Berserker
Interacting with: @Turboshitter
“Hah? No, the Grail granted me nothing of the sort, however inconvenient that truth may be,” Berserker huffed. She formed a particularly unamused expression to convey her indignance at being unaware of something that she was apparently expected to be knowledgeable on. Wounded her pride, it did. “...Anyway. Call me what you will,” she shrugged, followed by a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’m more interested in what could be so troublesome that we should be unable to do something so simple.” She stepped into the threshold of the room once more, interest piqued enough to stop her course.
She made her way back over to her Master, ensuring that she didn’t crush his honeycomb construct any further by gingerly skirting around the obstruction. Then, she fell back into the linen upholstery of the hotel armchair, threw her armored arms over their rests, and crossed her legs atop the matching ottoman. Her armor evaporated into little motes of prana, leaving only the wine-red coat beneath. “So what is it then?” she asked offhandedly, “I’m curious to hear what peculiar happening your spy is detecting.” Surely it would be something dire, but no doubt it was not anything outside of her ability to deal with.
Of course, Berserker was sorely disappointed when she heard his explanation. The dark-haired Frenchwoman inhaled sharply, mouth settling into a hard line. Leaning her head forward, she brought her hands together with a simple shift of her forearms, steepling them in front of her face as if to cover her mouth and prevent any foul utterances. Then she leaned back and directed the tips of her fingers towards Albert with a slow turn of her wrists. "Master,” she said with animated stoicism, “Do you not hear yourself? There is a gathering of Servants and Masters taking place, and you would choose camp out in the shadows?”
Berserker lifted a leg and kicked the ottoman forward, sending it into the opposite wall. At the same time, she slammed her hands on the armrests and forced herself to her feet, armor remanifesting around her. “Save the formalities for the road, Master,” Berserker grinned excitedly, a glint in her eyes that was quite befitting her class. She pointed to the door. “For we march! Let us meet these heroes wholeheartedly!”
The hero known as Roland began storming out of the room.
Interacting with: @Turboshitter
“Hah? No, the Grail granted me nothing of the sort, however inconvenient that truth may be,” Berserker huffed. She formed a particularly unamused expression to convey her indignance at being unaware of something that she was apparently expected to be knowledgeable on. Wounded her pride, it did. “...Anyway. Call me what you will,” she shrugged, followed by a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’m more interested in what could be so troublesome that we should be unable to do something so simple.” She stepped into the threshold of the room once more, interest piqued enough to stop her course.
She made her way back over to her Master, ensuring that she didn’t crush his honeycomb construct any further by gingerly skirting around the obstruction. Then, she fell back into the linen upholstery of the hotel armchair, threw her armored arms over their rests, and crossed her legs atop the matching ottoman. Her armor evaporated into little motes of prana, leaving only the wine-red coat beneath. “So what is it then?” she asked offhandedly, “I’m curious to hear what peculiar happening your spy is detecting.” Surely it would be something dire, but no doubt it was not anything outside of her ability to deal with.
Of course, Berserker was sorely disappointed when she heard his explanation. The dark-haired Frenchwoman inhaled sharply, mouth settling into a hard line. Leaning her head forward, she brought her hands together with a simple shift of her forearms, steepling them in front of her face as if to cover her mouth and prevent any foul utterances. Then she leaned back and directed the tips of her fingers towards Albert with a slow turn of her wrists. "Master,” she said with animated stoicism, “Do you not hear yourself? There is a gathering of Servants and Masters taking place, and you would choose camp out in the shadows?”
Berserker lifted a leg and kicked the ottoman forward, sending it into the opposite wall. At the same time, she slammed her hands on the armrests and forced herself to her feet, armor remanifesting around her. “Save the formalities for the road, Master,” Berserker grinned excitedly, a glint in her eyes that was quite befitting her class. She pointed to the door. “For we march! Let us meet these heroes wholeheartedly!”
The hero known as Roland began storming out of the room.