last. But even with your talent for theater, I don't know how feasible that is."

She plated up a few pieces of bread, and offered one to Nero. Lucia, just like the abbess at the convent she grew up in, would insist on feeding everyone that she deemed needed feeding. Which was most people, all of the time.

"I would like to believe that God is on our side, though, so I will put my faith in Him and in you. But... this is all very new to me. I'm a little anxious~"

Lucia smiled sheepishly, more like she had confessed something to a crush than admitted to anxiety for a death game.

"Do you forget, Praetor? I am a Caster; creating a costume to augment my natural talents is no difficulty at all," the Servant rather smugly proclaimed, hand raised to her chest – before she was offered the bread, and promptly took a bite, "Oh, this is delicious!"

Chewing the bread gave her time to bite back her almost reflexive dismissal of her Master's faith – still strange to think how that little cult had grown so much and taken over the entire empire in time, especially after how it had been treated in her time… well, no matter, her master could believe what she liked, as long as it did not interfere with their partnership. If she was happy to accommodate her religion's greatest enemy, then she wouldn't push Lucia.

Instead, she raised her hand and gave the other girl an affectionate pat, "It is only natural to feel nerves before a performance, even for an experienced musician such as myself. You are holding up admirably, given our situation."

---

---

I am immediately tempted to protest. My shirt is a normal men's shirt. It is not an article of women's clothing, it's not some puffy garment from nearly two centuries ago, it's a decent, button-up shirt. But my protests dry up before I can even speak them.

She's clearly...fond of antiquated things. She'd probably be all over a poet's shirt. I'm not surprised she'd call a generic shirt a blouse, with that in mind. Or maybe it's just because she's wearing it now, so clearly it must be a blouse. Maybe it's both.

This is going to be a long night.

"Yes, you're...uh...you're radiant, Ludie."

I was right about the hips, though. Even with a belt to cinch the jeans in around her waist, they're bunching a bit in the wrong ways. It's definitely a good thing we're finding her something normal to wear. And maybe a hospital to drop her off at. Maybe she has family looking for her? It shouldn't be to hard to find a family of distressed tall blondes looking for a missing sister or daughter or whoever, people like that would really stand out here...

The church, maybe, if I don't find anything good for her and need to drop her off tomorrow. That seems like the sort of old thing that would interest her. "Let's get on with it, then. Do you have any other shoes? It might be a lot of walking for those heels, and I don't know that they really fit the current outfit."

Mostly I don't want her to trip or break them. Who knows what she'd do if that happened. And I'd have to help her get around, too, and thatt just seems like a recipe for disaster...I shake those thoughts out of my head and get to pulling on my own shoes. We ate enough of the food from the old man to be polite, at least, and she didn't leave a mess with all her gesticulating and stabbing the rice, so I don't have anything to worry about there. But, as I tied my laces, something else worrisome came to mind, which may well be too late to ask because she's metaphorically halfway out the door anyways:

"Ah...you have a wallet, right? Or a purse?"

Lucia smiled.

"I'm so glad you enjoy the bread. I have the utmost faith that you will be able to conjure a truly stunning outfit... that won't immediately give us away," Lucia replied, piling some more bread onto a plate for the overseer. Of course, Lucia knew that she was up against six formidable magi and their even more formidable servants. She had no illusions that their ruse would last long, but long enough would suffice.

Lucia giggled as Nero, who was shorter than she was, patted her head. She had grown to expect this degree of skinship, at least, from her time with the woman. Given the situation, it was appreciated.

"Well, if you think I'm holding up well, then I must be. That's a bit of a relief," Lucia teased lightly.

---

Ludie grinned smugly, knowing full well her radiance, but appreciating the compliment all the same.

"I have no other shoes, Master, and yours do not fit me. Woe is me, for these boots do not match my new outfit at all! We shall have to purchase shoes as well," Ludie said, marching confidently out the door. She only stopped a moment to turn back to her Master and wink.

"The vaults of The Swan King are ever open for the glamorous and the novel! The world is my wallet, my audience, and my adoring fan club!"

Ludie then proceeded to bolt outside, looking to and fro and running about like an excited labrador.

