Epsir

Fate/Secondary Genesis

The Habsburg Ruin

@ERode@DrowsyPangolin

Don't shoot.

Powerless to even say the words that scorched in his head the decrepit guard could only mouth them, lips cracked and bleeding as his sore jaw forced them to part. Of course it was too good to be true, of course there was no second chance. The reaper had changed their mind, come back to collect, the dark shape in his eyesight kicked the door in like it was made of tin, leveled the silhouette in their hands at him as they swept the room. His tired body lurched in place, remembering the feeling of being shot at as death loomed. How long, how long, how long...

The shadow lowered their weapon. Eyes nearly swollen shut struggled to watch as they took a step forward and knelt down. A cool hand swept his residue matted hair from his sight, pulled down the darkness over their face to reveal a soft color. Even though it was dim, color was all that he could remember. It was the green that had terrified him, the void he felt in himself while staring into something without a soul. Two eyes. Two eyes of gallant silver stared at him, a noble color, wisdom, warmth... The regal shape of her face swam in his burnt-away vision but he was looking at someone he didn't know, and that was the most comforting feeling he'd had in years.

He could hear just fine. Perhaps a weak pulse made the world sound far away and dreamlike, perhaps they were words his mind was not set to receive, but he could hear and not answer. Hands covered in blood shook as they reached up to the teacup, gingerly accepting the out of place vessel without wondering why someone would carry such a thing. It stung his lips as he turned it up, trying to drink as much as he could without spilling any. He felt every drop he did, the rivulet running down his chin reawakening the diminishing sting of the chemical agent lingering on his skin.

"Thank you, thank you... Thank you." His voice came on weak, croaking through the phlegm and inflammation until he finally came to resemble a human, hoarse but alive. "Somebody shot the place up, just drove through the gate and... Got me pretty good. Are you guys robbing the place? I won't say shit, I won't say shit..."

The guard felt compelled to go on speaking for the voice. A series of blinks cleared his eyes. The grim reaper was kind of a looker, actually. And there were two. A different girl had crept into the scene, wrought in brighter colors, but the two wore the same kind of accessories. A burglar team? Fuck it, he'd happily empty his wallet for a glass of water delivered with such aplomb. The second one was holding out a flask. He'd heard of smelling salts, there was some ammonia in the response kit under the desk. Why hadn't he thought of that? Before he could even worry about the horrible smell his mind felt sharper, the pain in his leg rescinding into a dull nervous throb. They stood up, leaving him to the questions of the silver woman.

"I don't know what happened next. The woman just got out of her car and started shooting. I couldn't see much, there was gas everywhere, and then... Fuck I dunno, everything was exploding and I was getting thrown around like a baseball. By the time the smoke cleared the building was leveled, nobody was on the radio anymore, and I heard Principal Detail's truck, uh, the guys who are supposed to watch Hapsburg, driving out from the garden. I guess he's alright, fuck him he'll just cut us loose after this, I just hope the guys made it out with him." He lingered, glancing up at the window and the absence of the estate's front face. His hands twitched emphatically in his lap, his arms feeling too numbed to do it themselves. Talking took his mind off the aches. "They, the, uh, her... The shooter came back around, missing an eye, really cut up, still carried me around like a kid. Threw me in here, bound up my leg and told me the pain would keep me awake. They told me to run for the country when I could-"

"Hey are you calling the cops?" He bolted upright at the sight of a phone, staring up at Naoko with the widest eyes he'd managed yet. "Hold- hold on. They said if I went to the hospital or the cops there'd be people trying to kill me. Please, don't, don't."

Fate/Secondary Genesis

The Habsburg Rental

@Sosuke @Sightles

End this madness. A single command governed their body as she sprang from wall to wall down twisting corridors, hounding the sound of panicked voices and rapid footfalls. Her boot came down on the floor, rubber sole skidding across the luxurious hardwood. The Servant slid to stop, turning a single eye on the group down the hall from them. A single green eye, alight with the fire of violence, fell on Otto von Habsburg. Already she moved to draw their weapon from their side, black steel appearing from under her coat. A red circle jumped to Otto's chest, a crimson hologram dancing between still beating life and the all consuming tempest of the marksman's eye.

Just in time, the roof shattered above them. The splintering of the upper stories offered only an instant of warning before the hallway was filled with azure lights, the sound of hammering artillery falling to the earth. Explosion after explosion, a hail of awe inspiring firepower. Noise was done away with, replaced with a simple concussive feeling in her skull as she flickered backwards. Arrowheads pierced the Assassin's weapon, wrenching it from their hands as she chose survival over taking their shot. Debris filled the air, dust muffling the blinding lights and hiding the whistling shapes of lethal fragmentation. Shock from the repeated blasts tossed them backwards, the Servant's form flung through drywall as if it were rice paper, and trailing blood where she landed.

The building shook beneath them. The sounds of collapse played around her, the familiar noises of a building bombed into submission. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling. The lights flickered. This amount of collateral damage... before they were even out of the building. Just what kind of resolve did the Master have, commanding an attack so close to himself? She rolled backwards over their shoulders, rising to hands and knees from under a falling ceiling panel. The mansion's lifespan was best measured in seconds after such a thorough carpet bombing. What had they been targeting, to strike nearly every part of the building? The idea of an intentionally controlled demolition sprang to mind.

Wars were won by those willing to lose the most. Otto von Habsburg had the mind to sacrifice even his trump card, this atelier in the countryside. He needed to die.

The wraith stood straight as the world around them came crashing down. The building breathed its last: a caustic cloud of eddying gray and black pouring from its many openings as the top floor plummeted one layer after another down to the basement. Windows exploded outwards as the internal shockwaves compounded. The skeleton of supporting beams not severed by the Archer shed its body, holding up tiny fragments of the building while the rest simply sloughed away into a ruined pile.

A single soldier still walked the barren ground. Rubble settled with a gravelly rumble as a slab of flooring was pushed over. A slender specter rose from the ashes, a long black coat frayed to pieces and flapping around them in the swirling air currents. A hollow stared out at the world from one eye socket, empty and dark and bereft of its cover. Beside it the light still shined, verdant spite glowing from their working sight. She stood over the gardens on what was assuredly a burial mound, staring into the duo of Master and Servant as they carefully navigated their way to safety at the other end of the expansive compound. Magical energy still flowed from the dismantled building, currents of siphoned power escaping back into the environment as the dying structure took with it many of the mystic codes lying around such a workshop.

