Ophelia narrowed her eyes, and stood; removing the umbrella from its mount, as she did. Sunshade in hand, she closed it, and slammed the capped pommel into the back of Daikichi's legs. "That's an unkindness, Aikawa-kun," she says. "If I weren't so opposed to unnecessary things, I would drop you," she assured, slamming against his other leg. "Don't worry, Aikawa-kun," another slam, "I won't hobble you," another slam, "I'm not gaudy, like a mafioso," another, "but, you have to learn a lesson," and yet another, "ABOUT KINDNESS!"
Ophelia raised the umbrella to slam it, but, she felt two distinctive pings. The first had a sense of fluidity to it, like water, yet vastly more power than that, alone, and the second had a crawling sense to it, like a swarm of bugs, or perhaps a den of snakes. Either way, she was arrested in her assault, and Daikichi didn't suffer more than terrible bruising to the backs of his knees. Dropping the umbrella, Ophelia pulled out a cell phone, and speed-dialed a number. "Moshi moshi," she says, "I'll be in Home Economics. Yes. Please," she paused, "Arigatou," and with that, hung up. "The day is nice, boyo. Enjoy it."
And with that, she turned to leave the rooftop. Her phone call would ensure Daikichi wouldn't remain on the roof for more than hour, but, he didn't know that. Ophelia couldn't pull more shit than money could buy, and physical intimidation could route, after all.
However, that was inconsequential to the moment. Barging into the Home Economics class room, Ophelia took to a countertop, and grabbed a bag of flour. It bothered her to do it sloppy, but she didn't have the time for a full bake. "Show me... Guide me... Peek beyond the veil..." Ophelia paused, and looked into space. ~Seek the Master, not the Class. Seek the known, and leave the unknown to be prepared for.~ Ophelia nodded, "...and reveal the Master that flows like water." Ophelia cut the flour bag at the bottom, and let it pour out. The grain powder exploded against the floor under the influence of magic, and formed into a picture of familiar man.
"Smoaks? The teacher," Ophelia asked, as information appeared. "How pleasantly mundane." Lucius hummed, ~It is best to start there, Empress. A member of the school board is already in your favor.~ Ophelia was in agreement, but Lucius added in: ~Step wisely, however. Another Master stands on even ground with you, Empress.~ Ophelia smirked, "He'll be mine, in due time," her crimson eyes focused on the man, "In one way or another." Lucius said nothing further, he was his Empress's shield and consul, not her king, so he would follow, as she decided to lead -- for better and for worst.
(Difficulty Level For Typing While Walking To Work: Higher than I thought.)
Ophelia sat at a folding table, perched in the afternoon's sun, with a large umbrella posted at an angle behind her; said sun-shield had holes shorn through it, like the trim of a lace bra, and cast shadows of the Greek alphabet around her. Before her, the well-mounted pole of her favorite negotiation point of the rooftop was currently being tested. From it, a length of coarse rope, like that of a sailing ship, was wound around it, over and over, to create a stable support. Then, it was drawn through itself, and looped over a pipe; from which, that could be pulled and drawn back the bound captive on the end.
For the second time -- in one day, no less -- the exchange student had employed the fear of the falling to one's own death as a means to acquire something. In this case, answers.
"Suicide Bride," Ophelia says, sipping at her tea, before dunking a crumpet into the luxuriously smooth Earl Grey, "did you tell her something that made her jump this morning? And, please, don't pretend like you aren't aware of this."
~Empress, you waste your time on this swine. Perish this fool's excuse of a man. A woman of your stature has more important things to worry about.~ Above the cries of mercy, the pleading drama of a worthless man caught in his wrongdoings, her confidant spoke. Lucius Siccis Dentatus, a man that exemplified respect and power, as she learned, yet lived in her bra-pocket as a mere trading card for some American game. ~I am surprised you didn't choose to investigate one of the murders this morning. Normally, you would pine for any reason out of socioeconomic class -- especial on a test day.~
"I know, Lucius, I know," Ophelia says, looked at her captive, while he stared at the ground, so far away. "However, if I don't come to the defense of this poor girl... who will? Besides, as you always tell me, business before pleasure." Ophelia sipped her tea, and her Irish accent bled back into her words, "Now, I'll ask one more time, lad: Suicide Bride, what did you say to her? And, don't lie to me, boyo, or you'll be testing your landing skills. Something tells me, you'll land with more finality."
