662/Autumn Celebration

Autumn Celebration
Date of Scene:	23 September 2014
Location:	Dun Realtai
Synopsis:	Now that Dun Realtai has finished its preparations for the winter, its people throw a celebration for all to attend.
Cast of Characters:	12, Staren, 85, 183, 206, 253, 255, 303, 307, 346, 482, 491, Riva Banari, Inga, 536, 543, 560, 566

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Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Once upon a time, the Village of Dún Reáltaí was known by another name. It was a bustling heart of agriculture and trade, protected by a powerful winter-witch. That all went from frying pan to fire when a local wizard made a grab for power, failed, and fled. It ended badly and required Union intervention, leaving little but ruin.

Now, under the watchful eye and deft management of Sir Bedivere of the Round Table, Dún Reáltaí is still recovering. It still has a long way to go, but its buildings will last the coming storms, and its food stores will hold until planting season. Even the weather's found balance, settling between natural autumn and a more natural winter.

Today, there is promise of a festival. In gratitude for having their lives put back together again, and for his tireless work on their behalf, the villagers have decided to mark the end of their winter preparations with a party. Specifically, it's in honour of the lord whom they've come to follow and trust.

Much to his consternation.

The market square's been transformed into a festival ground. Colourful patchwork tents have been raised, and imported goods have supplied the crafters, cooks, brewers, and others. Cheerful villagers hawk their wares, and the smell of hot food drifts through the square. A wooden stage has been raised near the north end of the square, and on it musicians play upbeat reels and jigs on Celtic-sounding instruments.

Since it's in his honour, Bedivere is indeed here. In fact, he's lurking somewhere near the musicians, though his height and pale complexion make it easy to spot him. He wears the commoners' garb that he seems to prefer, though he's also wearing his old mantled greatcloak of Round Table office over that, against the cold. Even as he chats with the happy villagers that stop him from time to time, it's pretty clear that he's trying not to look too uneasy.

It's clear the village is expecting a lot of people, too. There's a lot of food. While the front gates are still a ruin of twisted iron, the debris has been cleared from the western foot of the hill, leaving a nice clear path eastward up to the village square. It's a bit of a hike, thanks to the incline of the hill, but it's not too bad.

At least as far as the villagers are concerned, the celebration's in full swing. All sorts of food can be found. There's music and dancing. Laughter and conversation. There's also pretty much every sort of Gaelic or Celtic booze one can imagine, and some well-intentioned soul has had a quantity of mead imported. Very strong mead. The villagers are also all incredibly welcoming to the arriving Elites, too.

And for those that drink a little too much and can't get home, well, there's a perfectly serviceable, clean, and rebuilt large inn right off the market square.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva wouldn't miss this for the world. Even with her various situations, she is making sure there's time open to drop in at this celebration of Sir Bedivere being awesome.

Riva herself couldn't agree more. She has already plundered the food table a bit, escaping with a plate of light snacks (It's harder to dance if you stuff yourself, after all), and mills ever closer to Sir Bedivere. If he thought he would get out of this without getting pestered he's got another thing coming!

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    Setsuko has not been very present at Dún Reáltaí after their initial investigations. Her very nature invites war, and so she cannot spend long there whatever she may do; and aside from that, she simply didn't want to upset or worry the townsfolk. She's well aware of her natural presence, the way her indefinable 'aura of divinity' draws eyes and causes her to stand out. So other than perhaps some brief appearances on the outskirts once in a long while, she has not come closer than 'distant aerial patrols'.

    But she is here now, for the festival, even if she stays to one side. Just as pale as Bedivere and very nearly as tall, she spots the knight over the crowd and shoots him a brief look and nod of greeting, before settling to simply watching the crowd.

Michael Knight (543) has posed:
Michael Knight and his 'faithful steed' head up the hill towards the village square, kicking up dirt on their path. They're making a more leisurely pace than they normally do, and this doesn't escape the notice of the Trans-Am. As Michael takes a curve in a particularly conservative way, KITT speaks up. "Fifty miles an hour?"

"Just enjoying the scenery, buddy. Bedivere and the Knights have got a really good piece of real estate here." He watches as the hills of Dún Reáltaí and the surrounding countryside pass him by, filling up the view of the driver side window. It's sort of like watching a historical movie. "We're almost there, anyway."

Sure enough, the car pulls into the village square and parks in a suitably unobtrusive spot. Out steps Michael Knight, looking the very picture of 80s fashion, in a pastel sport coat with rolled up sleeves and matching slacks. He's even got a pair of Ray-Bans! His exit from the car is heralded by a burst of music from within before KITT shuts it off and closes his door. "So what do we do now, Michael?" He's never been to a party that could actually accomodate him!

"Mingle. Maybe find a horse cart to flirt with."

"Very funny."

Knight immediately goes to the live talent to have a listen. "Do you guys know any Zeppelin?"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Hark, a Templar approaches! As she makes her way closer to the Knight of the Round Table, little by little, he looks up and finally catches sight of her. They've fought together and met in more peaceable circumstances, so he knows well what she looks like.

"Ah, welcome, Dame Templar." Bedivere greets her, with a faint half-smile that suggests he'd really rather be anywhere but here. Parties are not really his thing. It shows. "I hope you are enjoying yourself?"

He's not ignorant of the hail from across the square, either, and offers Setsuko a polite nod of greeting, and a slightly more subdued half-smile. It's regretful that she hasn't had the opportunity to visit, more, but at the same time, it's considerate of her not to bring War to this place that has already had its fill of destruction.

Oh, and there's a different sort of knight. A Knight. Whom the band stares blankly at, though to their credit they don't so much as miss a beat.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Soon, the lord of Dún Reáltaí was joined by what appeared to be a much shorter flaxen-haired girl, dressed similarly in commoner's garb, her hair in a single, loose braid over her shoulder. The only indication that she was not, in fact, another one of the villagers was the ermine-lined cloak of wool dyed a royal blue settled over her shoulders. Jade eyes were alert, and her usual stoic expression had been replaced by a subtle smile. The cause of it was most likely what she held in each hand. One might not guess easily at her mood, for all of her otherwise subdued expression; those who knew Saber – Arturia Pendragon – well would observe that she was in rather high spirits.

     And indeed, why not? The village was mostly rebuilt and preparations for winter completed. The people were in likewise high spirits and, much to her satisfaction, grateful to the marshal she had appointed to make sure that happened. Finally, he was getting some well-deserved credit for his hard work...even if he was as modest about it as she was. In his position, she would be every bit as uncomfortable as Bedivere.

     Standing next to him, she held out her left hand to the silver-haired knight, or rather, what she held in it. Of all things, it appeared vaguely apple-shaped, yet with a sticky tan coating and mounted on a stick. It would seem that the petite knight did not speak, yet there might have seemed to be some form of communication between the two. Telapathy, perhaps?

     To Bedivere, however, it was nothing so ethereal as that, merely the fact that knight and king were so close in personality that they had an unspoken form of communication. Here, she 'said'. What I had told you of before.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Before coming to the Multiverse, Mizuki was more of a social butterfly out of necessity. One who gave the impression of an amicable lady for the sake of image, and to seek out potential friends and allies in a roundabout sort of way. Since the WMAT, though, something about her has shifted; The girl who had so long ago built an entire world to serve as a buffer between herself and the rest of reality is warming up a bit, it would seem, or at the very least becoming addicted to social settings in spite of herself. Probably a little bit of both, but isn't that always the case?