"I can't give you any more, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Words rang in their head as they reached for a weapon that never came. The tether snapped, the shared pain that came with it easing away. The wraith turned away, casting their good eye over their shoulder for a final glance at opportunity slipping away, and strode back into the ruins.

Discordant Starting Bell/Clear

The Habsburg Ruin
June 29th, 2021
Gemstone Ash Collection

@ERode @DrowsyPangolin

The Winter Palace could truly cruise once it was free of the Boston interior, guided by the skilled hands of a Rider Servant into the somber New England countryside. Even after the lunch rush, the sun hung up in the summer sky, bearing a sultry sort of coastal heat down on the land. Haze rose from the roads, creatures sheltered in the shade, and once you were past the tourists creeping back to hotels it was a world of normal suburbs. The estate identified by the newspaper ad was a scant few hours and a map search away, a distance and time perhaps reduced by just how much determination and purpose the food truck was imbued with.

Little changed besides the slight shifting of the sun as they rode on. A rest stop passed by. A man quietly walked his Labrador, stretching tired legs for the final stretch of a journey from the west coast. Two girls sat in the back of an opened up gray van, one staring across the road and holding the second while she wept. A trucker watched the food truck pass idly, nursing an iced tea in the sweltering cockpit of his ride. The last picket before richfolk land, it too faded into the urban haze of Boston behind them.

Woods surrounded the estate, barring sight of the compound from the highway. Even as the food truck mounted the hillside roads, the truth of the estate's state would remain a mystery until they pulled free of the forest, to the final open stretch to the estate's ruined front gates.

The smoked out remains of a gray van stood where an entrance once was, wrapped in the wrought iron corpse of the gate. The fence on both sides had been eviscerated, broad holes punched in the spikes and survivors leaning where heat stress had deformed the trestles. The cabin of the van still flickered with flames, the scent of a gasoline fire on the breeze as the upholstery was sanitized. Behind it only half of the building's front face remained, holes punched in the massive glass windows overlooking the driveway. The rest had simply crumbled away into a nondescript gray heap, splashes of color in the form of hardwoods and tapestries peaking out to hint at the luxury the building once contained. The lack of a gas fire was as good a sign as any, and no hint remained of any electric life in the perimeter lights.

A closer approach would reveal the shells of the front doors, frames still standing even when the doors themselves had been stripped from their hinges. The hollowed out lobby, tables coated in dust or toppled entirely, promised nothing beyond. A trail of blood stretched from beside the car, droplets flung out over the lawn to a deeper crimson smudge, and an obvious drag path back to the charitably untouched gatehouse.

Old State House

@Scallop @Reflection

For what little it was worth, the congregation was also taken by surprise as someone actually opened the door. Some of the remaining tourists scratched their head at the attire of their would-be host, someone passing an idle remark about a detective before smartly deciding to walk away from the scene.

The tour guide, of course, was undeterred. An uncertain smile flashed at Giuseppe underneath impish, mischievous eyes. Something sinister indeed flashed beneath those bifocals. As her lips curved they prepared to speak, readying the honeyed words that would see her group inside at any cost-

"Is that a fucking cougar?" Someone else spoke first.

The light inside the building was dim. All their widening eyes saw in the dark was a giant cat taking the noire looking fellow who answered the door in its enormous paws and flooring him. That was sort of enough, and the tourists turned and ran without ever really crossing the threshold into the building. A few shrieking people going loudly into central Boston was an abnormality... but not the strangest thing that could be happening in the midday. The jaguar released the doorman and lunged towards the door, straight for her.

The guide took a swift step forward, shoulders dropping to one side as they cocked a hand back and thrust her gloved palm up at the creature's jaw. White silk sunk into the flesh, fingers hooked in... and scratched affectionately at the enormous cat. She turned, redirecting the creature and tossing the cat playfully to the floor. The door quietly closed behind the guide as she knelt down, drumming on the docile predator's belly with an open palm. It rolled and thrashed in place, tail swinging noisily from one wall to the other in the narrow entranceway. Slowly the tour guide looked up, past Giuseppe for the first time to the interior of the building. A brief flicker from left to right left them sighing with relief, contented that the building was still mostly in one piece.

"I agree wholeheartedly. It's a dark thing to forget one's history, and darker yet to be led astray by it... I suppose it's for the best that my guests have left early." They stood up from the jaguar's side, shuffling awkwardly as claws held onto their sock to offer a hand down to the dapper man previously 'mauled' by the predatory cat. "Because I also suppose that you are exactly the person I need to speak to. The enterprising fellow leading history astray. Putting it to work for you, so to speak. Closing a public building to siphon a leyline, to put it another way."

Blue eyes burned behind their lenses, striking with a non sequitur innocence to their bladed words.

Fate/Secondary Genesis

The Habsburg Rental

@Sosuke @Sightles

True to the Archer's keen aim, his first arrow pierced the grenade in mid flight. Like the first, the less-lethal munition had only teargas particulate to dispense. As its casing split down the middle its powder sprayed out, the pulverized granules instantly transformed into an aerosol by the energy exerted on them. A great cloud of white gas erupted across the courtyard, a swirling tunnel pierced through it by the roiling aftershock of Archer's strike. Eyes met eye for the first time there, the Assassin already recoiling from the interception. She reached up to her face, pulling up her heavy scarf across her mouth as pieces of crystallized CS began to fall from the cloud of agitated tear gas. The moment passed, the tear gas surrounded Archer. His arrow hit the ground, the shock of the impact causing the asphalt to explode like a hand grenade. Out of the kill box. They threw their grenade launcher at the bowman, forgetting it. The wraith sunk to one side and dived, arms outstretched at an unlikely target.

Shot, bruised, covered in tear gas, the gate guard was having an awful day. Mucus poured from his face, his eyes screwed shut as the irritant set in. Powerful arms scooped his bleeding form from the ground, the limber Assassin sheltering him from the aftershock of Archer's attack as the wraith rolled into the smoke. Chips of concrete tore strips off of her jacket. Grenades fell from Assassin's coat, wooden sticks topped with metal canisters. White lines decorated their rim, the stenciled letter "N" marking them. As they hit the ground they exploded, the smoke grenades instantly blanketing the courtyard even more densely in obscuring fog. Assassin disappeared from sight, the screaming guard left safely on the ground as faint footfalls on the grass, easily audible to a fellow Servant, signaled the path the Assassin took away from Archer.

