breaker of chains •

Her soul was burning passion, and water was the inevitable dampener to her spirit’s propagation.

"Ahh, do you think so? To be a bridge for your people." Rulers. She’d never entirely understood the allure. She had taken many students in her time, but only at the times she had desired them. She was far too busy ruling herself. "I could not sacrifice myself so."

But the fountain, it’s indication had shifted her focus entirely.

"Well…" She raised her hand slightly, palm facing upwards. Her fingers started to roll, a small lick of flame dancing between them. "Fire would be beautiful, but I would hate to see it caged so." She paused. "But cloud…"

     She does relent to one thing, "A sacrifice it may be, yet it is but a small price to pay to have one's dreams fulfilled." Dany's own dreams had been so grand that they had called to her an army greater than any her world had ever seen, before or since. She'd outdone even her illustrious ancestors, and that was saying something.

      "Fire cannot be tamed." She states plainly. "To have chosen it as your element, however, you yourself must be quite the restless soul." Or, perhaps the more accurate statement would be that the fire had chosen this stranger before her, and not the other way around. Burns have a habit of appearing whether we wish for them or not. "What name would you give me, pray tell?

"Good, at least you’re alright." She let out a sigh of relief, not making too much out of the whole situation. 

"And just so you know, my aim is top notch!" 

     So much like mine own flesh and blood, she muses idly to herself. One of her daughters had been a similarly high-spirited lass, always speaking before thinking. Dany herself has always preferred the company of fiery and honest individuals, not unlike this new acquaintance she's made. Though the terms of their encounter have been less-than-favorable so far, the opportunity presented is doing a fine job as recompense.

     "The frustration of this month surely affects us all." It's not difficult to read that she would have greatly preferred having a contract formed prior to her summoning; but, in this case, haste may mean waste. Since she's been given the opportunity to choose, she will vet every potential candidate with caution.

     Especially since his own personal “customs” were the farm more questionable ones. Like his custom of asking for a name without first introducing himself. Generally speaking, he operated like the Servants in that manner— were he to reveal his true name to someone from whom he wanted information, he would be certain to not receive it. But, in this war, names of Masters were of utmost publicity, especially if they came from a rather lofty house. He did not, but all the same, he would answer her request.

     "You forget, Ser Orihara," she waits for him to finish his statements before commencing her reply, "that most Servants are not summoned at the age at which they perished."

      In truth, Daenerys Targaryen had been on the doorstep of ninety when her spirit had finally come to leave this world. The age at which she has materialized here, however, is just shy of twenty, when she had almost entirely conquered the known world. All Servants are summoned at their prime -- after all, there aren't many out there who would be happy to contract with an eighty year-old woman. But, his first sentiment is not so far off: Dany has seen that in these times, a pregnant fourteen year old is quite looked down upon, and yet that had been her age when she had been with child the first time.

      She cannot complain of this change of pace: had her sun-and-stars not been the man he was, she, too, would have resented such circumstances. But love is a funny thing, and queenship even queerer.

The cowled woman stepped beside the servant without another moment’s hesitation, she traced a finger lightly along the fountain’s edge.

     Daenerys had learned both the hard way: she had tasted unimaginable thirst in the Red Waste, and was kept from the conquest of her homeland of Westeros by the Narrow Sea. Fire is much more her element: she's been reborn in it, and it gave life to her children. Water?

     It seems that she always wants what she cannot have, and the sea has always reminded her of ill memories. "Nor is there a greater feat for a ruler to accomplish than to heed his subjects' every need. The empire that once was here must have been truly great, indeed."

      Before its fall.

     He holds a finger up to correct her. “A Master, to be more clear. We can drop the indefinite article if you choose to make a contract with me, but I don’t think you would be one so hasty to do so. We still have a little less than a month’s time until that need is to be fulfilled.”

     ”In all honesty, I’d be glad to team up with you; as far as I can tell you don’t seem like the sort of Servant I’ve been trying to avoid. Some Heroic Spirits are known for their underhandedness and acting in the shadows; I do that enough on my own. You seem like a forward, honest person.”

      Remember Jorah, she muses, remember how you felt when you learned that he had been accepting money from your enemies.

     Daenerys, however, is not a distrustful queen. If anything, she operates under the banner of trust, but verify. And so far, this stranger has done naught but warrant her full verification.

     His challenge draws out a smirk, and amethyst eyes gleam with a certain amount of danger and flare. "My children would have you burned for such a statement." She means this far more literally than she leads on, too, for both her reptilian and her human offspring. "They have always been quite ... untamable."

     Her head turns now, and the atmosphere in the room changes as though she's drawn her own blade to see his threat. "My wish will only be revealed to the one whom I shall contract with." Her own otherworldly appearance aside, she is doing her best to keep her true identity a secret. "I will, however, have your name. I doubt this shall be our final meeting."

    Yes, she does feel as though he will be a victim of at least one of her Phantasms in the coming war.

Alarmed, Chris called out to the victim.

"Shit! What the hell are you doing?! Are you okay?!"

    The sensation is not a welcome one. Dany's hands run instinctively to the point of impact on the back of her head, massaging the tender skin until it's under the illusion of less pain. It's when she hears another female's voice calling out that Daenerys turns on her heel, giving a stern look to the offender.

      "Yes, I am fine." No pain, no gain, right? Daenerys would take this girl's company as her recompense. "Your malicious aim, however, is something I shall make note of."

     The girl seems too young to be so enveloped in this War, and yet Dany is forced to remind herself that she had been only thirteen when her brother had married her off for an army. In this respect, the modern age seems to be at least somewhat kinder to its children. Nevertheless, if Dany had been given her choice, she would wish for a world where no child would ever have to suffer again.

      Hence the appeal of an omnipotent vessel such as the Grail.

     ”They can only be so accommodating for free, though. Those men dressed as gladiatorial fighters want nothing more than your money, and they charge a rather exorbitant amount. Which is why while I’m not completely reprimanding this gentleman here, I am cautioning him to not be caught and have to pay double for an experience worth less than free.”

     He smiles and pats the older man on the shoulder, shooing him away, and he left gladly with a scowl on his face. Izaya focused more intently on Daenerys now, pulling out a smaller, slimmer camera  that functioned the same as the other, if not better.

      Yet.

     "Then you have counseled him well." She admits, with her interest truly piqued in the final syllables. "Are you always so loose with your advice?"

     Daenerys has been betrayed once before by a man she had trusted with every fiber of her being for the enemy known as gold. She thoroughly doubts that humans have evolved such basic greed in the time that she's been dead, and so she must question this man's motives. Nothing in this world is without a price: she has learned this many times over, and not under the friendliest of circumstances.

     Her inquiry, however, presents itself as more of a passing curiosity than the pointed intrigue which it is. "If Servant is what you call me," she gives pause, "then ought I call you Master?"

     You probably think no one can see you, and for the most part, it’s true. People are generally too busy looking at the gigantic ruin before them to even care about the fact that you’re trying to take a picture of a “gladiator.”

     But not this guy. Concrete and stone will only last for so long. Humans trying to be sly is forever.

     Was it a weapon? If so, then the first man was entirely just to reprimand the second for using it.

     "The Romans truly cannot be so horrible." She chimes, her petite figure almost gliding across the floor. Even to non-mages, the aura which she radiates is positively inhuman. She'd turned eyes before as a human -- but now, as a Servant? She's positively magnetic. "Of what little time I have been here, they have been most accommodating and friendly."

    But who isn't accommodating to a beautiful woman?