    But alas, it's hard to chalk something up to 'stockholm syndrome' when you chose to go of your own volition, so she doesn't stress her rationale. She comes clad in her usual dress, holding a parasol in her left hand as she fetches a plate with her left, scooping a small grouping of foodstuffs - most likely a combination of fruit salad and finger sandwiches - right after setting her own contribution to the banquet where there is still some free space. Said 'gift' is a teapot heated and filled to the brim with chai tea, complete with side containers that have more flavorings than even the most fanciful of imaginations could conceive of. Especially pure vanilla extract. Mmm... vanilla...

    She a stealthy glance this way and that, she treats herself to a small sampling of her own addition. But don't tell anyone! For some reason, she's sensitive about that.

    Afterwards, though, she casually meanders through the crowd, eventually finding herself in the same vicinity as Bedivere. It takes her some time to recognize him given his outfit (Union records said he was some sort of knight, didn't they?), but judging by the attitudes of the locals, the words of others, and some other choice hints coutersy of her ever-convenient intuition, she decides that he is indeed the one that this whole affair has been put together for.

    So she approaches him in a calm, demure stance, and offers him a curtsey. "Greetings. Sir Bedivere, I presume?" She rests her hands at her waist as she rises. "I am Mizuki. It is a small token, but I have heard that this celebration is one of your accomplishments and those who have aided you, so I came bearing a humble tea set. It is properly labelled, so feel free to take it with you when you depart, or to offer it to one of the citizenry. I certainly wouldn't be offended either way." She notices that he looks and feels a little... well... stiff, but given that she's planning to relax behind the band anyway, she's hardly in any position to criticize. So she simply bows her head one more time, whispers a small farewell, and sits at one of the less occupied tables at the outskirts of the zone of greatest activity.

    Then she just enjoys the energy, and the music, from afar. Celtic is totally her jam, you know.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    MORDRED is among those attending.

    As she walks towards center square, she is accompanied by ten nameless, rank and file Confederate soldiers in uniform, but unarmed. They are all holding up a massive silver platter, upon which is an equally massive fully roasted and prepared boar. This is enough food to keep Arturia and Mordred happy, but we'll have to see if there are leftovers after they are done with it.

    Rather than donning her armor, Mordred is dressed in all red and gold, the regal looks hidden underneath the silver and red platemail normally. Mostly, this consists of red pants with golden lining and a red long-sleeved coat, also with golden lines, which extends into a sort of half-skirt down to her knees, with the front open. And, you know, boots, because fuck your Winter Wonderland, Bedivere.

    "FOOD AND MERRIMENT! Bedivere. Father," she salutes them both, and vaguely gestures for the soldiers to put food somewhere accessible.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Mordred's attempt to look cool may be disrupted by a decently large cardboard box striking her in the back of the head. It only weighs five or ten pounds and is hardly enough to INJURE her, but it's definitely rude and definitely came from a voice from behind her. It's tied shut with twine.

    "Yo Suck Knight. I finished a present I got you for being slightly less suck on Sunday," Psyber shouts, walking up from wherever he was keeping himself obscured from before that moment. Probably just making his way over from some nearby warpgate because he hates this desolate wasteland of cold and awful.

    He tries to delivery a heavy slap to the center of Mordred' back, "Seriously, you had my back with that call. And I do appreciate it. So consider this a gift to make you slightly less lame." He pause, "Hint, it's something you really want."

    And then he's raising an arm and waving to Bedivere and Saber, "Yo. Sup? Nice festival.

Allyn (307) has posed:
Having heard abouta festival, Allyn makes his way towards the village in his human form. Yeah, he could have arrived in another, but it's just easier and besides it tends to make Bedivere uncomfortable, so for today the shapeshifter figured it'd be best to not make anyone too uncomfortable. He takes his time as he wanders about, stopping to look at the available food for a moment. Ah, maybe later, he does manage to run across Michael though, "Oh hey Michael, you're here too?"Place looks pretty busy doesn't it?"

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva gets hailed by Sir Bedivere first! As to be expected, really, the man is fairly attentive. She is caught munching on some sweetbread, and she chews and swallows quickly before waving a hand at Bedivere. "Sir Bedivere! Saber! It's great to see you both." She grins at the caramel apple proffered to Bedivere. "I didn't even see the caramel apples! I'll have to grab one in a bit." She laughs. "This is a great party! Very period, I really enjoy how lively the place has become. You both have been doing an excellent job working on making this place safe and alive again."

Riva claps her hands, and then emits a sound of happiness when she sees Mizuki. "Mizuki! It's great to see you too! I'm glad you came, isn't this party amazing? I've never seen anything like it!" She watches Mizuki head out and marks where she went. Don't think you're escaping so easily!

She turns to possibly go chase after Mizuki but the incoming BOAR... And more importantly, Mordred, strike her speechless for a moment. "Oh... My..." She says, and then blinks in surprise. Mordred is being polite! This is very different from her last experience. She rubs her chin, thinking, but chooses to not press it, taking things as they stand for now. If everyone wants to be cool and happy, Riva is one hundred percent down with that.

But of course then the box comes in. Riva gasps and looks over where Psyber is as he does his own entrance and Riva finds herself trying to not laugh in the middle of the maximum shenaniganry from the man. "Hey Mordred. Psyber." She says, waving and thoroughly confused. "Nice to see you!" She finds her normal garrulousness is kind of cracking under the influx of dissonance.

Michael Knight (543) has posed:
Michael Knight says, "Hey, there, Allyn. Just enjoying the band, myself. These guys are pretty cool and all, but I dunno if anybody can top this one group I heard – a country-western themed Bar Mitzvah band, believe it or not. Shalom on the Range." KITT can be heard groaning from his watch. Michael claps Allyn on the shoulder, then waves to Riva. "Hey, Riva! You look good without all the zombies around." Knight smiles at the Templar.

Meanwhile, KITT scans the party for anyone familiar. It's hard for an automobile to look shy and withdrawn, but he manages just fine. He's thankful for his lack of legs and arms – at least this way he doesn't have to shuffle around awkwardly. "Hello," he says quietly to several passers-by, so as not to appear rude. He's forgotten for the moment that strangers don't know he's a talking car."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki is, naturally, right behind Riva, and gives her a tap on the shoulder when she's finally formulated a response for her. "A pleasure to see you as well, Miss Banari." She gives a pleasant, reserved smile, and yet another miniature bow. "But indeed, the tenacity of humanity is always astounding. That people can have festivals such as this in the wake of tragedy is truly something to... ah, but I'll stop myself there. I trust you were referring more to -this- festival, no?" Her expression shifts, her countenance taking a look that borders on embarrassment. "Apologies. For some reason, active settings make me feel somber quite often."

    "Though yes," She clasps her hands together and reverently flutters her eyes, "it is astonishing. The sheer size, of course, is to be marvelled at, but the music and culture as well..." Her eyes peek open. "... almost makes me want to invade this realm's implicit laws of privacy." After that, she stands as still by her conversation partner as only one who does not need to draw breath can, and watches. She spies Psyber out of the corner of her eye and half expects him to invite a random stranger, or better yet, one of his mortal enemies, to dance.

    Smirk~. That entertains her for a while.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Man, it's a big party, huh? One that's sure to have Bedivere feeling swamped unnecessarily. Shirou understands that.

    He sees this huge festival and is at once overwhelmed himself, and kinda inspired. "Uwoah. They pulled out all the stops." And that's seriously ONE HUGE DARNED BOAR.

    Well, he was helping out in the kitchens earlier, and only just got a chance to put away his apron. The locals taste in food is pretty different from what he's used to, but it's hard to get good food wrong when you get down to it, so he was able to contribute to some of the dishes.

    ... Not that he's gonna tell anyone this. He just wanted to help and the kitchens needed a few extra hands when he was passing by.

    The redheaded magus makes his way through the crowds over to the main gathering - so, closer to Sir Bedivere, Saber, Mordred, and the others. "It was a lot of work, but we pulled it off somehow." He's never seen Saber smile like that. It's a good smile. All of that work he put into rebuilding, hauling things around, the money spent on materials and workers... this doesn't feel like an equal exchange at all.