Arrows shrieked into the smoke, Archer's volley unleashed upon the wraith. Beyond line of sight dirt and grass exploded into the air. The iron fence around the estate wailed as Archer's arrows snapped metal spikes in half, reducing spots struck directly to molten slag when the azure tips passed through. His aim honed in, instinct sharpening his shots, cutting off routes of escape... But Archer had no need to predict. Assassin stood still within the fog, her position revealed by the glow of gunfire. True to the image of an agonizingly slow marksman Archer had assigned her, the Assassin class had to stop to line up a shot without vision. The muzzle flash of a machinegun turned the smoke and clouds into a thunderstorm. Bullets rippled out, spraying indiscriminate death at the Archer while his own lethal attacks peppered the shooter. The hail of hundreds of arrows met with a deluge of bullets. Whatever effect their desperate attack could have had on Archer... the Assassin could not have survived such a barrage. Three victory shots cracked from the bowman's weapon. Throat, calf, arm, the Assassin's carcass was surely destroyed as the shots sailed home, their gunfire pitching up into to the sky as they fell in defeat, corpse's finger wrapped around the trigger in pathetic defiance.

Something wasn't right.

Footsteps surrounded Archer, and a sensation followed. Not the presence of Assassin, but of flowing prana, the tether of a Servant passing by, its far trail leading out into the countryside, to a Master far away. The near side pointed to the door. A wire stretched through the smoke in front of Archer's face. The tumult of projectiles flying back and forth finally dispersed the chaotic gray clouds, leaving the scene on the courtyard clear for all to see.

Assassin had sped past, obscured. The wraith appeared at the doors, visible only for a fleeting instant. A black cord stretched from their hand to the "Assassin" that Archer had fired upon. A tripod sat on the lawn, destroyed by his attacks. An empty machinegun was fastened to it with the solenoid trigger pinned down by the Assassin's device. They dropped the wire to the decoy and disappeared into the entranceway. Another smoke bomb fell down in their wake, the undulant cloud spilling with the fleeing Assassin into the foyer. They had a head start, and swift feet when they needed to.

The chase was on. The blackened wraith leaped onto the banister of the lavish hall's serpentine stairs, sprinting up to the second story. Just as their own magical path could be felt in proximity, the empowering flow of Od into the impressive Servant outside had pointed like a compass to her target. A brilliant star, shamed only by burning too bright. The entourage of guards moving ahead of him probably wouldn't hurt her chances either.

Somewhere Downtown/Old State House
June 29th, 2021
Slipshod Custodian March

@Reflection @Scallop

The Boston morning had been chaos. Moreso in the proper city part, somewhat removed from the tourist trails where real people with real lives worked real jobs. People dressed for the summer heat marched back and forth at the tail end of their commute, carrying food, carrying phones, carrying the hopes of another day of American business. Some of them marched out of cafes, some of them posted up by food trucks. Even in the heart of the Walking City, however, it was impossible to escape every facet of the tourist industry. After all, a place so compact, so filled with history made it inevitable that cutting through downtown was a proper course for some tours.

It was the end of the lunch rush. A small group of what had to be tourists, for they were lead by a bespectacled lady in a foppish looking black and blue uniform, passed by the respectable if tuna-scented establishment a sidecast eye identified as The Winter Palace. The occupants appeared to be up to something else however. No need to tour for those who knew where they were going. The lady in charge threw her hands to the firmament, loudly extolling the virtues of the ornate moulding along the buildings they passed. Her voice rose and fell with the eras, eager to inform her passenger hostages of the sheer amount of meaning and history contained in the tiny differences in artistry that the ages had brought. For their part... Some of them were wandering away.

So went that brutal march of attrition into the downtown until the last survivors stood before the looming (but dwarfed by its surroundings) shadow of the State House they weren't using anymore. Gigantic 'closed for renovation' stickers and signs dotted the territory, an eerie silence pervading over the building as if it had been set away from the whole of humanity.

"Now hold on a second, I know a thing or two about this kinda thing. In America, this!" She held her hand up to the closed sign, running her palm under the words as if they needed hand modeling. The white glove sailed up to the corner, thumbing out a tack and taking hold of the bulletin. Her fist clenched. The plastic and paper ripped, and contented with outright destruction of property they nudged the now blank standing sign to the ground.
"Is more like a suggestion. Don't give me that look, no one's forcing you to be here."

Trouble turned its silver-haired head, glasses glinting in the rising sun as they stared at the door. Seemingly unaware of the bounded field they treaded over, they strode up to the black, street facing double door of the Old State House and crashed the back of their fist against the door. The force of the blow rang through the inside of the abandoned structure like a drum, the triumphant sound of an actual lunatic demanding entrance from a structure that should be fully empty. With all the determination in the world they took a step back, crossed their arms, and waited for the masters of the House to step forward.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

Hope sprang inside of Irene as she finally scaled to the top of the hill. Progressing across the planes had become a sort of disjointed ennui, with very little of distinction to separate incident from incident in her memories. But that had all changed with elevation. She hadn't a clue, her back largely turned to the surprise which awaited her as she went up. Cresting only brought the sight of yet more Glade, and it was stop the incline that the Bestia stopped to hold her knees and sigh. The new body had held out at least, wandering was not nearly as taxing as it should have been in her newfound constitution, but that was of little comfort knowing that their starvation was inevitable without sweet, sweet civilization to solve all of their problems for them. Irene straighted up, turning around as her gruff face scanned impassively for the group she'd gotten a bit distant from... And then she saw it. Buildings, the unforgettable but vague bumpiness of faraway structures. It was a sight from her vague memories of home, the one before the move away, where you could wander out and see such minuscule settlements in the distance in the more rustic regions.

"Heyyy!" Their excited voice chirped as they spryly waved a hand in the air, signaling her traveling companions that there was totally something interesting on top of her hill. She nodded emphatically as the others caught up, jabbing at the distant town with a thickly gloved finger. She was about to nod some more at Albrecht as he suggested going back. It sucked having to walk even more but it felt right, they could sweep up the people still at the standing stones and get them all to safety. Who knew how long those childish bodies would last out here. Her own was an aberration, she felt. Her senses were too sharp to be human, but... That wasn't as much of a logical leap as assigning fantastic durability to the little ones. They were certainly not recreated equally.

Before that nod could happen, her eyes were pulled to distant blue spectacle. Some kind of panning light, gone in an instant. A signal mirror? Magic? God come again to fix this mess? The earth shaking felt pretty Biblical, even if everything else about their situation, Goddess' identity included, was most certainly not. Instinctively her stance lowered, her heavy body rocking little during the tremor despite the deep, primal unease it made her feel.