"Ooh, look at that! And that! Oh, I simply must have these," she practically shouted, making a ruckus and calling an unwise amount of attention to herself. As she was ogling an apartment building, a swan swooped towards her and landed at her feet, where it deposited a huge wad of bills. She looked back at Arthur once again, held the money up, and smiled.

"Look, Arthur! Capital! Bring me to the kimonos!"

---

"Got tired of hiding away, did we?"

Rumi halted in her tracks, an imperceptibly slight smile creaking her lips upward. Not a happy one, by any means. Amused, perhaps. Or mocking. It depended on how one interpreted such.

She should have expected this. Of course the will of whatever was fueling this Grail system just had to rope a ghost of her past in. Damn it all. Beatrice should be holed up in a bar somewhere in London, not face-to-face having this ridiculous confrontation.

“Oh, you’ll excuse me for not throwing myself headfirst into the situation, Enforcer LaForet. Some of us don’t have the luxury of being bulls in china shops.” Despite her words, Rumi surreptitiously slipped a Wraith-contracting talisman up from her sleeve into her palm. While she didn’t think Beatrice would outright attack her, it never hurt to be sure. With only Assassin (spiritually) at her side, she was at a disadvantage without the majority of her resources present.

“Don’t try and be cute, Rumi. Dress it up however you want, we both know what we’re here for.” Beatrice noted the other woman’s grimace and the all-but-imperceivable way in which she prepped herself for their sudden confrontation to escalate into outright violence. Her glare softened briefly, memories surfacing in her mind: was this really what had become of them? Just becoming another part of what the other hated about the insane reality that surrounded them?

The thought hurt: though much like the fury glowing in her chest, it wasn’t anything that hadn’t already been festering inside of her for the better part of a decade. For now, if they were cutting past the bullshit, she had to pull herself together and consider the facts.

Considering Lancer’s not-long-past encounter, it wasn’t impossible Rumi was the mystery Servant’s Master. If so, with him seemingly nowhere in sight and them sheltered within the trees, she had good reason to be alert; but besides it being uncharacteristic for her to be out in the open without some detail at hand, it seemed unlikely that Rumi would seek to instigate unless she drew first blood. Even if she put no stock in the armistice upon their grounds beyond how it could benefit her, she was smart enough to know not to start a fight on the Church’s doorstep unless her back was against the wall.

“Not sure what you’re hoping to get out of it, though.” She discreetly bid Lancer to stay quiet and concealed, a firm tug on their link conveying that, at least for the moment, she wasn’t willing to brook any objections. “We both know the Einzberns’ cup is a total crock of shit.”

“After what El-Melloi and Tohsaka imparted about the ritual? We both know that we’re here because it would drag us into the situation regardless of our wishes. I simply aim to see exactly what’s going on here.” Terse, succinct, and it even had the benefit of being true.

“I have no interest in achieving Heaven’s Feel or reaching for whatever poison pill this Grail would seek to grant. But merely having the Command Seals is a death mark. And even you aren’t quite so naive to believe that surrender would extricate us from the situation so easily.” Her smile still didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even back then, it was a rarity.

A mental command ordered Assassin to hold position for the moment. Evidently, the Enforcers hadn’t turned Beatrice into quite so much of a dog that she’d lash out yet. The spiteful part of Rumi’s mind supplied that, at least. A much quieter, barely noticed one only provided that it seemed time hadn’t done much of a number on the redhead.

“Let’s not have a redux of our last spat, Beatrice. Stay out of my way, and I’ll endeavour that we don’t cross paths more than we have to. Neither of us are working at ends here, and I’d hope we keep it as such.”

“Well, you’re half right. If I didn’t want to be here, I could have just picked up the finder’s fee and left the vultures to have at it.” Beatrice cracked a smile of her own as Rumi responded; and while hers also fell a little short of reaching her eyes, it was more than a little saw-toothed. “Let the anoraks fight over the privilege of getting eaten alive in their first actual trip outside the workshop.”