    Shirou smiles himself, seeing Arturia's expression. relief and confidence flood in equally.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
There's an immediate change in Bedivere's posture once the Once and Future King joins him, although she hardly looks kingly today. Still, there's a regal nature about her that she'll never be able to fully dismiss. Whatever the case, he relaxes, if only slightly, and favours her with a smile that doesn't seem quite as reserved as the others he's been wearing.

His eyes drift to the caramel-coated apple on the stick, one brow lifting in silent question, before his gaze flicks back to her. /This?/ Even so, he takes the stick, careful not to get any of that sticky-looking coating on his hands or his clothing. Something tells him that's bound to be a mess. He offers the King of Knights a faint dip of his head. Thank you.

Before he has a chance to see just what all the talk of caramel is about, there are more guests arriving! By the minute, it seems.

He's also being curtsied at, apparently. Silvery-blonde brows arch in evident surprise. While he hasn't met her, her courteous gesture seems to count for much with him. He responds in kind, carefully balancing his candied apple and dipping forward in a low, formal bow. Much lower, it seems, than one of his station ought normally give.

"Well met, Lady Mizuki. I am indeed Sir Bedivere of Dún Reáltaí." He favours her with one of those little half-smiles, though something about it seems faintly self-depreciating. "It was not my idea, in truth, but the villagers'. Thank you; your gift is appreciated, and I shall treasure it—"

Whoops, she's gone. Seems she's just as twitchy in a social setting as the evening's host, in a crowd. Maybe he can have a chat with her some other time, under less uncomfortable circumstances.

Bedivere contents himself with a bite of the caramel apple and he's just about to comment on how unbelievably good it is to Saber – fortunately his expression says it all – but he's interrupted by Suddenly Confederates. Immediately he tenses, and something in his eyes turns flat as he watches her guide them, their burdens, and herself into...

Where the hell does she keep finding those grotesquely large boars?

"Sir Mordred," he says coolly, inclining his head. His greeting is respectful enough, if just a touch cool. "Do as you will, this afternoon, and be welcome as a guest of my hall."

That, by itself, must be a sign of trust, however much he seems somewhat reluctant to give it – he has invoked Brehon Law, for the Traitor Knight herself.

The boar is eyed somewhat suspiciously. God, he can't help but hope there aren't any leftovers. That last one might well have destroyed his taste for boar.

Violet eyes then flick to Psyber's arrival, and the half-angel receives that same inclination of his head. "S—" Pause. "Psyber."

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Mordred catches the box, rather than letting it hit her. Instinct exists for that! She doesn't really mind Psyber's approach, though. Familiarity is something she prefers.

    "Oh? Man, you say that like I had a say. Master wants to talk, Master talks. I ain't got shit over her call." Arguably untrue, she could disobey if she wanted to, but she hasn't been given readon to and that's the big deal that matters.

    She waves with Riva with a grin, recognizing her.
    "Yo superpowers chick. Still in total awe you're around the Knights?" She seemed pretty enraptured in the fact the first time, maybe by now it's died down a bit.

    The Saber finally unwraps her gift, and then glances at Psyber. "Aww yeah. Thanks. My red jacket was getting kinda worn, this'll do nice. And as I will?" She turns to look at Bedivere, still smiling. "Well I think we both know we don't want me to do As I Will, right? And hey, don't give me that look. I don't want to do that either." The trust is appreciated though!

    Now, let's pick on Shirou.
    With her armor wholly off, it might be a bit more obvious that Mordred is basically Arturia, just a few months to a year younger. Her hair's a tiny bit paler and in a dirty ponytail rather than an elegant bun, though the braids are still present. Same brilliant green eyes, though.

    "Yo sword boy. How good are you on a horse?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     Arturia's subtle expression of amusement shifted at Riva's approach, becoming no less subdued, but losing the mischievous undercurrent, even if she appeared slightly embarrassed by the praise. "Greetings, Lady Riva. Ah...thank you...and I am glad for your presence today."

     Sure, there are not that many people who would turn down a festival, but Saber was still grateful that anyone had taken the trouble. Smiling at her recognition of the caramel apples, her smile broadened just slightly. "Yes, I had introduced one of the local chefs to the idea, and it seems to have become rather popular."

     The smile once more took a slightly impish turn. "And I had intended to introduce the lord of Dún Reáltaí to them, as well."

     Mizuki was greeted with a similar smile. "Greetings, Lady Mizuki," she hailed politely. Likewise answering? perhaps the lady at his side might be of a higher rank than she deliberately let on, as if her honour demanded that she act with proper respect and honour.

     A tea set. Perfect. One of the wonders of the modern world that she had introduced her marshal to had been the idea of tea as a regular beverage, and Bedivere had taken to it as the proverbial duck took to water. It would definitely see some use. "Thank you for your generous gift."

     "Greetings, Sir Michael, Sir KITT." Yes, she's so polite she even addresses the Trans Am's AI. The Once and Future King might very well surprise the more modern Knight with knowledge of his reference. "Somewhat after their time, perhaps," she quipped with a faint smile.

     And suddenly, a Saber of Red. With another massive boar. Well, she certainly was not going to complain. "it is good to see you, Mordred," she greeted, slight smile never wavering. "Thank you for the gift...perhaps even Sir Gawain will be unable to consume it all." Sabers tended to leave little behind, and the Knight of the Sun could be even more ravenous than she.

     To Psyber, the knight inclined her head. "I thank you, Psyber. I was surprised – not unpleasantly so – by the gratitude of the village." Her gaze drifted out to the crowd. "These are good people...it hardly seems a sacrifice at all to help them."

     Shirou earned a slightly warmer smile. She had rather taken a liking to the earnest – if perhaps a little naive – young man. "Thank you for all your hard work. It has indeed been worth it."

     Her warmest smile was reserved, however, for Bedivere's reaction to the caramel apple. His smile was all she needed to see to know her plan succeeded. I shall have to make more, then, she quipped, nearly grinning.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
"It is good to see you as well," Bedivere offers to Riva, with a faint smile. The apple is indicated, and he holds it aloft, looking a little taken by surprise. "Ah. Yes. I have... never had caramel before..." His eyes flick briefly to Saber. All her fault. Eventually his attention turns back to Riva, though, and he inclines his head deeply at her praise. Is that a bit of a blush? "Thank you, Dame Templar. I merely seek to fulfill my duties to these people."

Yep, still bad at taking compliments.

And then, a certain red-headed magus arrives. Bedivere manages a faint smile, although he doesn't quite clap the boy on the shoulder. "Welcome. Thank you for all your help, Master Shirou. It is appreciated – as you can see. And your help in preparations for the céilidh, as well."

Mordred's talking to him again, and that smile flickers and fades, replaced instead by a slightly more stony expression. "You take my meaning. Come and go freely, this afternoon. But if I should hear so much as a hair has been set out of line on a villager's head, or so much as a stone of masonry is out of place by your hand, we will be having words later." Those words may possibly involve 'stabbity.' He lightens up, though. "Enjoy yourself—"

Ohhh, poor Shirou. Bedivere just reaches up with his free hand – which happens to be his left, and it bares the distinct mark of a command seal; a sword of Celtic knotwork. Curious.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    And now there's Mordred, saying completely worrisome things. Shirou looks over his shoulder and – "Hghk—" Clamps his mouth shut for a moment, dapening his urge to cry out. He didn't get a good look earlier, but he sure does now. There's not even any need to look back the other way and compare against Arturia...

    Well. He should've expected this. If 'King Arthur' was female, then there's no reason Mordred couldn't be. But it did take a moment for this to really sink in.