"Ha, weird," She forced a chuckle. "Guess thataways it is..."

Her voice trailed off as a blue light speared the sky. Everything became lit in its otherworldly hue. The sheer brightness of the manaflare etched away sight of the things surrounding it, the standing stones and the shapes of their friends washed away either by brightness of the lance or the halo of contrast shadow that hid the world around it. Irene looked away, some sense that it was too bright to safely stare into triggering before the sharp drop in her stomach that told her your friends are dead.

Dead again, actually. It didn't really hurt the first time, and friends was admittedly a stretch but if they weren't comrades now they weren't anything.

Oh right. They weren't anything any more. A few hours walk away, Irene had time to hit her knees on the dirt before the deafening roar of the blast struck them. The concussion, either from the explosion or just the sound it was making, thudded upon her chest like a hammer. She could have talked in the silence before were she not speechless. She wanted to scream in the noise that followed, but it wouldn't have made a difference. There was something raw and traumatizing about witnessing the annihilation of ground on which one had walked; a sensation unknown to most of the world she came from, and alien to her until that moment.

"Yeah... right," Irene said, voice a shellshocked fragment as Albrecht talked strategy. She could definitely keep watching it, she supposed.
"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on the... thing." She slowly pushed up to standing, swiping dirt off of her pant legs before realizing that trying to clean them didn't really make much of a difference to how they looked. Instead, she motioned loosely with one arm, beckoning Jyu-Ni ahead into the formation. "It'll be alright Jyu-Ni. Calm as he says."

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Approaching the Habsburg Rental

The straight-four purred like a contented beast as the driver set her foot down. They were finally on the open road, cruising in the opposite direction of those on their morning commute into the city. Buildings faded away to rolling hills and New England's scenic woods. The rich set their estates here, far away from the prying eyes and thrumming noise of urbanite life to contemplate the woes of being painfully rich and empty. She knew that pretty well, her family had one a few miles back the way they came. Home was a faraway thought though. Their destination was a more recent memory. A venue, one rented by some foreign money. It had been a nice party, what little of it she remembered, until her newfound guardian took exception to the premises and pulled her away. She stared down at her clasped hands, delicate knuckles rung white as she kept pressure on the back of her left. She didn't want to see it. The faintly glowing icon burned into her skin, the interlinked sigils that throbbed agonizingly whenever she stole a glance to the left, at the strange person seated behind the steering wheel. Her heart beat against the inside of her throat, her brain felt like it was rebelling against the inside of her skull. They were going to murder a man who'd just invited them to a party. She reached for the cupholder and found nothing.

"You're sure we need to do this? No warning or anything?"

A green eye flickered in her direction as she spoke. A chill ran down her spine as she caught the glare of that grim wraith. They were inhuman, they had said as much to her even if she was still attempting to digest what exactly that meant. A... Servant, they had called themselves. And she was now a Master. That meant fighting for their lives, no matter what. That had been made absolutely clear after the first night. Her ears still rang in the wake of the clashes, her heart still raced as her mind recalled that terrible, hungry creature reaching out at her. Deadened fingers clasping over the seal on her hand, prying at the flesh until...

"Magi don't know the meaning of reason. Every Master will want to kill you. It's nothing so personal that you can convince or grovel your way out of it. The way of the Magus is cold, unfeeling reason. You are weak, weaker even then I am, and to kill either of us is a victory for them." A cold voice pried her mind away from the memories. Assassin, the only name the wraith had given her, was speaking. Even if the terms were still fantastic and alien she could understand the severity dripping from the other woman's voice. Like the doomsayers on the streets, believing every impossible word to stem from their insane thoughts. But Assassin came hand in hand with proof of the hidden world. From the brink of death to rushing through the countryside in the passenger seat of a Kangoo, Assassin had been with her every step of the way and no matter how mad she sounded the she had always been right.

"I'm leaving you here."

"Okay." The roaring of passing traffic almost blotted out her weak voice, but Assassin nodded back at her. Here was a rest stop out of town. Assassin lead her inside, holding her hand tight and steadying her uneasy gait long enough to set her down on a bench inside. Giant windows let light into the interior, the modern glass-heavy architecture offering line of sight to the outside world as the Servant loomed over a map rack, pretending to read about the location as people shuffled by. Satisfied that they weren't already under attack, Assassin turned, dropping her pamphlet back onto the shelf and striding right for her Master. The wraith knelt down, scruffy, dark hair falling across her shoulders as her chartreuse eye bored into her own. She could only stare back into Assassin's stark white eyepatch.

"Remember what I told you. If anything happens..." Nimble hands clasped their Master's, forcing her to look down at the sign emblazoned in her flesh. Her lifelines in this twisted game. At a rest stop twenty minutes from where she grew up, shaking and nauseous on public seating with a pistol against her back and a maniac at her feet, Luna Harsyke never felt further from home.

The Habsburg Rental

The highway bled away in the rearview, the scenery encroaching on the asphalt transforming from open field to forest and then back again as the road began to pitch upwards. The Renault's four-cylinder roared against gravity, the heavy body of the utility van accelerating to the edge of its envelope of control on the uphill. Their heavy glove moved on the gearshift, the sound of a thick rubberized sole sliding across the pedals changing the motor's tune and softly lurching the vehicle through its paces.

Assassin sat expressionless, solo eye glazed over the road surface as their mind set itself on the singular purpose of becoming someone else. Victory required diminishing oneself, extinguishing the traits that made one discernible. In her case she could blend away her very presence, seeming nothing more than 'another person' until the fatal moment. There was nothing inconspicuous about being the only car on its way to that remote estate, but all she had to do was not register as a Servant until the first stone was cast. Already she awaited the distinct tingle of passing a bounded field, the telltale sting that would tell the Magus of the land that a normal human had come to his domain unannounced. A lost tourist, a daylight robber, a traveling salesman, it didn't matter what identity they assigned to the sight of an unmarked gray van speeding recklessly towards the front gate. Ornate, iron, moderately fortified. It was an easier breach than the walls surrounding it. Her eyesight confirmed a single guard manning the morning watch, peacefully stood at the booth inside the walls and idly watching her approach from within. The wraith calmly raised their wrist, inspecting the cracked watch to mark the starting time. Eyes diverted from the wheel, they lowered their head to reach for the floor. The windshield exploded.

