Sʜɪʀᴏʏᴀsʜᴀ

"I’m pretty sure my mother told me not to talk to strangers either."

"Well, you obviously don't listen to your mother much, since you spoke to me first, and didn't bother to introduce yourself, huh? I'm positively hurt, you're talking almost as if you're not one of 'these weirdos'."

the boy was lying down on the side of a small hill, waiting for night time to head back to where his master was staying.  but a shadow threatened to destroy even this.

The voice that drifted up from below caused him to look down at the speaker, a servant from the feel of it, and he continued picking at his nose for a second before bothering to respond.

"Oi, oi, that's not exactly a bad thing is it? Unless you think that somebody's going to come by and off you while you do."

3…2…1.

Mahiro stepped back to avoid bumping into a roughly human sized cluster of magical energy. He hadn’t been paying attention since he figured that either way he’d encounter something of this nature sooner or later.

Still, he found the situation less than pleasant, which also meant that he was likely to slip into his most abrasive and dislikable state. And met with a rather abrupt 'greeting', he did just that, voice disapproving in the most mockingly casual way ever. This meeting was already off to a great start.

On the patio of a small cafe, a young man sat at a corner table alone. He looked uneasy but also a little enchanted with his surroundings; he had never seen a city so big in his life. Hyrule Castle Town didn’t even come close. The people all looked different, the language (which he was thankfully granted use of by the Grail) was different, and the cafe staff had given him a very strange look when he ordered a glass of milk. It didn’t seem that humans knew about milk bars, which Link thought was a shame. The glass he received was a little colder than he was used to and average in taste, but he thanked the waiter anyway with a smile. He had stashed away his sword for the time being in his bag, but he still felt as though he stuck out a lot due to his clothes. They probably just think I’m a weird foreigner, though.

The Holy Grail. A magical artifact that grants wishes. It sounded a lot like the Triforce, and Link imagined that it was just another version of the Triforce, probably left there as a manifestation of the power of this world’s gods. However, that made him feel uneasy. The Triforce was like a mirror; only the intentions of the user could be reflected in the wish. There would be trouble if somebody like Ganondorf acquired the Grail. If I want to stop that from happening, he thought, first I have to find a master. While it felt good to be in a corporeal body he could feel it draining on energy. He needed to find a link to this world if he wanted to stay and fight within it. Sipping his milk, he smiled to himself. Well, these things do have a way of working out.

Nonetheless, there was no point in fretting about what was not yet here; quite frankly it would be too troublesome. So he said, even as he quietly noted locations as he explored the city. Gintoki was a lazy man, but he was by no means foolish, nor would he throw the towel for a fight he had no choice but to take part in.

There was something interesting that he would encounter on this occasion though. From the intensity of the aura surrounding him, he was definitely a servant. Sitting in a cafe with a cup of milk. An order that was anything but common, but what did Gintoki know about normal orders, what with his azuki bean rice bowl amongst other things? On a whim, he walked toward the corner table, taking a seat without so much as a look to check if he was welcome.

Only after signaling for the waiter and placing an order for a glass of strawberry milk did he see fit to meet the blond's eye, although his face remained dull and expressionless.

"Good, good. Glad to see someone else who appreciates a good dose of calcium oi? It'll serve us well in less peaceful times."

Such a casual manner of speech was something, unfortunately, he was going to have to become accustomed to; this time simply wasn’t as respectful as he’d like.

Not that it made the stranger’s actions any more excusable; it was one thing to have a habit, but to continue to act in that manner in front of another? Turning away - if such insolence was to occur, at least he could avoid looking at it - his gaze would roam over the city. If information wasn’t so valuable, this entire incident would be ignorable, but it was far too desirable to let an encounter with another servant slip.

Pulling his pinky out of his nose, he flicked his booger off his finger casually, completely uncaring of what the stranger thought of it, or of him.

Particularly not one who almost, at first glance, passed for someone of his era. Were it not for the casual way the yukata was worn, and the disgusting habit the other seemed to have, he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if it had been a familiar face. No doubt that the silver-haired man was a servant as well; why else would he be wasting a perfectly good vantage point? 

A servant.

Sitting up, he looked the newcomer in the eye, pinky still obstinately stuck up his nose.

    She wasn’t about to tell him that his melancholic look had given her almost the same exact impression.

    “Duty.”  His question is an easy one, and she answers it with fluidity. There is no hesitation where there perhaps ought to have been, and no wavering on a subject which could very well cost her her life. Countless others before her had given their lives for a similar purpose, she reminds herself, so why not her?

     But it’s not just the duty she has to uphold the Yukimura Clan that she speaks of.  Behind her participation is also the duty of an older sister — that to ensure that her younger brother is well-off and looked after. His comment, however, has caused another question to buzz in her mind.

Her response, while not quite expected, reminds Gintoki of some of the comrades he fought alongside. While he wasn't about to question her resolve to fight with duty as her motivation, he knows as well that speaking of duty and having to slide a sword out of a man's dead body are two entirely different things. It's a path he'd rather not others follow, and its a thought that spurs him on for this war.

Chosen. And while he's here, whatever his preference, he'll do what he can to stand straight and protect his soul.

The subject change catches him off guard, but his chuckle is amiable. "Oi, oi, of course dying hurts. Hurts like a bitch, the whole life ebbing away from you thing. Of course, it depends on how you go, because there are some painless ways, but most of them hurt like hell."

As an afterthought surrounding his own death, he adds, "It's not too bad if you can accept it though, if you don't have any regrets. Can be pretty peaceful."

     In the past, the word had held a very different meaning for Chizuru: she had been adorned with servants all her life, from wet-nurses to governesses to maids.  In fact, being here in Rome all alone is more world-shattering from the lack of her own personal maid, Ayame.  She’s competent enough to do the day-to-day chores of maintaining the small flat in Trastevere that’s she’s rented for the duration of the War, but it’s the company she misses most.

      And now, in this place, she has the chance to find a new Servant: not one who would wake her with tea and breakfast, but one who would risk its life for both her and its own wish.  She isn’t quite sure how she feels, ordering a familiar with so much more power than she herself can handle to not only fight but potentially die, but it’s too late to turn back now.  The Yukimura Clan’s honor is at stake here, and Chizuru will not be the one to let it fall by the wayside.

"Answered the call, eh?" He scoffs, treats it as something laughable, for to him it really is. To treat it like he had a say in things. Like he wanted to partake of this war. As if he didn't have enough of war for a lifetime. "Unhappy? Perhaps. They used to say I just had eyes like a dead fish though." There's a scathing quality to the dry humor with which he speaks, although its directed less at the girl, and more at the circumstances which have landed him here.

Crimson eyes turn away from the sky to glance upon the girl's petite form. Someone far too young to partake of this war. Perhaps she wasn't the only one at that.