    "Geeze... fine, you win. Call me whatever you want." There's no hiding the grumpy irritation in his tone, but he can't wield much more than that against Mordred at a time like this.

    Particularly not after Arturia looked at him like that, getting him all confused about the scary way Mordred's regarding him.

    "I've never ridden, how would I know?" he HAS brought a bicycle into Dún Reáltaí as his personal mode of transportation, though. One of the few things he spent his money on regarding himself. It's currently probably leaning against one of the keep's walls, or something.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    A young man has slipped in just behind Mordred. Truth be told he arrived separately, but once he'd caught sight of her he followed after rapidly. This might make her reconsider the notions she had about him being a dangerously savvy master, because Rider is nowhere to be found. What kind of Master wanders off on their own without their Servant? Perhaps he's simply overconfident. At any rate, Sieg can be found to the rear of Mordred's own procession, dressed much as he was some days ago. He's a little more bundled up than before, yet again. His footwear is thicker boots, though they look like they were obtained at a thrift store and then fixed up.

    Up close, he's bigger than he looks, but short for a boy of his age. Tall enough to be about the same height as Mordred and Arturia, not that that's saying much. The greeting offered by Bedivere bridges the gap in Sieg's knowledge, overcoming the strange fuzziness in his brain that he had been unable to overcome in order to identify the mystery knight. A few days ago he would have simply rattled off his information on her.

    Today, it seems like he's got himself together enough not to start saying things that would strike nerves.

    Instead, he starts rattling off knowledge about something that Mordred says.

    "Abnormal usage of Gradation Air. That man is a magus with high-class abilities, but I doubt he's as good as you on the back of any beast." Sieg enters the conversation abruptly, not yet fully versed in how strange it is to enter a conversation this way. Nor for that matter how rude it is to talk about somebody with them standing right there. It's not even really what he wanted to say. He clears his head, and turns towards Mordred. "What I mean to say is, hello. I was hoping that I'd run into you again, but now that I have I don't really know what to do about it."

    "Maybe I should ask Jean..." He trails off, looking away from Mordred and those around her. Maybe Jean is the name of the servant he's always with.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Never let is be said Harry Dresden can't be social. He's just not good at it really. And it's kinda hard to present yourself when you're a dude who can't make eyecontact with most people.

    That said, Harry's here on a mission of sorts and a Job. So, that's one part in his favor. Also, friends are here, and he's okay with that.

    The Wizard is sans most of his gear today, wearing a slightly rumpled Bears sweatshirt, jeans, and carrying his staff. That's all the gear he's got on him. Well. He's also carrying a softsided cooler that clinks and clanks with what sounds like bottles inside. A look around, and the Wizard heads over towards the Spread, carrying his precious beverages and looking out for people.

Allyn (307) has posed:
Allyn nods to Michael and he can't help but chuckle some at the man's jokes, even if he doesn't get them. "Ah seems a number of people have turned out for this doesn't it?" he glances around at the people for a few moments, trying not too look too uncfortable, but well, he has been trying for a while not to be so much. "There looks like there is a good amount of food around too." he lowers his voice some, "Just too bad most of it is cooked."

He then gives a wave towards Bedivere and Saber in greeting as well as one for Shirou and one for Mizuki as well. He eyes KITT for a few moments, he's seen the car before, but not sure exactly what it is, other than knowing that it can talk. "Hello." he tells the car. Hey he's a talking animal most the time, so why be surprised when other things talk.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Mordred's present was, for the record, a coat that looks very similar and functions very similar to Psyber's. Complete with a stuffed werewolf in an inner pocket that she may discover later, who knows. The half-angel gives her a shrug, "Yeah, but I know Ell. She asked your opinion, I'm sure of it. I went out on a limb and guessed you agreed with me due to your crippling parental abandonment issues, so I got you a present." Psyber gives Mordred a pair of fingerguns, "Proof that she's not the only one that can play to a crowd," He teases. Then says absolutely no more about the topic.

    "Good to see you again, Miss Benari! How have you been?" He asks to the Templar, tilting his head as he folds his hands behind his back. Mizuki gets caught looking at him and he throws her a greeting via a wink before he looks back to Riva, "I heard your world has had some unpleasantry. Sorry I haven't stopped in. Work has been a mess."

    A nod is given to both Bedivere and Saber when they return his greeting, "Well, you've both done amazing things with a keep out in the middle of Coldasfuckistan, so kudos there," He notes with a thumbs up.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Did... you just refer to your Servant by name?" Mordred suddenly turns to look at Sieg, one eyebrow up. She would not normally have went straight to that conclusion, but Sieg mentioned he was still relatively new in the world, and fled his prior acquaintances (if we can call him that). She does not dismiss he might still have friends, though! He does seem to be trying. "Oh, nevermind that, if I harp you about it you might say the truth and spoil me. I'll give you a hint. You say stuff like... sup boy. Doing better since last time?"

    Then to Shirou, her grin simply widens.

    "Good! No time like the present. BEDIVERE! We're borrowing two horses. No, hang on." She turns to Sieg. "You know how to ride?" Might have to make that three!

    Back to Psyber, she shrugs. "Fair enough, you're right. But in the end she made the call, not me. I weighted in a bit, nothing big."

    Now she idly wonders; to try to teach Shirou how to JOUST, or just teach him to be on a horse without falling. Either'll be hilarious, but after Bedivere's threat maybe she should not risk injuring someone. Or the horses.

    She is bored, though, so she will still at least teach sword boy over there how to stay on a horse if he wants to. Maybe Sieg too. Or Sieg can help. He seems more the instructor type.

Riva Banari has posed:
Saber's response causes Riva to grin. "I'm glad you're glad. You guys always need more stuff to be able to smile about." Bedivere just makes Riva shrug. "Yeah you say that, but to be honest most people don't really take to that kind of selfless duty with the honesty and devotion that you've shown. Just relax and enjoy things a little, Sir Knight. It's your party, you can laugh if you want to~"

Teasing aside, Mike arrives and causes Riva to lean to the side to get a good look at him. The press is huge. "Oh! Hey Michael! Good to see you, and believe me, I loves the lack of zombies in the present area." She sighs a little bit, the jubilation bleeding away a bit to show an edge of fatigue. "But it's good to be able to get out and relax and enjoy ourselves, right?" She grins, and then it's gone flooded with the usual energy one sees from the Templar. "It reminds us why we're here."

Riva gets addressed by Mordred and she instinctively stiffens slightly, but she quickly recovers, keeping her smile on as she looks over Mordred. "Compared to you guys, I'm not all that amazing. Hanging out with the Knights is still pretty great, but the edges are worn off if that's what you're wondering. Name's Riva. Nice to meet you, legendary Knight." Hey, Sir Bedivere and Saber had way more cause to have problems with Mordred, and if they're bring cool, she's totally going to be cool.

Ah, the benefits of just looking at events through a story, right?

Mizuki causes Riva to hang near her, grinning and leaning over. She almost gives the prim and proper Mizuki a ruffle but refrains from doing so. Barely. "Tragedy happens. There's nothing you can do to prevent sadness entirely. It's the low points that remind us to treasure the better things. For example, I am totally going to be treasuring some of those caramel apples. Come on!" Riva all but drags Mizuki along and procures the sweet treats for them, and then they can walk back to hang around the edge of the Sir Bedivere cluster. Poor guy, so ultra humble and trying to avoid attention and yet he gets it lavished on him anyway. "Just cheer up and relax, Mizuki. No one's going to think less of you for enjoying the environment. It's a party!"