Metal screeched and tore, the shrill sound of hinges prying apart filling the peaceful morning air with the tooth shaking rattle of machinery coming apart. The wrought iron gates barred across the drive splintered as the van came through them, cracking further from the point of impact and bending where energy forced the metal into plasticity. The vehicle itself mangled into a mess unrecognizable, the passenger cabin's roof peeled back and the sputtering, smoking engine exposed by the blow. A stray wheel rolled away from the iron enshrouded wreck as the driver side door squealed open on bent tracks. It fell away entirely as it swung, the black clad figure inside crawled from the carnage, dragging a drab colored duffel from the floorspace as they stood erect. The door to the guardhouse opened, the suited man inside stepping out with a hand on his hip, concern on his face for the motorist that just wrecked themselves. "Hold still, stay where you are, you're in shock..." The warnings droned even before they were out in the open.

Assassin's hand snapped behind her back, a subtle twist of her spine offering a clean draw as her stance spread wider. Blued steel flashed in her hand, the slim lines of a pistol produced and leveled on the considerate guardsman. His words froze in his throat, but training carried his motions, his fist clenching around his weapon. Assassin squeezed the trigger. The facade fell away. The blooming light of a Servant's spiritual core fell upon the estate, the light of an Intruder, and the sinister feeling of a Noble Phantasm at work. Plastic cracked as the first bullet shattered through the slide of his weapon. Her wrist canted, twisting the ghost ring sight onto the man's leg and firing again. The heavy bark of gunfire would be the second announcement of her presence, one even for mortal ears. They let their weapon go, the mundane firearm clanking to the ground with its purpose served. The estate's door guard laid screaming, bleeding from extremities and shouting profanities into the morning.

"You're not dying yet."

The wraith said, gravel voice rising over the flames of her ride and the lamentations of her witness. They reached greedily into the bag across their shoulders, sliding the parcel off as they pulled a black tube from within. The stock unfolded neatly in their hands, the pistol grip sitting comfortably in their glove. With a flick of her wrist she turned a black and blue tipped shell into her hand, snapping the breach open and slamming the gas round home. No hesitation, no consideration, the grenade launcher came up to her shoulder and fired up at the enormous windows of the building's front face. The canister fell into the study overlooking the drive, broken glass raining alongside it before its timed fuse burnt down. It hissed and popped, an odious and stinging white cloud bursting from the canister and fuming from the broken window. Unopposed the hooligan stood at the foot of the estate and chambered another quarrel for those inside, this time aiming lower and delivering a shell through the front doors. Glass shrieked, alarms cried, and the Servant began to stride forward. The action rang as it sprang open, a smoking case falling to the asphalt in their wake.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

Irene's turns to check on the rest of the party grew more frequent as the realization that the others were not going to follow gradually set in. The remainder seemed to be gathering around one of the pillars that they had fallen in around, the humanoid lizard digging into the soil for some reason she couldn't quite place. The sensation of not knowing why anyone was doing anything was slowly starting to become her default state. It was an indifferent sort of confusion that she only consciously identified after watching the elf-looking one leap through the air after those strangely alluring butterflies. They might have looked like children but if she were to continue operating on the assumption that they were all members of her class and not convenient likenesses, something that the others seemed to embrace as they went around naming each other, they were not what they appeared to be. It didn't feel right to leave them behind nonetheless, her body very nearly rebelled against the steps she was taking to continue along behind Albrecht, but she had already determined herself to follow the best instructions they had. It wasn't assuredly South, but it wasn't laying about. They were in the right to leave, she thought, and backing down to wait for them would only encourage more waiting around. In a crisis you had to hold the initiative, she'd heard that somewhere before.

Taking guilty looks back at the party they were leaving alerted her to the approach of the earthy colored small one and her enormous arms. The childlike face they wore was weighed down with something that appeared to be sorrow, but as Irene locked eyes with them she realized it must have been pity. It didn't take much soul searching to come up with a reason why someone might be sorry for her, although they were all dead. Everyone else looked like the realization of something fantastic or at least well endowed by their new circumstances, and she was now wearing the blanket off of some homeless man.

That said, Irene felt amazing. Moving had never felt so easy, her senses had never felt so sharp. As a man, it was now her divine right to wear shoes without heels and clothing with actual pockets. She could squint like Dirty Harry and once she got the hang of it and a glass of water probably growl like him too. Most people didn't get anything when they lost their body so anything was an upgrade right? Already she prepared modest counter-condolences, ready to crack a joke and move them all forward without the need for any sorrow in what was, without equal, a second chance for them all-

"Git fucked."

"Oh, uh... Ha," She couldn't help but laugh nervously as they skipped away, once more struggling to get out of the way of those passing arms. Maybe that was some strange breakdown in communication, maybe she'd simply met a true expert in gallows humor. As the lizard called out to them specifically, she began to wonder if the armed one wasn't just belligerent on a level Irene had yet to comprehend.

"Leaving a trail of any sort is for the best. I would hate to be leaving them to their own devices."

In the time it took them to move away she spent most of it listening intently to Albrecht. He had a surprisingly large amount of information to relate, but that had been the impression he gave off. The closest thing they had to an authority figure, a knight in shining armor who clearly knew a thing or two about neolithic armament. As he spoke her eyes followed along with his words, looking over the surrounding lands with refreshingly sharp eyes. Grassland and hills, distance and wilderness. Irene took a look down at the hem of her cloak, ragged and torn as it was, she felt it would be simple enough to rip a strip off later for forming a sling... But that would be after they found some nice rocks, she decided. This entire line of thought was something that hadn't occurred to her until it'd been stated, and it brought with it a new level of discomfort. They had been cautioned to move, danger had made itself present... but their very being was as much a threat to their continued living for now. They needed to live, the need for food and water had not been changed, as far as she knew.

"You flatter me, I'd say you've said it all Albrecht. It'd be awful anticlimactic, if we were dropped here just to starve. I'll... Strike out for a hill, then, see about those rocks and roads. Don't break line of sight, alright? I'll holler and run back if I see anything to note."

She picked at random, selecting a distant rise in the land slightly askew of their current line of travel and casually distancing herself from her two traveling companions. She was careful not to quicken too much, eyes ahead and pace even as she envisioned the scouting mission ahead of her.

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Character Directory

Team Saber:

Servant: The Hound of Ulster Master: The Jersey... who?

