Snowdrops
Izurich
Bombardier
ChronoBovino
Berserker
Interacting with: @Turboshitter Albert Prelati
“Mmm. Indeed,” Berserker nodded slowly and sagely, not wishing to disturb the smooth outpouring of alcohol into her once-more empty cup, “Saw the boy and his long car on the way out” She took a swig. “Quite ostentatious, that one. I will commend his… confidence, let’s say.” She chuckled grimly and dripping with irony. “I pray for the safety of all God’s children, but that little man won’t survive the War with that an attitude like that.”
With startling celerity, she poured herself one and took it in a single gulp. She set the glass down hard, but gently enough not to shatter it. At this rate, the volume of the champagne bottle was quickly becoming dangerously low, mostly the fault of the Frankish heroine’s robust constitution. Steepling her fingers over the glass, she listened intently to her Master’s analyses.
The first observation was about what appeared to be a woman of great moral impurity. The options her Master had offered were not at all mutually exclusive, and it takes a certain kind of magus to attach such a heavy scent of blood to themselves - the kind of magus that strays dangerously close to devilry, idolatry, and other great heresies. “Hm. Well if she does turn out to be a Dead Apostle…” She made a slight gesture with her index finger. It needn’t be said what gesture it was. After all, the threat of vampirism had once, in a time after her time, resulted in the camaraderie of both Saracen and Christian alike. Or so the knowledge of the Grail had informed her.
Berserker shrugged at the suggestion of a dangerous Rider, however. “Bah, Rider isn’t a class I’m that incompatible with, I’m sure.” She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “Wings are only good for flight, a horse can be cut in twain, and a monster is nothing against a sword of God.” She filled herself another glass, and her Master’s as well. ”Were you aware that I’ve slayed dragons with sticks?” She leaned back in her seat, brimming with indignant confidence. “A beast - monstrous, phantasmal or divine - is just another enemy. A particularly fast one, granted, but just another enemy. And another enemy is just another thing to be felled by my blade.”
She then reflected on the second Master. A wielder of firearms - the Grail had granted information on modern anti-personnel weaponry, so there was no need to explain - and a man her Master had found abhorrent on principle. “Nonono, not hypocritical at all,” she interjected, “I understand perfectly.” It was like faith. Everyone had faith in something, even if they wouldn’t admit it. And since that was true, everyone had something they couldn’t tolerate. So by her understanding, this James character was like a Godless barbarian, but of magery. Very unscrupulous indeed, if even magi could not tolerate his like.
“Speaking of opening a wine bottle with a sword.” She reached into the wine cooler and withdrew a bottle, which she set on the table. It was the pinot noir; a fortunate thing for Albert, considering what her intention was. She eyed the AZOTH dagger. “May I?” She stared at her Master, waiting for his answer, before he started speaking of other Masters: ones with proxies and ones with no discernible qualities of note. She ignored that mostly, in favour of having her hand hover in an awkward mid-position of grabbing and not grabbing the AZOTH.
The conversation then turned back to Togami, a person whom Berserker had already expressed her disdain for. Instead of listening, she took the opportunity to pinch the hilt of the blade and drag it into her grasp. “What’s ‘googling’? Also I'll just...” she asked, taking hold of the bottle with one hand, and the blade with the other. She angled the bottle like she’d seen her Master do earlier. “It sounds kind of like... Well, I don’t believe you’d like to stand over his body in that manner.” Her blade hand hovered to the left as she mentally lined up an angle. In her perception, she heard her Master begin to take on a worrying tone to his voice. In one movement, in one moment, Berserker brought the blade to the bottle and-
It exploded against even the restrained level of B Rank STR she’d focused, sending the upper half flying everywhere, with the cork sailing out the window, which had a new hole in it. The sanguine drink dribbled down the remaining lower half, which Berserker brought to her mouth as a makeshift glass. Wasting wine was no good. “Apologies, Master.” Her mouth was a hard line, and there was wine spatter across her shirt. Fortunately, it somewhat blended in with the dark color. The hotel carpet and table were a mess, however. “This one wasn’t that good anyway...” she muttered.
Berserker set down the broken bottle remnant, sliding it away as if to absolve herself of guilt. She stared down the Franco-Italian, and repeated slowly: “‘What did I mean by that?’” She took a breath. “You are familiar with my legend, yes? Then you should be able to realize what I think of duplicitous action.”
She watched the red wine run down the woodwork.
“...‘Cloaks and daggers’, the man at the Church had called it,” Berserker continued, “I am the greatest paladin. It will take more than that to slay me. Yes… Our enemies, enemies like that, would be right to fear me.” She grinned, eyes looking dreamily into the distance, before closing shut, preceding a deep breath she’d taken as a silent prayer of sorts.
“...I was once a military commander, and this is still a war, no matter how small,” she admitted. The ideal of the preudomme was clear in what it seeked and what it required; honor was simply the result of the code, rather than the means. “But I am also a paladin: I will adhere to any challenge for single combat, I will not fight an ally without dissolving the alliance, and I will not cling to the shadows,” she stated adamantly.
“We will announce our presence on the battlefield, whether that be by word or by deed.” Berserker grinned viciously, looking more like a conqueror than a knight. Then she relaxed reached down.
“Now then.” She set the vintage Bordeaux on the table, in the middle of all the spilt pinot, and held the AZOTH up like a butcher. “Let’s try that again!”