Psyber causes her to nod. "It's okay. It's a big multiverse and there's trouble happening all over the place. If you have time, I'll be happy to have your help. I know you're certainly capable of handling it." She grins, perhaps thinking back to Psyber smashing ice doggies.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight does glance aside to where Shirou and Mordred seem intent on squaring off, although it seems to be a one-sided affair. The Traitor Knight is going to eat that one alive, he suspects, although for the moment Bedivere doesn't interfere. He will if he has to drag Shirou back to safety by the back of the collar... but let the Saber of Red have her fun. It may keep her from her more destructive tendencies, for the moment.

Half a glance is cast to Mordred, too; or rather, behind her, where Sieg has abruptly shown up. He hadn't noticed the approach of the homunculus, and anyone who can slip past Bedivere's considerable powers of perception is skilled indeed. Or just really good at slipping under the radar. He offers the boy a nod.

His sweeping gaze also takes note of Dresden, although the wizard hasn't yet looked toward the gathering of knights... and then there's Allyn, who earns a nod from Bedivere in response to that wave, but his eyes turn back to Psyber, dropping his head slightly. "It is as my lord says. We carry out our duty; and they are a good people, who have lost much. It has been no sacrifice at all to help them find their feet again—"

The violet-eyed knight cringes slightly at Mordred's sudden shout. Borrowing two horses. Jousting? Oh God.

And he sighs a long, drawn-out sigh, looking to Arturia. She's not going to kill the boy, is she?

To Riva's statement, he just sort of... blinks, owlishly.

Inga has posed:
Inga is late. Naturally, the woman with child she'd been seeing to went into labor last night, and it had been a long and difficult ordeal. Indeed, it was a good thing that she had been there, for the mother and child might not have survived otherwise. With the aid of skill, Frigga's favor, and a bit of magic, mother and child were doing well. After all that, Inga had snatched a few hours of sleep, bathed, and took the time to get ready for the festival, all the while wondering if she would be called on to make a sacrifice. If she offered, would it offend? An autumn festival ought to have a proper sacrifice, but as Sir Bedivere had been a very gracious host she would try to avoid giving offense.

After debating this for a while, Inga had decided to wear her good dress, thinking it would be rather unlikely she would get any blood on it. Seeing as she'd only had two dresses (and one underdress!) she'd been doing a lot of washing. She was sure she could justify the purchase of some clothing.

So it is that Inga arrives in a new red dress made from soft wool, the underdress pale silk nearly the same color as her skin. The dress is pinned at the shoulders with two silver brooches in the viking age style. New boots have also been purchased; soft brown leather, lined with fur. The woman has left her hair mostly down today, falling in white waves past her waist, one small braid wrapped across the top of her head like a headband.

Naturally, she still carries her rune carved staff, using it to help her walk forward and join the party. The reason for the staff is obvious, as she walks with a pronounced limp. Her eyes roam the decorations and generous spread of the feast, a smile curving her lips, just a touch sad. It reminds her of different times.

Quite a few familiar faces, some that she didn't expect. KITT, for instance, appears to be parked nearby. Against a backdrop like this, Inga can't help but laugh lightly as she approaches. "KITT, now you are the one that looks anachronistic," she comments. If KITT is here, Michael must be nearby. Ah, there he is, and Riva as well! She'd hoped the Templar would be able to make it.

Good friends with a Templar and a Christian...life had certainly taken some interesting turns.

She hails those she recognizes, raising a hand.

Upon spotting their good host (and hostess perhaps nearby?) Inga bows her head smome, smile growing.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    And next, Mizuki is by Saber, nodding her head. The addition of 'lady' elicits an almost invisible lift at the corners of her mouth, along with a subtle adjustment of her stature to something more characteristically 'proud'. "Greetings to you as well, Miss... Saber, I believe?" At the thank-you, she simply shakes her head and gently waves a hand. "A bauble to me, but perhaps with time, a treasured friend to you." There's a light exhale that serves as a pause. "Ahh, time. Even when not directly controlled, it is a magic of its own." Beyond her mannerisms and her words, she offers no hint as to her 'standing' relative to the servant, but it's more than likely that she wouldn't really have one here.

    By this point, she's tiring herself out with all of the magic she's been using to 'warp around' and be mysterious, so she decides to cut that out and hang out by the musicians as she originally planned to. Not without nonchalantly picking up her conversation with Bedivere as though she'd never left, though, naturally. "Pardon me if this comes off as a bit pretentious; I do not purport to understand the circumstances, but I would presume that, though this party is for you and your noble behavior, that it is also for them. So that they may cement you as their light of hope, and celebrate now that the most recent times of darkness have passed." She attempts to make eye contact, wrapping her arms behind herself in an almost playful manner. "Sometimes the most humble thing a knight can do is accept the praise so that those they protect may feel secure, if just for a short while."

    Never one to stay quiet in moments when she feels she can play the role of wise visiting angel.

    Then... uh. Well, she's dragged off by Riva, her eyes going wide. "E-Excuse me! I-I am perfectly 'cheery', thank you, and I certainly don't care what impression I make here! I am a transient, and I will soon pass on into clouded, distant memory anyway, so —" But before she knows it, they're at the sweets table. She tentatively plucks one, tiny slice of pound cake from the buffet, and nibbles it. Daintily.

    ... and her cheeks aren't the least bit red.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Maybe." Sieg answers Mordred, plainly. Judging from his lack of embarassment it's – well, no, he's too strange to rule anything out. The truth is that it's a name that was chosen as a stand-in for Rider or Rider's true name. There's nothing to give away with it, although the wrong idea might be successfully transmitted to somebody who takes it as a clue. As it is, he isn't really trying to spread disinformation exactly. Just keep Rider from ending up hurt because of casual conversation.

    Depending on how you look at it, Sieg is either a genius or completely clueless.

    "... Sup boy?" He repeats, a little uncomfortably. This method of communication doesn't really suit him. The whole look of Sieg is formal and a little bit regal, so the informal speech is off-kilter compared to the tone of his everything else. But he'll probably use it anyway without thinking about it. SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE, he'll probably get scolded by Rider for talking improperly or something.

    "E-eh? Ride? Well..." He considers the matter. Strictly speaking, he doesn't have the abilities of Siegfried as-is. But he does share some memories, so he can probably improvise well enough for a horse. If it were a plane, he wouldn't even try it. So he just says, "I could manage, I guess. Oh, but... I'll catch up with you, okay?"

    Sieg departs from Mordred and Shirou's company, temporarily. He approaches Bedivere rapidly, and reaches into his coat to pull out—a McDonalds bag? He foists it off on Bedivere without giving him an opportunity to object. "I'm not resourceful enough to come up with a boar, so I brought these. I, um. I hope they're reasonably to your liking." He bows lightly to Bedivere, and departs his company in short order to go find Mordred and Shirou again. He may or may not get a little distracted along the way.

    INSIDE of the McDonalds bag is a whole hell of a lot of lukewarm pies. There's a bit of thaumaturgy done on the bag, haphazardly, to keep the contents warm for longer. Overall it's nothing alarming, and the food itself is... well. It's McDonalds pies. It can be interpreted as simultaneously delicious and disgusting. Somebody's bound to want it.

Saber (346) has posed:
     A polite nod to Allyn; he seemed to be adjusting to social settings rather well. Or, at least to be expected for someone who thought more like a wolf than a man.

     She did, however, frown slightly as the poor red-haired magus was dragged off. "Be careful with him, he is not yet trained in riding..."

     Saber stopped just short of calling her 'son' by name, however, as Sieg appeared. While he seemed to have the same sort of innocence that Irisviel possessed – or seemed to – she was still uncertain if being open with their identities was wise. At least, not for the moment.

     Arturia frowned at Bedivere's unspoken question. I do not think she will...

     Another frown as she turned her attention back to the hapless magus. At least, I should hope not.