Team Lancer:

Servant: The Demon Lord of Čachtice Master: The Second Chance for Sohonnai

Team Archer:

Servant: The Immortal Archer of the Shahnameh Master: The Peerless Name of Habsburg

Team Rider:

Servant: The Empress of Golden Russia Master: The Protector of Boston

Team Caster:

Servant: The Living Sun of Cusco Master: The Seeker From New York

Team Berserker:

Servant: Valhalla's Greatest King of Zealand Master: The Rose Witch at Hearthstone

NPC Directory

Your Gracious Host

Mister Crowley

Witness of Aiwass

Age: ?
Elemental Affinity: Wind
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
True Will: Transgression

Magic Circuits
Number: C
Quality: B

A sense of the number and quality of magical circuits possessed by this person can be difficult to obtain. While active, their magic circuits suggest an above average aptitude for Magecraft and they are a mechanically gifted practitioner of basic arts. Problematically, the magical effects rendered by this individual most often occur without any activation of their own magic circuits, only disturbances in the surrounding magical energy. The fact that they are undoubtedly a Magus is cause for some concern, as the have escaped cataloguing by the Association and yet come from no known lineage of Magi. A heretic, and a most deviant heretic at that.

Magick:

Incitement

At first glance a basic form of hypnosis known to most western Magi, only weaker in its execution in that it seems to target the drive of the target to complete a task that they already desired to accomplish... Witting or not. It compels a degree of focus that can be used to camouflage the presence of the caster, such as directing rescue workers to focus their efforts without regard to orders coming from above, or the presence of strangers.

Background:

The author of a mysterious letter and sponsor of an unsanctioned Grail War taking place in the United States' City of Boston, a heretic magus of the highest class that has (or so they claim) replicated a ritual thought lost to the folly of a previous generation. Either a looter of materials commonly believed to be destroyed or a crafting savant that somehow matched the efforts of three Magus families in a few short years, heads are scratched as to which explanation is less impossible. Highly contrary to the aims of the Association, all details of his existence remained unknown until he decided to intervene on the behalf of the Grail War's participants. While assuredly not a Master, cannot enjoy the results of his Grail War's completion if it were say, interrupted by the wailing of an angry government following an enormous breach of secrecy.

An Ordinary Tour Guide

Custodial Ghost Liner

Guider

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Background:

Adorned in what is obviously a uniform... only lacking any obvious markings. Free of branding, free of identification, they have an unnaturally nonthreatening aura to them; the aura of an older sister that invites bored old people to follow them and strangers to spare a moment of listening to the inane and intense love they hold for enlightening others. There's not even so much as a name tag to follow them with, though they'd insist that you call them whatever you need to.

Tangible sightings of the creature are almost a matter of myth, although a few bystanders would recognize the attire and manner of speech if pressed to play witness. All point towards a definite origin, all accounts occurring after a certain mid-June date.

A Hopeless Heiress (Master of Assassin)

???

Master of Assassin

Age: 18
Elemental Affinity: None
Alignment: True Neutral
Origin: ???

Magic Circuits
Number: E
Quality: A

A sense of the number and quality of magical circuits possessed by this person is easily perceptible. Their body is not that of a magus, and the number of cultivated circuits is exceedingly low to the point of near non-existence. Despite this the barest potential for Magecraft remains, unawakened, as the result of either good breeding or a fluke of genetic assignment. These miraculous, albeit dormant circuits are of exceptional quality, comparable to the purpose built circuits of a homunculus.

Background:

Stated name Luna Harsyke. An unknown daughter of a lesser lineage, there is more to say of the Harsyke than of this seemingly estranged daughter of theirs. A family without a name in the world of Magecraft but of moderate repute in financial circles, the Harsyke brand boasts industrial and transportation holdings both in the United States and abroad. More publicly known in their home state of New York, Luna is best described as out of place. No record attests to their residency in the state, little more than a birth certificate ratifies their very existence, but they are most certainly extant. The young money has recently made showings in the area, alone, and leveraging a name more than anything else to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Notorious for a spitfire attitude and winning only begrudging acknowledgment from the family back home, her aims and character are nigh indiscernible from a distance.

The Liberator of Charleville (Assassin Servant)

???

Assassin

Parameters:

Strength: E
Endurance: B
Agility: A+
Magical Energy: E
Luck: A

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Class Skills:

Independent Action: A

Assassin is capable of acting for extended periods of time without a direct link to her master, and by extent surviving without a master for up to ten days if she does conserve her magical energy for all but the most vital of functions. It is in her nature to act alone, even being in her homeland has no sustaining effect for her because she lived as a stranger within her own country. Her high rank in Independent Action is derived not only from her chosen form's life of self reliance but also from her generally low mana consumption. She lacks magecraft to employ, and even her Noble Phantasm costs relatively little energy to deploy.

Presence Concealment: -

While a candidate for the skill Presence Concealment, Assassin does not manifest with it because of their use of Espionage.

Personal Skills:

Charisma: D

Assassin is a representative of Liberty itself. However, it was not her but the aspirations of the people around her that compelled the events of her legend. Regardless of her actual fame and the obscure status of the form she has adopted, as a symbol of revolution and icon of liberty, she has a natural ability to compel others in battles against tyranny and enslavement. Her ability to lead is sufficient, having stood at the side of revolutions and resistances in her time, but as someone who was looked to as a symbol more than as a commander her authority does not supersede the ideals that people have chosen to see in her.

Espionage: C

An experienced and natural infiltrator, saboteur, and guerrilla, in the form of an Assassin the wraith possesses the credentials for Presence Concealment but is better served by their rank in Espionage. Assassin is able to blend her presence seamlessly with those surrounding her. In a crowd she is nearly indiscernible from ordinary humans around her, far less noticeable than any Magus. Even on an empty street, if one were not already suspicious of her personage she would be no more than a wandering girl. She can carry small weapons while utilizing this effect, as long as they do not protrude from her clothing. Use of her Noble Phantasm or any of her weapons breaks the effect immediately, and she is unable to re-disguise herself while within the sight of any pursuers.

Eye of Mind (True): B

Assassin is an observant soldier capable of assessing her situation and predicting an opponent's actions with a great degree of clarity and speed. She is able to disguise her weakness with versatility, and her mind's eye is capable of discerning all the courses of action available with her many tools. As this ability is reliant on knowledge, it is far less effective against concepts and techniques she has no understanding of. As a Servant, Assassin benefits from the combat experiences of all citizens and soldiers who have died in the just defense of her homeland, as living embodiments of her legend. She gains the greatest amount of knowledge from the form she currently inhabits. As a result, she is a hardened veteran of small scale, clandestine warfare, not unlike the Grail War she has been called upon to participate in.