In the Land of the Rising Sun, the sun shone bright behind Ophelia Sanders. Upon the rooftop of Hideaki High School, in a corner, tucked within the blind spot of the maintenance entrance, where the chain-link fence was stripped and peeled away, the sun cast a vengeful halo around the rising empress; bleeding like liquid gold through her hair of tempered coal and calling attention to her eyes of burning flame. In her hands, soft and pale, unblemished by the harsh summer, she clutched a fistful of ebony hair... not her own. No. Her fist clutched that of another. "You disappoint me, lass," spoke the Irishwoman, at long last, her fluid Japanese disrupted by the coarseness of her Irish accent, "I sent three of my sweetest girls to your doorstep, wee babes, and you send them home, broken, crying, and, worst of, robbed of their dignities," her grip tightened with a firmness, "and, my deal." Ophelia narrowed her eyes, "Lass, you don't wound me girls AND scorn me deals."
Trembling, the girl attached to the long lifeline of hair hung in the air, her feet pressed firmly -- not out of need, but desperation -- against the flat outside face of the roof... in the unforgiving weightlessness of the air, she hung, suspended by the tensile strength of her hair, alone. Tears streamed down her face, as she plead to deaf ears and blind eyes. It was just her and Ophelia; her lord, her savoir, her judge, her jury... and, her executioner. "It wasn't my idea!" she cried for the nth time to no avail; the damage was done. I'll take the deal! You can run your business in our school! Please, don't drop me!" Ophelia laughed, a sick and twisted laugh of a person that didn't truly dirty their hands. "I wouldn't..." she says, letting her grip loose, by a fraction, before clamping down. A shrill scream flew into the air, as the girl fell for, but a moment, before her hair wretched taut, and strains ripped from the flesh with searing recognition. "However, my grip is getting weak. Hurry," Ophelia said, after an afterthought, with mocking concern, "I can't hold you forever, lass."
Suddenly, another scream ripped the air, then another, and another, still. All panicked, worried...
Looking beyond her prey, Ophelia saw the impossible. Suicide Bride's fall... and return. For all intents and logical purpose, such a fall should have killed her, then and there, and yet... she hit like a video game protagonist, with all the grace of an elephant, and yet the recovery of a cat -- to shake it off, stand up, and walk away. It bespoke of something unnatural, magical -- threatening. Ophelia was the only Magus allowed in her domain; in this, her territory. A powerful wrench of her hand, and the rival girl was safe on the roof; missing a grand deal of hair, sense of safety, and control of her bowels, as a pool formed around her waist. "Let's make a deal, lass, and quickly," she says, pulling out a small recorder. "I run business, through your gang, and you reap a tidy thirty-percent profits from sales, in return for free passage, set-up, and protection. That''s ten-percent per contractual stipulation," she pressed the blunt spike of her heel upon the throat of the girl, "That sounds mighty fair, eh, lass?"
The girl nodded, fighting to breath against it; even movement of her throat burned. Ophelia sank to one leg, baring weight down upon her, "Stay it right. Like a good bitch." Eyes watering, the girl croaked out, in Japanese, [H-hai!] before she fighting to breathe in, and finish with, [Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu, Sanders-sama!] Ophelia grinned, and suddenly brightened with the intensity of the morning sun on her flawless face. "No, thank you, ma'am," she says, smoothly; gone, the coarseness of her Irish accent, and present the soft, kindness of her Japanese accent. "I look forward to our future business ventures. Please, rest here, and I'll summon help and new clothes for you. No-one will ever have to know of this nasty bit of negotiations."
For a split-second, her eyes burned again with a hatred unfathomably deep, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll a wedding to attend..."
Character Alignment: Portrayed as “Lawful Good,” but actually “Chaotic Evil”
Class Affinity: Shielder
Occupation: Exchange Student in Junyo, In-training CEO for Sanders’ Simply Sandies
Known Magic (If Any): Aleuromancy. “A Sander woman is nothing without her Aleuromancy,” is a tried-and-true statement, six generations strong and counting. As such, Ophelia is rarely without a small pouch of flour that she can use to make quick, accurate predictions within one to two hours of happening. She can extend her divination up to 1 week by using a bag of flour within a kitchen, or extend her power to strangers in the form of “Yes/No” questions via freshly baked fortune cookies.
Special Talents/Hobbies: Practitioner of Pankration, baking, practicing aleuromancy, and studying baking-based thaumaturgy.
Personality:
If you didn’t know her, truly, truly know here, Ophelia Sanders would appear to carry herself with the air of a forgiving, all-giving, altruistic; hosting several after school clubs for the betterment of her youngers, displaying her physical power in the defense of her female kouhai, and easily earning the admiration of her female sempai, alongside the affections of the male populace.
However, nothing... nothing... is without its price.
There is no deal taken without a self-servient motivation; nothing gained nor lost, within the walls of the school she rules without her explicit permission. Everything is clad in the iron of a contract, sometimes verbal, sometimes written, but most times, both. Anything that cannot be swayed by the financial might of the Sanders Family is wrested by the physical might of Ophelia, herself – never to be denied whatever her rotten, selfish heart desires.
Her projected personality may be rising land of sunshine and lollipops, but, underneath, Ophelia is a toxic marsh of smog and poisonous sludge.... more than willing, and oftentimes, very eager, to drown others as stepping stones on her quest.