Michael Knight (543) has posed:
Michael Knight frowns. He feels like dancing, and this Greensleeves stuff isn't gonna cut it for much longer. Really, he was afraid this might happen. Someone needs to show the Matter of Britain how to cut a little rug. "KITT," he says into the wristwatch. "Get the mix tape ready. When these guys take a break, I want you to bring 'em up to speed." 'Up to speed' meaning 'one man's possibly outdated tastes in 1982.'

"If you say so, Michael." The car's anamorphic equalizer (the swooshy red thing) scans Allyn. Well, at least it's someone he's met before, if not spoken to at length. "Ah, the shapeshifter from the beach. Good to see you in working order," he says. Maybe he should've just parked somewhere a ways off and just spoken through the watch. Maybe he'll just do that and pretend to be a normal car.

"Right," he says, nodding in agreement with Riva. "Hey there, Inga! Glad to see you. Scuse me a minute," says Michael, heading off to get some food. Now, this is something these medieval types can get right! No 'nutritional facts' to be found here, just good, old-fashioned food. Knight cuts himself a hearty piece of lamb and grabs some of Mordred's boar, too. He munches idly on them, spotting Dresden approaching with one of his favorite things – cold drinks, it sounds like! Well, add some football and you've practically got a tailgate party. "Hey, guy. Need some help with that?" he asks, motioning with his plate to Harry's cooler.

KITT is quite pleased to see Inga. "Tell me about it," he says. "The first party that can actually fit me, and I feel like a sore thumb at a pinky convention. If this is how you feel in Kingsmouth, you have my sincerest condolences."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    it's easy enough for Shirou to follow the idea that Mordred's up to something quite dangerous. he just has to watch her expression as she ponders. "Hey now, you're thinking of something utterly nuts for a first time rider, aren't you?" his tone's accusatory and more than a little worried - but then.

    Then he notices Sieg's presence. He whirls about to face the Homonculus... and smiles. Aha, Sieg did come. "What are you saying? This is a feast. The point is to eat, sing, have fun! Don't let this aberrant knight confuse you."

    Yeah that's apparently in regards to Mordred.

    "Jean?"

Staren has posed:
    Staren is dressed in his normal clothes, because he just heard it was a social gathering. Spying the familiar face of Mizuki, he makes his way towards her only for her to be pulled away by Riva. He stares after her for a moment, then follows. "Aww, you're not transient! We immortals are the ones who've gotta remember everyone else here in a thousand years, right?" Was that an attempt at an ice breaking joke?

    He makes his way over to Inga and KITT. "Eh. Anachronisms are just part of the wonder of the multiverse. I'm sure we all don't fit in in our own way." He turns to Inga, who is wearing a red dress. This is not surprising, as most people have multiple outfits of clothing, so he pays it no further mind. "Long time no see. How have things been in Kingsmouth?" He frowns slightly. "Noone else has seen John, have they?"

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry looks up at some voice he knows from the radio and some people he's met off hand. The Servants and Masters are all off kibitzing right now and he's okay with that. He's not about to poke his nose over there just yet with family drama going on.
    Instead, the Wizard looks up at the Miami Vice extra and blinks a bit at Michael. "Oh, hey, thanks. Uh, it's a bunch of microbrew from a guy I know back home. Really good stuff this year, bunch of ciders and lagers."
    He plonks the cooler on the table to reveal plain brown bottles with no labels and corked and waxed tops. Old school. He then holds out his hand, studiously not looking at Michael's eyes. "Harry Dresden. Wizard." Like, his eyes are focused on Manly Cheek Bones.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Oh, and before the narrative voice forgets, Psyber winks at Mizuki. While she's at the sweets table, no less! Now, normally she would be able to feign stoicism or offer some equally witty gesture in return, but since he caught her in a moment of weakness, she just bows her head. And probably blushes even more.

    She turns away from Riva just to be safe.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Those violet eyes are still sweeping the gathering every so often. It lends Bedivere something of a look of restlessness, but he's well accustomed to keeping an eye on... well, everything. It would be unusual for him to simply stop paying attention to things. Fortunately, it lets him spot Inga's arrival, and she earns, from across the square, a respectful nod. He has considerable respect for the wisewoman; even though she is what his faith would most probably call a witch. She does no harm, though, and indeed her presence here has been most helpful – and conversation with her pleasantly nostalgic, recalling the places that once marked the map a little ways beyond Camelot, or to have the places he once knew remembered.

And suddenly there is a Mizuki! Bedivere doesn't have much of a response to that but to turn somewhat red, flounder a bit, and find himself unable to speak. By the time he does master himself, she's been dragged off by Riva towards one of the food tables. He's left blinking owlishly and staring after her, still a little red in the face.

Sieg then hands him a bag of things that smell questionable. "Thank you, Master Sieg." Bedivere looks down at the bag, rustling it open a bit to reveal McDonald's pies, somewhat dubiously. Two steps back take him to one of the other food tables, and it's quickly set down. Someone'll eat it. Hopefully it won't make them sick.

He glances back to Saber, shaking his head. I will try to keep an eye on them... the boy does not seem to tolerate Mordred's presence well. It could go either way. He sighs, finishing off the rest of his caramel apple, and somehow managing to avoid making a mess of it. Or they will not. Regardless, I have invoked Brehon Law as a sign of trust, and I am trusting her not to overstep her bounds, here. We shall see.

Well, if Shirou's bad at riding, then a little harmless instruction isn't enough to prompt his intervention. Everybody falls off a horse learning to ride; it's natural. He'd fallen off, too. The bruising is educational! And the only horses here are just farm horses, so they're fairly docile. All this activity shouldn't spook them, so they're as good a steed as any to learn to ride on.

In the meantime, he's content to largely stick to Arturia's side, and... be awkward, for the most part.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Sure, we'll be over there," Mordred tells Sieg.

    The stables of Dún Reáltaí aren't too far off or easy to miss. There's some room to ride around it too. Thank god for hosting the festival near the square, everything's in reach!

    To Riva she gives a thumb up. "Whatever you say. God, I am surrounded by extremely humble people. I'd brag about how great I am but I would look totally out of place and lesser than my peers." What a drag. Oh well! She's sure Riva is not 'just some random person' considering how they fought that time. Humility is so lame.

    Mordred finally grabs Shirou by the arm, dragging him towards the stables. "MAYBE I AM. Maybe I am not. You keep glaring at me, maybe this is payback! Or maybe I am just bored and want to see a beginner fall off his horse a few times. If it helps I promise I won't leave marks."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "I'm always down for a simple headbusting," Psyber says to Riva, flexing an arm boredly, "I'm mostly recovered from my brawl against D and I've had a few days of drama and political shit, so some regular old beatdowns would be a good distraction right now," He admits to her, lowering his arm and letting his hands go into his pockets to pull out a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes. One goes into his mouth and is lit shortly after.

    He exhales some smoke and looks around as Mordred starts wandering off. Psyber could save Shirou, but he could alternately be too lazy to do that and instead just watch the lad get taken away for a beatdown, "You ever consider contract work? I'm always looking to pick up an independant or two for my business to work odd jobs." He says to Riva casually.

Saber (346) has posed:
     In turn, Saber nodded to Mizuki. "Ah, yes, that is correct. Nevertheless, I am grateful...we are both quite fond of tea. I have no doubt it will serve us well."

     Both, she says, implying that they have a rather close relationship, whatever it might be.

     After a moment, the jade-eyed knight managed to spot Harry; if he should glance their way, Arturia would nod politely to the wizard.

     Sieg's gift drew out a bit of her old mask, maintaining courtesy even as she was a little baffled over it. He tried, that much was certain. "I thank you," she replied as Bedivere set the bag down with the rest of the food. There would probably be some iron stomachs out there somewhere.