Interacting with: @Turboshitter Albert Prelati
“Mmm. Indeed,” Berserker nodded slowly and sagely, not wishing to disturb the smooth outpouring of alcohol into her once-more empty cup, “Saw the boy and his long car on the way out” She took a swig. “Quite ostentatious, that one. I will commend his… confidence, let’s say.” She chuckled grimly and dripping with irony. “I pray for the safety of all God’s children, but that little man won’t survive the War with that an attitude like that.”
With startling celerity, she poured herself one and took it in a single gulp. She set the glass down hard, but gently enough not to shatter it. At this rate, the volume of the champagne bottle was quickly becoming dangerously low, mostly the fault of the Frankish heroine’s robust constitution. Steepling her fingers over the glass, she listened intently to her Master’s analyses.
The first observation was about what appeared to be a woman of great moral impurity. The options her Master had offered were not at all mutually exclusive, and it takes a certain kind of magus to attach such a heavy scent of blood to themselves - the kind of magus that strays dangerously close to devilry, idolatry, and other great heresies. “Hm. Well if she does turn out to be a Dead Apostle…” She made a slight gesture with her index finger. It needn’t be said what gesture it was. After all, the threat of vampirism had once, in a time after her time, resulted in the camaraderie of both Saracen and Christian alike. Or so the knowledge of the Grail had informed her.
Berserker shrugged at the suggestion of a dangerous Rider, however. “Bah, Rider isn’t a class I’m that incompatible with, I’m sure.” She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “Wings are only good for flight, a horse can be cut in twain, and a monster is nothing against a sword of God.” She filled herself another glass, and her Master’s as well. ”Were you aware that I’ve slayed dragons with sticks?” She leaned back in her seat, brimming with indignant confidence. “A beast - monstrous, phantasmal or divine - is just another enemy. A particularly fast one, granted, but just another enemy. And another enemy is just another thing to be felled by my blade.”
She then reflected on the second Master. A wielder of firearms - the Grail had granted information on modern anti-personnel weaponry, so there was no need to explain - and a man her Master had found abhorrent on principle. “Nonono, not hypocritical at all,” she interjected, “I understand perfectly.” It was like faith. Everyone had faith in something, even if they wouldn’t admit it. And since that was true, everyone had something they couldn’t tolerate. So by her understanding, this James character was like a Godless barbarian, but of magery. Very unscrupulous indeed, if even magi could not tolerate his like.
“Speaking of opening a wine bottle with a sword.” She reached into the wine cooler and withdrew a bottle, which she set on the table. It was the pinot noir; a fortunate thing for Albert, considering what her intention was. She eyed the AZOTH dagger. “May I?” She stared at her Master, waiting for his answer, before he started speaking of other Masters: ones with proxies and ones with no discernible qualities of note. She ignored that mostly, in favour of having her hand hover in an awkward mid-position of grabbing and not grabbing the AZOTH.
The conversation then turned back to Togami, a person whom Berserker had already expressed her disdain for. Instead of listening, she took the opportunity to pinch the hilt of the blade and drag it into her grasp. “What’s ‘googling’? Also I'll just...” she asked, taking hold of the bottle with one hand, and the blade with the other. She angled the bottle like she’d seen her Master do earlier. “It sounds kind of like... Well, I don’t believe you’d like to stand over his body in that manner.” Her blade hand hovered to the left as she mentally lined up an angle. In her perception, she heard her Master begin to take on a worrying tone to his voice. In one movement, in one moment, Berserker brought the blade to the bottle and-
CRASH!
It exploded against even the restrained level of B Rank STR she’d focused, sending the upper half flying everywhere, with the cork sailing out the window, which had a new hole in it. The sanguine drink dribbled down the remaining lower half, which Berserker brought to her mouth as a makeshift glass. Wasting wine was no good. “Apologies, Master.” Her mouth was a hard line, and there was wine spatter across her shirt. Fortunately, it somewhat blended in with the dark color. The hotel carpet and table were a mess, however. “This one wasn’t that good anyway...” she muttered.
Berserker set down the broken bottle remnant, sliding it away as if to absolve herself of guilt. She stared down the Franco-Italian, and repeated slowly: “‘What did I mean by that?’” She took a breath. “You are familiar with my legend, yes? Then you should be able to realize what I think of duplicitous action.”
She watched the red wine run down the woodwork.
“...‘Cloaks and daggers’, the man at the Church had called it,” Berserker continued, “I am the greatest paladin. It will take more than that to slay me. Yes… Our enemies, enemies like that, would be right to fear me.” She grinned, eyes looking dreamily into the distance, before closing shut, preceding a deep breath she’d taken as a silent prayer of sorts.
“...I was once a military commander, and this is still a war, no matter how small,” she admitted. The ideal of the preudomme was clear in what it seeked and what it required; honor was simply the result of the code, rather than the means. “But I am also a paladin: I will adhere to any challenge for single combat, I will not fight an ally without dissolving the alliance, and I will not cling to the shadows,” she stated adamantly.
“We will announce our presence on the battlefield, whether that be by word or by deed.” Berserker grinned viciously, looking more like a conqueror than a knight. Then she relaxed reached down.
“Now then.” She set the vintage Bordeaux on the table, in the middle of all the spilt pinot, and held the AZOTH up like a butcher. “Let’s try that again!”