Background:
Ophelia Sanders was born a seventh-generation Magus of Irish and Grecian blood, in the quiet countryside outside of the ever-busied London to Alexander and Helena Sanders, as the firstborn heiress of Sanders’ Simply Sandies, the world's largest producer and provider of Sandies – a type of cookie.
As such, Ophelia grew up with all that she could dream to possess. However, having all that one could ever desire leaves a whole that can never be filled; even by the most desperate of attempts.... especially, when your attempts are derailed to drive someone else’s greatness. From the moment she could read and write, Ophelia was set into the mould expertly shaped by her mother, and baked by her father.
How to stand. How to speak. How to present. How to be. How to live.
From within this mould, a five-year-old child became seventeen-year-old woman created, not raised, to, not only take over her parents company, but spearhead the Sander Family’s Thaumaturgical Bakery. Mind filled to the brim with factors of business, cooking, and thaumaturgy, Ophelia gained the insight into controlling people as easily as controlling dough; a personal skill enhanced more by her Aleuromancy -- a magic best know for divination and eyes of crimson like fire; baking the future through sight alone.
However, her most employed skills are equally her most dangerous. From her mother, she trained her tongue to be as sharp as folded steel, yet as fluid as molten silver; no argument can be lost, no deal cannot be closed, and no situation cannot be spoke out of. However, in those rare occasions here words fail... action takes over. From her father, she became a practitioner of Pankration; the Ancient Greek fighting style of putting forth “all power” possible, and destroying your opponent while maintain a unbreakable defense. Despite being a skill unbefitting a businesswoman-in-training, such as herself – even more so of a Magus – however, it stood tantamount to the success of her personal ambition.
In addition, this combined with her influence and family power is what originally attracted her Servant to service under her. Even in the indifferent state of a trading card, her Servant found his way into her possession; not by any means of magic, nor by means of gifting through nebulous strangers with mystical prophecies, but as a promotional tool for a popular TCG expansion in America, know as ‘Global Warfare’ for the Roman Empire.
It was her idea – even as a student, she worked abroad – for each box of sandies, for the next three months, to contain one Roman Empire card, or one base game card. It would dramatically boost the Japanese sales for both the cookies and the game, as people gravitated towards these forms of options; and, what wasn’t fun about a prize in a box of cookies? However, when it came time for printing, Ophelia found one card that had no duplicates: Lucius Siccus Dentatus, a Roman Centurion – very decorated, at that.
Was he a super-rare, or even, ultra-rare? Was he a mistake? A misprint? Ophelia rattled ideas in her head for minutes seemingly endless, before taking hold of the card to show to the Public Relations Director of the game it was to promote...
‘Finally.’
It came from nowhere, everywhere, all at one, echoing, but centralized.
A voice.
A man’s voice.
Powerful, it spoke directly to the point, ‘Finally, you received me, Empress. Finally, we can prepare.’
Ambition:
Ophelia carries two ambitions, one professional, one personal: To successfully inherit her family’s businesses, both public and private, and possess a harem of male-only Servants; regarding female Servants beneath her, despite their clear power beyond her.
The reasoning for this private ambition is yet unknown, however, it could be revealed in time.
Seriously. It's just a "page-break" for Hiders. Away with you, nosy. XP
Armor:
Facial Features (to fit the anime):
Lucius Siccius Dentatus; Chaotic Good Shielder
STR: C AGI: D- LUK: B END: A+ MAN: E
NP: D - B
Noble Phantasm: A Conquering Empire’s Resolute Shield, Rank B
As Lucius’s primary Noble Phantasm, his shield is amplified to the its ultimate form; that which saw him through an impossible suicide mission against the Aequians. Not once did an enemy strike pass his shield, nor allow single scratch upon his back.
In effect, this Noble Phantasm has the effect of "Repelling All Things Physical" that comes into contact with it, becoming an absolute force of repulsion, and pushing with the strength of an entire legion of Centurions.
It is capable of repelling all weapons on this earth, and only sorcery could ever breach such a wall.
Type: Anti Unit
Noble Phantasm: To Earn A Crown of Grass, Rank D
The highest military honor of Ancient Rome, awarded by those whose actions saved an entire army. Lucius's crown is a symbol of his status as a Plebeian Savior, and as such grants him “Bravery, Rank A+” under the condition that his shield raises to defend someone else.
Type: Anti-Unit (Self)
Include: Iron Scutum
Install: Ophelia is clad in the armor befitting a Centurion of Lucius’s standard, as well as his Grass Crown.
Install Skills:
Battle Continuation, Rank B
Eternal Arms Mastership, Rank C
Military Tactics, Rank A
Plebeian Champion, Rank B: During interactions with others without usable Magic Circuits, Lucius is considered to have Charisma, Rank A.
