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Berserker of Red
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There was already somebody on the roof, it seemed.

Rockwell paused just in the doorway for a moment, considering. The other spirit was off at the edge of the roof, looking out over the city - much like he had planned to, for that matter. That earned the man a point in Rockwell's book; you could never be too careful. Yes, his master had told him that nothing was likely to happen before nightfall on account of the need for secrecy, but there were a dozen ways to kill someone inside a building without breaking cover. An arrow, a bullet, hell, a bomb. After all, who would think to blame a bombing on wizards?

Rockwell stepped out onto the roof and walked up to the parapet, a few feet off to Cao Cao's left, tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks and looked out over the city with a low grunt of acknowledgement - giving the other Servant some room. To anyone watching, there might have been an interesting comparison drawn between the two. A pair of men in suits, both bearded, both long-haired. One tall and massively-built in slightly-faded brown, his beard spilling down over his chest almost to the waist, hair raked back and tied efficiently into a long, wild tail, face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat; the other cleaner-cut in a neat black three-piece.

After a long moment, Rockwell spoke.

"I don't like sittin' here," he said slowly, as if to the city below him. "Feels like I'm about to get shot." The mountaineer's eyes moved across the horizon, hunting for the mansion on the other side of town. "But then if these loons are trying to re-do the war, I suppose snipin' us out the first night wouldn't accomplish much, right?"

@Psyker Landshark
Late afternoon - the bright sun, the constant low roar of people and vehicles in the streets. The hotel's front door stood wide open, letting the cool fall air circulate freely through the lobby. Even with this much town between himself and the coast, Rockwell thought he seemed to smell a hint of ocean air. . . Oh, probably not. He was fooling himself, doubtless.

He'd snagged a small table and chair from the cafe next door and set them beside the entrance, the better to keep an eye on everyone going in and out while he smoked. His summoner was back in the hotel, hidden away in a room upstairs - which seemed a touch over-cautious when the fighting hadn't even really started yet, but Rockwell wasn't minded to criticize. It just meant he might have a freer hand.

He tipped his head back and blew a thick stream of smoke up to waft away into the clear blue sky, the weight of his tied-back hair swaying against the backrest. He'd get back up to the roof after this cigarette. As far as he knew it wasn't likely that anything would kick off until nightfall, but, well. A man could hope.





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