[Ender]: C

In all wars there are those who are willing to fight 'until the end.' This extreme dedication to the fatherland manifests in Assassin's case not only in her significant endurance rank, both for an Assassin and a girl of her figure, but in her ability to prolong and endure warfare through wit and determination. =ß9uwh her boª‘ ma+ Zßôt !nd »hdt¬Dr arÃ}nd D*r, C÷, XinÜ éil³ ™o• falLera U4tˆl RhĞ ëhysicªlÐy can·«t Pct, Ó²l w'#l %o” sociu„b tg ŠatiguI or pa%n. ³ÍŽpe ek• Äows noB wEssÑsi °hV eiÛ˜ûoÖdin­ry ¿egeneNQŒiv| kbi=iÞeŸ of a œerÕŒ©t w;th ñ¸Ddïö CÄnt¯@;at¡#n oÅ ¤/me‚gIýÍ, she is simiIórly ]ëlè tÈ aäseond c‘o· ܡڐn—TrEós w²z] a Kt¾â¢( of tXôt(cz for TTa_Äàv [uª KatclMs R!% egc±9òng in¶Ý }C€ sja¼owWC

[Citizen of Death's Grey Land]: A

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Noble Phantasm:

[The Song of Revolution]
[Never-ending Armament Orchestra]

E~B++
Anti-Unit Class

Description:

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Fate/Secondary Genesis

October 29th, 1994
Cavern of the Grail, Fuyuki, Japan
The End of One Story

Even there the fire raged. The inferno come to cleanse their wretched acts could be felt far under the Earth, the warmth radiating from the heart of the city felt as if the cool cave air was that of a warm summer day. The distant hammering of exploding transformer boxes was like thunder in the Autumn night. The retreating wail of the prefectural firefighters' sirens the only mourning this sorry scene would receive. His heavy steps thudded over the faraway sounds of calamity, the chittering of retreating insects heralding every pained stride. Beneath it's baleful glare the weight of the curse became impossible.

Under the looming pillar of the Greater Grail, a shriveled cadaver was laid out in blood and broken chitin. The robed elder croaked, stirring. It would take more than a few bulletholes to destroy that colony. The magus killer boiled out his blood, pores exploding, limbs sagging with the sheer agony of existence as his trembling hands worked at one last task.

WINCHESTER, 30-06 SPRG, the brass rim winking up at him read. Swollen fingers clutched the casing, staining it crimson as it was haphazardly flung free of the smoking barrel. Another, clutched between bruised knuckles, slammed home. It wasn't his fastest time. His wrist crackled as he flicked it out. The Matou elder raised his hand, winged insects leaping to his defense. The Contender snapped into battery. Fire scorched away the dark, a blooming ball of incandescence announcing the last shot of such a horrible war. Creatures shrieked and skittered from radiance. Matou burst, the terminal effect of the rifle round tearing apart the illusion of a body. Even as he hung in halves on the ground he cackled, paralyzed for a few more seconds. The constituent worms recoiled from the impact, the swarm invulnerable to the 'Severing' that would have befallen a whole being.

The splash of inhuman blood was enough to reawaken the lungs of the even smaller creature huddled behind him. Barely half the size of the already shrunken Matou, a pallid, sullen face stared up at the shooter. Unnerving, unnaturally purple hair wreathed their tired expression. A bloodstained doll was clutched unconsciously in their fist, the shape of a rabbit contorted by their panicked squeeze. Glyphs ringed the two of them, magical symbols carved into the rock and painted over in fresh blood. Shards of something once golden, blackened beyond repair, laid around her.

"Never again."

A hero stood on the deck of a boat. No blood surrounded him. No turmoil lingered in the air. Only the pleasant smell of sea breeze greeted his scathed senses. Only the invigorating tinge of the ocean air welcomed his frayed skin. They were cheering. Hundreds of faces, blurred by unfamiliarity. They waved their arms and shouted from the deck of a boat sailing away. His ocean paradise bubbled. The keel bellow him groaned as it slowly split itself. He turned his back on the world of light, silencing those saved voices, facing the beast. Curses flowed around his feet, the roiling blackness of Evil gushing from the depths of the vessel as the coming flood forced it out. They clawed at his legs, and he fell down with them. Fluid-like hands dragged him towards the core. Her face split from the dark, sneering at him in victory. He held up his hand, thumbing away the safety on the detonator.

"Just be a good sport and take it."

Red eyes winked open around the cavern, the digital confirmations of enough bricks to blow down the haunted house around him. Faerielight drifted from his dissolving body, the effects of Avalon fading away, the compact complete. His thumb came down, one click drawing a thousand angry roars from the cavern walls. Light shone in on them, pressure evaporating the magical machine, splitting the mountain above and throwing the remains of Heaven's Feel to the depths below.

June 11th 2021
Somewhere in Boston
Absent Foundation

The greenish light of the crypt played through the eerie fog veiling the room. Sounds like footsteps, or the soft clatter of shifting bones, played ominously within the bounded field. The scent of mana was so powerful as to be physical, a pressure that hung over all who dared to enter the chamber of the Grail. A chalice sat the floor in the center of the cramped hall, resting atop scattered bones and mounds of dust. Carefully selected scrawling surrounded it, profane markings of Magecraft etched into the remains of so many lives.

It was ready. The Cup of Heaven was reborn at his fingertips. Free of the machinations of lesser men, removed from their deluded expectations. No ill fated plotting, no psychopathic desire for Akasha in its design. He would do it. He would make their two worlds Whole again. How fitting, that the world of man and myth would require a magical machine to rejoin. He could only throw his head back and laugh, a shrill cry of delight for the eve of his rebirth. Not just his. The world. Oh, if only there were a single one of them smart enough to thank him. How those stuffy magicians would throw themselves at his feet, bless the soil he trod upon for saving the crumbling castle of Magecraft.

"Magick! It's Magick, damnit!"

A small fist crashed into the dust, the voice and body responsible for it all wheezing over the sudden rush of particulate. They coughed on the ashes of the dead for a few moments before their composure came back to them, and for the last time they raised a hand up to the swimming silhouette of a chalice before them.

"The pieces are gathered! By my will, awaken! Awaken, Holy Grail! Awaken and recognize your founder, your Ruler!"