Well that morbidness aside, assuming her time with those walking corpses hadn’t dramatically bettered her chops as a liar, it seemed that Rumi hadn’t completely lost her mind. Her own circumstances were proof enough that getting marked by the Grail was a call that one couldn’t hope to fully shirk, as she’d colourfully outlined; and considering her own motivations, she couldn’t fault curiosity, healthy or otherwise.

In-between whatever truths the woman was speaking, however, there was a characteristic avoidance of a definite answer to her question. Rumi was many things, but whimsical was rarely one of them. Her actions were weighed on a scale that considered how much it benefitted her power and status, and while it was all well and good to say she had little choice in participation now she’d been marked, the Grail rarely if ever directly chose those who didn’t have some insane aspiration they were reaching for.

She had something to gain by being here, that much Beatrice was sure of. And if she was as alert to their old teacher and classmates’ warnings of the rot festering within the Grail, the only real answer remaining was that she sought the prestige of fighting in a Grail War: and ultimately, the prestige of winning.

“Anyway, don’t you go losing any sleep because of me.” Beatrice half-shrugged, shaking her head as she laughed mirthlessly. “Believe it or not, I’m here for work as much as pleasure. As much as I’d love to jump right in and crack some skulls open, the anoraks have me sniffing around for whoever set this shitshow of a Grail up. Just tell your well-dressed friend to behave himself and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

So she’d already seen Assassin, then. How? Assassin had in no way revealed himself…themselves at any point that could be linked to her. Well, as long as Beatrice wasn’t aware of his Class just yet, this wasn’t a real concern. They would still have words later, of course. But speaking of concerns…

“You threw yourself knowingly into a Grail War simply because of a job?” Rumi sniffed scornfully, shaking her head. Of course. Of course. It couldn’t ever be simple with her. There just had to be something to muddy the waters. “Those two back at the Clock Tower will be ever so glad to hear of such. You may even send Tohsaka into conniptions, down memory lane.”

“Well. Dismantle the Grail, and I’ll still come out ahead. So even though you hardly require anyone’s permission aside from whoever’s holding your leash, go ahead and run as freely as you wish, Enforcer dog. But do let me pass. I’d prefer to get the formalities with the Catholics over quickly.”

The fury in her chest welled up again, along with a handful of other emotions Beatrice quickly pushed back down before they could become anything more than a slight waver in her countenance. Part of her struggled to reconcile the domineering necromancer with the quiet, painfully timid young woman who’d been her first real friend at the Clock Tower; another felt a strange ache seeing her standing so confidently on her own two feet, for however much of her soul she’d sold piecemeal to achieve it.

… Things couldn’t go back to the way they were. And even if it were possible, now was hardly the time to get caught up in what could have been.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve had them taking it in turns to give me an earful.” Beatrice’s smile lingered for a moment, before it faded as she met Rumi’s scornful stare with renewed intensity. “But I made my decision once, and I’ll make it again.”

“I’ve wasted enough time already, and by the sound of it, so have you.” She took a step forward, watching for any sudden shifts in the other woman’s demeanour; and seeing her own composure hold steady, she took a second and another after that, before making to walk past her, keeping her eyes trained forwards even as she continued to speak. “But a word of advice, before I go. A fight to the death is an entirely different beast than a knife in the back behind closed doors. You’d do well to remember that, if you really plan to make it to the end.”

“Funny. By all accounts, Grail Wars are far more about closed door deals and ambushes than true deathmatches. Or have you learned absolutely nothing over the years? We are magi, Beatrice. There is nothing to be taken at face value.”

Rumi didn’t look back, instead starting to make her way towards the church. How…vexing that Beatrice had hardly changed in their time apart. Truly, the strong were privileged in how foolish they could afford to be.

“I’d say to try and stay alive, but the concessions I could wring from your clan for the safe return of your Crest would override any such sentiment. So…be useful, yes? Up until you get yourself needlessly killed, that is.”

But Beatrice was already gone, the outline of her figure swallowed up by the darkness of the wooded path out of the church grounds. In the distance, the sun continued to sink into the line of the horizon, and as the faint orange glow of the dying day yielded to the oncoming darkness, the lights of the cityscape came into stark relief.

The first night of the Sako Holy Grail War had arrived in earnest.