     At about the same time as the violet-eyed knight spotted Inga, so too did Arturia, and her own nod of greeting was similar.

     Inwardly, she sighed. It is not so much a violation of Brehon Law which worries me. Mordred is rather reckless..I am worried more about unintended consequences. On the other hand, the Saber of Red was probably as good an instructor as any. And perhaps this would be good for them both....she hoped.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    For the moment, Setsuko still stands off to one side of the square, out on the perephiry of the festival. She is armed, as it happens, but that's nothing new; the demigod's blade goes everywhere she does, even in cases where it might otherwise be more prudent to leave it behind. Just think of her as a bouncer!

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to KITT. After a moment of deliberation, she reaches over to pat his hood. She has absolutely no idea if this is appropriate. "It is how I feel most places I have been, but we all must adjust I suppose," she comments. Though she does not think she'll ever dress like Riva does. She's just not sure about trousers...they look so uncomfortable! Practical for fighting, obviously. She can see the appeal there, she supposes. A Shield-maiden does not wear a dress into battle.

"It is good to see you as well Michael," she says, nodding to him as he then passes, moving toward a man with a staff and a satchel of some kind. Inga narrows her eyes slightly in concentration, examining the staff from afar. Wizard?

As if to prove just how sore a thumb could be, Staren shows up. He notices her new dress, obviously, and does not comments on it. Inga raises a brow slightly, but smiles in greeting. "Yes, I suppose that is true. Good to see you well Staren..." her eyebrows furrow for a moment, then she leans forward and looks into Starens eyes and says; "Won't you stay?"

She leans back then, shakes her head, and closes her eyes for a moment, willing the threads of vision to be gone. This is not the time for that! But the gods have little regard for good timing. "What did you get into, Staren?" she asks once she thinks she finally has herself under control. She leans over against KITT, hoping that's not inappropriate. She needs a moment. And perhaps a drink. Once she's no longer dizzy, she plans to go greet their host and hostess a bit more formally – and perhaps tease Bedivere for she saw his face shining red like one of those 'traffic lights' from across the room.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The largely European aesthetic of the region does have one strange individual who stands out, though she's been strangely absent so far. One might wonder (and some might hope) that she simply isn't appearing at all tonight. Perhaps some other matter has taken her away?

    The incredibly faint, ghostly outline that slips in next to Bedivere and coyly wraps an arm around his shatters those hopes moments before Kagenashi resolves herself to a physical form.

    The nogitsune is dressed for the occasion, with a black yukata draping her form and several strings of agate beads hanging from her neck, wrists, and ankles. Her hair is done up as usual, but her mask is absent, fully displaying beautiful, slender features (fox-faced, as they are known) and silver eyes gleaming with curiosity. She is thoughtful as she looks out across the festival, not minding whatever reaction Bedivere may have to her abrupt and awkwardly close presence, until at last her eyes flit up toward him.

    "Such preparations. Was it all your efforts this time? You work yourself too hard, knight, even if you seem in better health than usual." Her head tilts to the side slightly. "You also still owe me that dance. I hope you did not think I had forgotten."

    Oh, right, there's someone else here, isn't there? Kagenashi leans aside slightly, just enough to see Saber and offer a polite nod. "Saber. Good evening to you, as well. You look wonderful today."

    Munashi, the nogitsune's ever-present shadow, isn't where she is at the moment. The shadow fox, instead, is slipping between legs and flitting along the ground, searching, it seems, for someone in particular. Munashi's weaving path eventually lands her right in front of Setsuko, and the small black fox takes a seat there, tail swaying and bright eyes peering up at the swordswoman. A voice briefly comes from her, though that would be nothing more than an illusion meant for Setsuko's hearing only.

Michael Knight (543) has posed:
Michael Knight has already met a wizard – well, a necromancer, technically. But, it's still really cool to meet one, especially one who's apparently from Chicago, or at least a football fan. "Microbrew! Sounds good." Knight shakes hands with Dresden, a firm, brief gesture. That Dresden is avoiding a soulgaze is only normal to Michael – most people shy away from eye contact, anyway! "Michael Knight," he says. With Dresden's blessing, Michael moves the booze so that it's near the other refreshments, setting his plate down to do so.

"And over there's my buddy," he says, motioning with a thumb to the black Trans-Am parked nearby. "So! Bears, huh? You much of a football buff, Harry?" Knight shuffles back over to his plate to pick it up and munch on boar and lamb. Mingling! Michael reaches into the cooler and grabs one of Mac's vaunted microbrews.

"Hello," says KITT from Michael's watch, belatedly. "My name is KITT, short for Knight Industries Two Thousand." Having introduced himself to Harry from afar, KITT then focuses on his physical surroundings. The car is not at all bothered by Inga leaning on him – she's a friend, not some smelly mugger or someone looking to key him. Not that she could! Tri-Helical Plasteel, baby. "I'm afraid I don't know any Johns," admits the car to Staren. "But it is good to see you again... Staren, was it?"

Staren has posed:
    Staren looks slightly taken aback by Inga leaning into his face – It takes a moment for her words to click, and then he looks shocked, jumps slightly, and warily glances between her and his watch several times. His tail has also gone all bushy. Then he narrows his eyes a bit at her, wondering if it was on purpose. She is a seer. A bit gruffly, he responds. "I don't know. I still don't know what actually triggered it or how he got in. M...Mizuki might know more, now..."

Riva Banari has posed:
"Don't give me any of that 'transient' stuff. We're all transient in our own way." Riva then looks over and pokes at Staren. "Don't give me any of that, Supercatboy." She says, grinning and joking. "We're all in this together."

She looks back to Mizuki, then, and squints. Is she blushing? "Hmmmmm?" She says, and then leaaaans over to try to get a better looks. "Hmmmmmmmm~" She says, but doesn't say anything, just smiling mischeviously.

INGA! Riva immediately beelines towards the wisewoman as she arrives and gives her a big old hug. "It's so good to see you, Inga! How are you doing?" She asks, and then indicates her new pester associate, Mizuki. "Have you met Mizuki? She's a writer." This hilariously simplifies what Mizuki actually does but Riva sure as hell isn't going to go into the details on introduction. "Mizuki, this is Inga, a wisewoman and good friend of mine. I'm pretty sure she's smarter than I am." She chuckles.

Mordred call back to her and Riva just shrugs. "Oh no, I know I'm pretty awesome, I just think you'd probably kick my ass in a fight, that's all. I was supposed to be an artist!" With magic bee powers.

Psyber comments on her situation again, and Riva nods, rubbing her chin. "Oh believe me, there's plenty of headbusting to do over in my neck of the woods. If it's not the Draug there's other things... Did you guys get a report on the super hulk zombies yet?" She pauses. "Probably not. I'll check on that." Riva, too, seems to be uninterested in saving Shirou from getting Mordred'd. "Odd jobs, huh? Sounds interesting. What kind of extra work are you looking to see get done?" Riva replies with an equal casualness.

Setsuko Kaminagi (255) has posed:
    Setsuko's senses have always been superhumanly sharp. The little darts and flickers of a black shape moving between legs don't escape her notice, even before it becomes clear the shadowy fox is coming her way. But she doesn't move, or even show any hint of defensiveness; she simply waits patiently, curiosity creeping in at the nogitsune's choice to send her shadow this-a-way.

    And the illusory voice for only her ears doesn't seem to perturb her either, although her attention certainly goes more strongly to Munashi. She stares at the shadow for just a moment, one eyebrow arched... and then nods, wordlessly, an acknowledgement. Some might call her incautious, but those people don't have a sixth sense to tell them 'this won't lead to a battle'.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "Awk!" yanked! Shirou's got nothing on Mordred's strength. Well, he would in terms of pure physicality, but she is determined for trouble and he's taken by surprise.