The will screamed and the world answered. As it was, as it shall always be. The air shook as in one flash of light the constituents fused. Shards raked across the ground, drawn to the center of the room and flung along the lines of the myriad magical circles drawn out there. The birth of the Cup of Heaven was over in a second. Illuminated motes of floating dust fell to the ground, the shivering of the world stopped, and the faint hum of power that defined its presence fell silent. The room met with darkness. He stared intently at the ghost of his right hand, knowing that even if he could not see its shape in the dark he would soon see them. The answers to his work, the glowing crimson marks of a Master, his right as Master of the Grail manifested...

But there was no answer that day.

"Medicine man... What treachery is this?" In pitch dark he rounded, directing his voice at the man propped against the wall at the far end of the room. Amber colored eyes flashed up from staring into the glow of his cigarette. A smug smile broke out over his light tan, and the medicine man stood up to brush off his vest.

"No clue, but it looks like you've got your money's worth. I'll be taking my pay... and my leave, if'n you don't mind." He crossed an arm behind his back, affecting a bow before taking a cautious step aside before another backwards, towards the door.

"You aren't going anywhere. How can the Grail activate without choosing me? Preposterous, I built the damn thing. You've done me for a fool, fellow, and I won't be having it." The blood in the medicine man's veins chilled. The whole room began to cool, icicles falling from within the fog as moisture began to sap away.

"You sure about this little guy?"

"Deadly."

"Draw."

June 29th, 2021
Boston Park Plaza
Discordant Starting Bell

The Seals had appeared weeks ago. There was very little official oversight to the war, few reports of Masters-candidates actually summoning Servants. Of course the successful options were keeping things hush-hush. The Grail War had always been looked upon diminutively. The savage sacrifice ritual of the far east had been downgraded to completely off the books at that point, with only lukewarm moves by both the Church and the Association following the bizarre letters they'd been distributed.

But it was all real.

There was no telling how many Masters had come to Boston or how long they had been there. Maybe they'd have the full deck ready. Maybe they wouldn't be in town for months. It didn't matter because the Grail War would start in earnest that very day, ready or not.

It was still morning. The sun was surely rising over Boston Harbor, casting the waterfront in golden light. They found themselves seated in a brighter place, between white curtains, below the golden trimming of the hotel's lobby. TVs hung over the bar counters showed pretty faces reading out the morning news.

Police were still warning tourists to move in groups following a string of killings in the North End. Sound enough advice for prospective warriors too. It was set up to be a slow Saturday morning for the real world.

For them, it was the end of peace.

"Let's go, Assassin."

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Absolutely the case. There's one Master CS that's yet to come in but once that's done we can get them and Liz onto the character booklet, gain our IC intro, and get rolling. That IC intro will be coming in soon.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

A voice just as unfamiliar as her own radiated out of the strange... Cockney? Child as Irene pulled her to her feet. Strangely enough, she kind of felt like she understood the stream of profanities coming out of the little girl's mouth.

"Well, You seem alright." Already, intuitively, her brain searched for the telltale scent of blood and illness. Just because those were gone she felt confidence assessing their health, but rationality said otherwise. The way they were arranged, this particular creature's adorable plight in pulling their head from the Earth. They'd fallen. She remembered that much. Given the circumstances maybe it was more of a metaphorical fall, since they were dead and all. No, she'd been literally imprinted in the dirt. As the girl turned and made the same pass over her surroundings that all of them had underwent, Irene quietly flicked some of the dirt from the girl's silly hat. Before she could tell her anything a sinister cackle rattled over the Glade. It was unpleasantly loud. The dogged man's face she had shriveled with discomfort, eyes flickering aside at the crimson fountain of mirth in their midst. There was something hauntingly familiar about that laugh, something that sent had been able to send her danger sense buzzing even back in the real world. With a deep breath, she swiveled back to the armed-one.

"You're not the only one feeling a bit different, then- Woah," She took a step back as what looked like a few tonnes of metal arm spun through the air, following the motions of their owner. Irene watched, enraptured as the enormous, bulky limbs perfectly mimed the dexterous expressions of the child. Were they in science fiction, too? Some kind of special hell for Ivory Tower critics like herself where everything was based on pulp fiction and schlocky movies? Didn't sound too bad. Liberating, even. Better than that laughter, for sure. She continued to step backwards, cloak flapping around her ankles as she put some distance between herself and the girl playing with her deadly alien robot limbs.

There was no rest, no reprieve to sit back and digest all of this new information. If it wasn't a swarm of brightly colored butterflies it was the roar of something distant and rather like... Fucking dinosaurs holy shit. There were even birds scattering off into the air, squawking their alarm and giving the audience a convenient means of determining scale at a distance. At least, they would have, if it were then possible to see the creature that had made the noise. Her attention was piqued, that was a noise that made the hairs of her neck stand on end. Almost as unsettling, hearing her own name. She turned her grizzled face towards the knight, astonished. Her fingers crept up to her chin, feeling the coarse texture of her skin through its resistance on her glove once more. She'd heard him utter a name for himself earlier. Albrecht Dietrich. A student of 14-A. Right, the Goddess had said spoken to them as a group. With what little she heard, what little remained with her memory, the pieces suddenly began to click together. The child doing their best Jack Nicholson popped a butterfly into their mouth. Oh it's Phann. The realization sparked into a sudden optimism. What had made her so recognizable?

"Wait, what do I look like to..." Irene quieted. Albrecht had turned away, and was armoring up. Good point. Smirking to herself, she patted her sides, stopping as she couldn't find so much as a belt pack. The hulking hobo performed a nervous titter, frisking themselves like a someone who'd suddenly found themselves locked out of house and home without a key. Nothing. Still hoping to find so much as a pocket knife or thumbtack if they were swashbuckling through the countryside with sword and shield and clown costume and eyeliner, she jogged to catch up. It was easy to fall into pace behind the one person who looked like they had a plan, occasionally turning around on bouncing steps to make sure the others were trailing too. This was Step 2 in motion, she just hadn't expected to be leaving with everyone present at the pillars. The more the merrier.

"Where is here? What made that noise?" Everything was a question, and she hurled them thoughtlessly at the one who seemed to know something. Their predicament suddenly had the air of a crisis, but unlike on the bus there was no glinting blade in her face to tell her why. She didn't notice the shift in her posture as they walked, that imposing new body of hers hanging its arms at her side as they marched, fingers splayed wide, instinctively ready to claw at the world.