Install Appearance: Ophelia gains considerable muscle mass and tone appropriate of a constant trained Centurion, her coal black hair is pulled up into her galea, and replaces the plume. Her body is clad in gloriously polished armor, and clatters with steeled purpose to defend.
Servant Biography:
Hero. Champion. Survivor. Immortal. Few Romans truly earn the Grass Crown, but Lucius is one that did. Shield raised, charge set, Lucius turned a suicide mission against the consul Titus Romilius Rocus Vaticanus and the Aequi into an overwhelming victory that repelled the Aequians in a panic, and set victory squarely in their court. Heavily scarred, Lucius is known largely for facing trials with his body set forward and never in retreat, regardless of wounds, and dedicated service to his Empire.
Only once turning against his Empire’s ideal, in opposition of the Decemvirs.
Servant Personality:
Moral, resolute, and outstandingly valorous, Lucius is the ideal of a Centurion, exemplifying how a Primus pilus should live, and therefore is direct and coarse to those below him, but reverently respectful to those in a position of power above him.
Kiyohime; Chaotic Evil Berserker
STR: E END: E LUK: E AGI: C MAN: E
NP: EX
Noble Phantasm: Samadhi: Through Transforming Flames, Rank EX
A Noble Phantasm that transforms the user's form into that of a gigantic white serpent. Different levels of transformation are possible, but at the complete state of transformation, one is deprived of almost all reason in the form of a fire breathing serpent roughly 20 meters long. In this form, one's Strength and Endurance become A rank, but Agility drops to E- due to the increase in mass. Also enables the user to conjure the "Mouth" of the serpent in the form of a small paper fan, capable of belching fire as the serpent's true form does.
Type: Anti-Unit (Self)
Include: Paper Fan Samadhi
Install: Ophelia don a traditional green and white kimono with gold flames stitched into the sleeves, and bestowed upon her Kiyohime's Skills and Transformation abilities.
Install Skills:
Shapeshift, Rank C Enables Ophelia to shift her appearance gradually to be closer to that of Samadhi's Full Transformation; most notably Kiyohime's white scales in order to harden her body. Also, allows her to control a good deal of her normal physical appearance while Installed.
Stalking, Rank B A skill focused around pursuing a single target relentlessly, Ophelia is able to track someone, as long as they are the sole object of their thoughts, regardless of any source of Presence Concealment lower than Rank A. This also gives her the equivalent of Presence Concealment, Rank C when it comes to their target.
Flame Coloured Kiss, Rank A
Formed from Kiyohime's obsession and anger, this skill places a curse upon a single person that causes terrible pain throughout their body; requires Ophelia to make lip contact in order to use, or to bite them if Samadhi is used.
Madness Enhancement, Rank EX Lying sends Ophelia into a freakish frenzy, but only gives her the ability to detect simple lies.
Install Appearance: Ophelia takes on Kiyohime's eyes, as yellow as the morning sun, and her pupils narrow into thin, vertical slit. Additionally, she develops snow-white scales that encircle her wrists, and encroach upon the base of her palm.
Servant Biography:
A woman who in life was the daughter of an innkeeper, and fell in love with a wondering monk named Anchin. Despite him initially entertaining her affections, he eventually left her, causing her to fly into a terrible fury and pursue him, crossing a river and turning into a gigantic white serpent. Anchin fled to the temple of Dojo-ji and hid within the bell there to escape from her, only to be burned alive as she coiled around it and melted the bell.
Personality:
A woman utterly obsessed with love, even after being betrayed. She is incredibly difficult to deal with, and has no tolerance for lies, whether they be from others, or her owner. Because of her similar experiences in life to Mitsugi, they resonated so strongly that she still views her as her true master, and will make any attempts possible to find her way back into her hands to "help" her win her love over. She is delusional enough to believe that she is already married to Anchin, and deludes her master into believing that whoever they are thinking of most to be him as well, enabling her Stalking skill to take effect.
Other: Kamen Rider is Stage 4 Brain Cancer in the Creative Mind.
Archer tapped her foot, polishing off her meal rather slowly; feigning casualness, so she could better inspect the devices and items of clear, magical make. Now, she truly wanted to be gone; nerves edging on combat, the darkness creeping into her eyes and soul. Haas finished his meal swift, and she hardly at all. "Hurry. I wish to tarry no longer," she urges. If this was the domicile of a Magus, then she must has been one of great strength - or perhaps, considerable luck - to have survived or have never been chosen. However, perhaps she was chosen, and her Servant hung out of sight; or, worse still, she was aligned with Mandrake, and could be set against them. Rubbing her cheeks, Archer attempted to stay in control, stay in cover. "After all, we've much to do and see, Brother," she smiles brightly, "and, places to be."
Iwannabeyours
Crusader Lord
Neziul
Bacon
