knight of the lance.

At least he plays like a good boy.  But just how much of that infuriatingly pure air about him is true?  Rider licks her lips expectantly: oh, this is one puzzle she would just love to unravel. How many licks does it take to get to a knight’s center? She scoffs.  ”Judging by your disposition, it’s safe to say that you’re from one of the three knight classes.”  The smell of it still makes her nauseous. As a beast, she has a particularly keen sense of finding those who may try to kill her simply because of what she is.  Heroes, they have been called throughout the ages; humans who rise up against creatures of myth and legend and slay them on a king’s bidding or for a woman’s love.  Rider is the only one to see them for what they truly are: glorified barbarians, dispatched to rid the world of any being that humanity might not agree with.  She and her sisters had tried to be peaceful - tried, being the keyword.  But there’s only so long that you can be locked up inside a sunless temple on an unknown island without losing your head. In Rider’s case, however, that had also happened a bit more literally. He proves to be amusing, though, enough to get a chuckle out of her.  ”Oh?  Bossed around many ladies in your time?”  Another laugh, this one covered by the delicate arch made by her wrist when her hand is bent.  Before she can continue, however, she disappears in a flash of black — — Only to reappear standing delicately on the couch behind him.  Though, it’s not so much her usual feat of acrobatics: the aged furniture piece is hard enough to almost be mistaken for the floor.  Still, she places her hands on his shoulders, and leans in, with her chest pressed lightly against his back.  Everything Rider does is a symphony of sensuality, regardless of the audience.

     It does bother him that he has no idea who she is or what kind of servant she is though, but with her movement alone he could tell that she's got quite the agility stat on her -- a Rider, perhaps? It's a possibility that he wouldn't rule out, but wouldn't firmly conclude on either.

     The next thing he knows she's pressed up against his back and he tenses up even more. He's used to women wanting to get so close to him due to his curse, but it didn't make him any more comfortable especially when the malevolent intent is practically suffocating him from where he stood.

     He isn't even sure if the war is still technically going on considering they weren't even in the right city with no means to get back, but if he needs to defend himself from this particular servant then so be it. He wouldn't have any qualms raising a weapon to her if he needs to. Woman or not so long as they are his opponent he's trained to cut them down if they're in his way.

     It's only natural that they would feel some sort of hostility towards each other, they were servants in a war after all -- that sort of feeling is ingrained into them the moment they've been summoned. Kill or be killed. To fight for their summoners until a conclusion is reached; whether the master or servant is killed or until the grail has been usurped.

     He pulls away after she utters her taunt, shrugging her hands off his shoulders before immediately turning to face her with narrowed hues. He can't live here, that much is certain, and it's not a problem for him to find another place to stay in until he's back to where he belonged -- back in Fuyuki or perhaps even his resting place.

     Diarmuid is silent despite it all, his hands balled up into tight fists eases their grip in a futile attempt to relax himself. He had to cool himself down before the apartment becomes a battlefield -- there were civilians to be worried about as well. That's one of his biggest concerns. After all, if they were seen fighting by people who aren't involved in the war that is more needless slaughter that he'd rather avoid. No witnesses, no trace. That's how the war works.

Trenchant vocables of utmost familiarity seized the knight king’s assiduity. Jarred from her cognizant reverie she was, when recognition littered across the alabaster countenance of this knight. There was no mistaking that this voice belonged to none other than the knight, whom she remembered, met an untimely demise by the hands of her heedless master…

“… Lancer—”

Hues of verdigris swam with pure unadulterated iniquity. How this man’s life had ended, how her master had forced his hand to do the most despicable of acts… It was simply unforgivable. Before her eyes was the single silhouette of the man she believed deserved better than what he received in this war. It was ill luck that had begotten him during the contention. To be called forth by such an unreceiving master as the Archibalds… her heart ached for this fellow warrior whose heart palpitated with the pride and honour of a true knight. 

She was not sure if he was the same man she had met many years ago. She was uncertain, truly for that moment she felt herself hesitate before approaching another. Saber recalled the last words which he parted with when he diminished into the air to perhaps return to his resting place. Would he still have such thoughts at this time—?

With lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, the xanthous youth stepped forward to perambulate closer to the male. The venue which they’ve currently occupied was but mere ruins, almost reminiscent of the battlefield in which they last fought. They were both lacking in their arsenal, she surmised. Anyone who came to this wretched experimental place were stripped of their prowess. 

“Diarmuid.”

Her voice was clear, strong yet somehow, wavering. 

     When she calls out his name his lips can't help but quick up just slightly to show his amusement. It was a rare deal nowadays, for him to smile like he is right now, but he truly does treasure being in the presence of such a knight.

     Perhaps it was her charisma or her strength -- no, Diarmuid is quite aware of just why he's drawn to her. Her unwavering will and honorable existence, one fit for a King. One he would have loved to pledge his allegiance to if he were presented the opportunity at the very beginning -- not that he regrets being amongst the Fianna despite the fate that befell him in the end.

     Still, he can't deny that there's a sort of relief to see a familiar face, even if it is one of his opponents. Of all the others he could've faced she's actually quite the breath of fresh air.

     "Saber -- no, Arturia."

     Now wasn't the time to be baring his fangs and he knows that, they were both without their Noble Phantasm and he would rather wait until they do before they cross swords once more; he's almost sure that she'd feel the same way, but for some reason her eyes tell tales and it was almost as though she's seen a ghost. Her voice wavered when she spoke but he makes no mention of it.

     Needless to say the Lancer occupied himself day in to day out with wandering the city and gathering information while hopefully keeping himself out of trouble. He had discovered a few things while he was out and about -- one was that his skills as a Heroic Spirit have drastically decreased, and two was that his abilities were sealed save for one. He's almost glad for that, after all, the Mystic Face had been nothing but a curse and a hindrance to him thus far. It's a relief to be able to face a woman and not be worried about ensuing drama later.

     Of course, despite his fatigue he immediately notices a new presence within his vicinity (though he was a little late on the uptake as it felt so close by the time he notices); but make no movement save for tensing up in his spot on the couch, and waiting. Whoever it was seemed to be approaching and the familiar presence of a fellow Heroic Spirit made Diarmuid itch for his weapon.

     Though he supposes that it would be wrong to label the aura as familiar, as he hadn't felt this one in particular before. The malice that laced the presence was enough to make him rise and sit on the couch properly, eyes fixating themselves onto the figure of a woman -- definitely not someone he's met before. A new servant, perhaps? From another war.

Seeing the man put his weapon away, Chane felt the comfort for being able to release her hand from the handle of her dagger. He was not going to attack, therefore, it seem she did not need to defend herself just yet. With any stranger, her guard would never come down. Especially when she had no idea who or what this man could be.

Now to focus on the man’s next question. If she was injured. “…” Chane’s golden hues glance to one side, canting her head lightly before making a decision to answer. Sure she had a few scratches and bruises, but no injury that would make her unable to carry on her day. She shook her head before her eyes look over his head at a far off building, bringing her hand to point out to it. That was where she needed to go. Back to her own room to treat her minor wounds. He didn’t need to know that. Chane was certain of that fact.

     "You said you weren't alright -- it's only natural for me to ask, isn't it? If you aren't my enemy, then there shouldn't be a problem."

     And she did point out a building to him, so his eyes follow her finger and memorized the area before nodding. "That's where you need to go, right?" Or at least, it had some sort of importance to this conversation otherwise she wouldn't have felt the need to point it out to him.

ケルト神話の英雄 by 

One thing was certain was her actions always remained true. No matter what questions were given to here, she would give a truthful answer. There was no need to lie, unless there was some threat against her family, and the secret she had been entrusted to never provide to others that seek it’s power.

With that in mind, Chane shook her head, slowly standing herself up right, her hand not yet leaving the handle of the dagger. Her face giving a confuse, yet sad expression. So many things had crossed her mind, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

She was not alright. She was not alight to have been stopped so suddenly. She was not alright that she had thought this man had wanted to fight her. She was not alright with the disaster that had taken place. She was not alright that she was not home.

     And he raised a weapon against her -- and while he doesn't have much qualms with fighting women (as he's fairly knowledgeable of how frightening and powerful they can be, Saber being a shining example for that) he didn't have a reason to make this particular girl feel threatened. She was merely acting on self-defense, after all.

     "I did not mean to make you feel threatened, and while I'm sure you're able to defend yourself I'd rather avoid unnecessary violence." A gesture to their surroundings. "There's enough of a wreckage to compensate for it, and our fight will only lead to more destruction."

     Finally, he tucks his makeshift weapon away before raising his opened palms. He didn't need to add to her suffering.

     "You're here, aren't you? So are the inhabitants of this city. In fact, the place is filled with humans." As far as he can tell anyway, there were also.. other oddities that he noticed while patrolling. Non-humans, in particular. Humanoids, animals, and other sorts of life and non-life forms as far as he could see.

“Don’t think I’ve accepted all of this quite so easily,” he remarked, gesturing at the grand city in response to the pensive expression. “I am simply biding my time. I plan on returning to my people soon.”

Excellent. I’ve been put in appartment T-1, but I can’t find the way across this rubble, nor do the people seem very happy to give directions.”

There’s no answer at first, and if he turns around he’ll see that she looks as if she was going to cry. However, there’s no tremble in her voice, nor is it any different from before. Perhaps a little more serious, but given the topic—

“I just got here. I don’t know.” “It’d be useless to search though.”

It’s not as if she didn’t want to, but she was the one who caused Salvation, it would be useless to try to atone for it by looking for the wounded. If anyone did survive, that is. It was supposed to wipe out all of humanity after all.

     " -- !?"

     Her question caught him off guard, disregarding any other words she might have said in favor of spinning on his heel to face the woman -- eyeing the stranger carefully to see if he recognized her. Well, she didn't seem to be a Master, at least not that he knew of -- but one can't be too careful. Still, for him not to recognize someone who practiced a form of sorcery or magic that's.. he's getting rather rusty, wasn't he?

It wasn’t so much of a challenge. It certainly was better then fighting lunatics who only had fun in killing others. Though Chane Laforet had no clean slate, but at least, in her mind, the kills had been for a reason. To protect her father. Things were different now that she only had herself to take care of. As she had been lost in thought about her own father, her sense of someone being close by did not come to her, until a large pole stop the woman from her tracks.

Her training played in her mind on what to do. Chane had jump back, crouching down as she was ready to change towards the man who had stopped her. A hand reach behind her back, taking hold of the dagger’s handle, not quite yet pulling it out. Golden eyes met the other’s very similar eyes. Though… the only one who had similar eyes as her was her Father. It must be a strange coincidence.

The man’s question was given, but Chane said nothing, for she was someone, rare in this city, who was unable to speak. A small frown came over her lips at the question as a thought cross her mind. ‘It does not seem this man is quite good at analyzing his surroundings…’. Her eyes wonder first to a pile of rubble, then back up to the sky.

     Diarmuid should probably at least attempt to diffuse the tension though, it wasn't that he really meant to attack anyone -- it'd be senseless violence without rhyme or reason and he wasn't about to start anything if they're stuck in a wasteland like the pile of rubble they were currently transversing. Poor strategy on his part, especially when he isn't quite sure why things were happening the way they were.

     Plus, it wasn't that he had poor observation skills -- he knows full well that this is a disaster. A storm perhaps, the wind damage was apparent but it wasn't on a level where it's natural, which is why he asked to begin with. He also wanted to know if anyone had any insight as to how far the devastation goes.

     Only the one he's faced with is.. rather silent. Perhaps holding her tongue because she's threatened. But normally one would say something at least, right? Like demand why he did what he did, or perhaps answer like any sane person would. A few possibilities run through his mind and he lowers his wooden staff, a show that he wasn't here for a fight.

     Not that he wasn't able to wield it as efficiently or as quick even lowered, but still.