    The boy does protest with some stammery noises, but eventually relents and just starts walking. "What kind of reasons are those? If I'm glaring it's because you're really troublesome... geeze, you're just proving my thoughts right..."

    But if it gets Mordred way from the others, he'll just have to deal with her...

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Suddenly there is a nogitsune invading the party. Well, she's a guest here, and Bedivere hadn't specifically denied her an invitation or anything... he should have expected that she would be here to harass him. Somehow.

...AUGH.

Bedivere's reaction to suddenly having an arm wrapped around him is to shy the other way, towards Arturia; but he can't break free of her.

"This was not my doing, it was the people. Unhand me," he adds, unhappily, tugging at the arm so casually around him. "As a matter of fact, I had hoped you had forgotten."

Apparently he resigns himself to a dance, or he just doesn't want to feel her digging her nails into his arm like claws. Or to do whatever else she has up her sleeve when she doesn't get her way. He makes a vague, unhappy sound in Arturia's direction that decidedly does not sound like 'help.'

The look he gives her says as much though.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Nothing in particular. A lot of the Elites that work for my business are just freelancers whose opinions or input I trust and that I feel would work well in the dynamic my office fosters," He notes to Riva, looking over at her as he idly smokes his cigarette, "Take the jobs you wanna go along on, that kinda thing."

    Psyber sighs a bit as he decides to finally try to distract Mordred for Shirou. So he shouts across the field, trying to shift Mordred's aggro, "Mordred! You look pretty today! Like a princess!"

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Yes! It's because you keep glaring. Geez, me, troublesome? I don't know where you get those ideas," Mordred says with her ever-present grin, reaching two horses and giving them pats on the back. Fortunately these already have saddles on, from prior mounting (likely due to the festival preparations), so Shirou won't have to learn to ride a naked horse. That's as good a term as any, right?

    "The REAL reason is that I want to see that sword magic of yours in action. Never seen something like it. I'm just trading you a service for your demonstration! You ever get caught in a situation where you have nothing but a horse to ride, you'll thank me."

    Time for Horse Riding 101, Rushed Version.

    "Just do what I do. You seem good at mimicry."

    Foot on one side, elegant hop. Mordred's atop her horse, feet in both sides of the saddle already. And then Psyber shouts at her.

    "... you know what, hold that thought."

    Mordred rides out of the stables.
    Mordred rides straight for Psyber.
    Maybe a bit to the left. She's not intending to TRAMPLE him. Just come close enough he can small the horse's fur, and then abruptly stop to glare at him from up high.

Saber (346) has posed:
     The King of Knights couldn't help but subtly bristle as the nogitsune wrapped an arm around Bedivere's. Though she knew she had nothing to worry about on a particular front, emotions were not so easily controlled through calm logic. The cool mask she had worn constantly as the King of Britain settled over her features, regarding Kagenashi with cold jade eyes.

     But her coy reminder of a 'promised' dance was punctuated by the sharp sound of breaking wood; the stick of Arturia's now-finished caramel apple suddenly snapped in half between her deceptively delicate fingers. Perhaps that might have reminded the nogitsune she was on Bedivere's opposite side.

     There was little need for the knight's plaintive cry for help. Already, the subtle waves of a killing aura – one that might put even Mordred's bloodthirstiness to shame, or even where she got it in the first place – radiated off the flaxen-haired king. In contrast to that, the cool mask was replaced with an altogether dissonant sweet smile. "Another time, perhaps. His dances have been promised to me, this evening."

     Nope, not in the mood to share. Certainly not with someone she trusted about as far as she could throw the keep with one arm.

Inga has posed:
Suddenly, Inga is practically bowled over by Riva. Blinking, Inga laughs and returns the embrace. "Riva, by the gods, are you already in your cups?" she asks. Not that she would blame her, this being a party and all. "It is good to see you my friend," she greets, smile growing. Inga looks then to Mizuki, who's name she has now heard twice in the past few moments. Inga tilts her head slightly, then bows her head, a look of confusion evident as she asks, "A writer of what?"

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mizuki," she replies. "It seems I missed some things in Kingsmouth...what happened to Staren?" she asks. She didn't mean to upset him, but upset he is. Seeing his tale all fluffed up, she represses and urge to giggle. He's clearly been put on edge. "Apologies Staren...it is how these things work," she explains weakly. "Often I cannot help it. I saw a thread..." she shakes her head then, trailing off. No use explaining it now.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber looks up at Mordred when she stops the horse next to him. Whether his lack of flinching is out of courage, foolishness, trust in Mordred to not kill him, or the knowledge he can survive a horse trampling for the sake of a joke is up to the reader to decide.

    Instead he looks up at her as she glares down at him, "I'm sorry if I upset you, Mordred. I did not know you were sensitive. Delicate like a red rose blooming up from under the cracked ice of a barren tundra. If I mistreat you, are you going to wilt against the harsh cold?" He asks in a curious manner, smiling up at her.

Staren has posed:
    Staren flicks his tail, then tries to smooth the fur down with his hands. "The black stuff got in my head somehow. Mizuki got it out. There are... Look, I don't like having strangers in my head. And it's alright, Inga."

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Mordred glares. There is fire in her eyes.
    Possibly literally, given the Shajem of Rage.

    She turns to look towards Arturia, and shouts:
    "FATHER! Chivalry refresher. How badly can I maim a guest who is being rude but ultimately harmless?" Please don't say you can't please don't say you can't please don't say you can't. On the other hand, this will distract Saber from Kagenashi!

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Hey woah now, I'm not trying to be rude here," Psyber points out, holding up his hands defensively, "I'm simply trying to make ammend for me having hurt Mordred's feelings. I did not realize she was so easily upset and fragile. I am sorry."

    Psyber smiles to Saber politely, rocking back and forth on his feet.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi's casual drape only becomes slightly firmer when Bedivere tries tugging himself away. She's not digging claws into skin again, but it's clear enough that she, once more, has no intention of letting go. Her gaze flits back to Bedivere again, a very light smile forming over her lips that responds to his demands clearly enough with a 'no'.

    "I never forget. Foxes are keen of intelligence and long of memory; how else do you expect me to have survived so long?" Silver eyes are cast out toward the festival as a whole, thoughtful and curious. "Perhaps I should have offered some decorations. Next time, I suppose."

    Crack. Saber gets another look, partially of surprise. Eyes flit from the apple to the king's face. "Well, he did not seem to be doing anything at the moment. Surely you can spare a moment or two?" Her smile turns faintly coy as she continues in perfect serenity. "I assure you, despite the fact that he privately entered my room a couple of nights ago, there is nothing to fear as far as me kidnapping him. He will be returned shortly."

    Another glance up to Bedivere. The black fox smiles, then begins tugging him along toward an open space. "Now then. Shall we?"

    Munashi, meanwhile, just gives a brief nod to Setsuko before moving aside and taking a seat by the swordswoman. There she lingers, staring out at the festival herself as if acting as a curious little companion for the celebration's makeshift bouncer.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    Sieg reappears rather abruptly. He, too, has borrowed one of the local animals. But somehow he managed to find a donkey instead of a horse, which really makes you wonder exactly how far he wandered off before coming back. At any rate, he rides right up next to Mordred, apparently doing perfectly well on his own. Though, he looks rather scuffed up and dirty. It's possible that he engaged in some TRIAL AND ERROR while nobody was able to find him.

    "Mordred." The homunculus is looking up at the angry knight. "Am I doing this right?"

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    And there, off Mordred goes. Shirou faces down the horse he's been led to. they're quite trained horses, obviously, and luckily already ready to go, but...

    He finds himself the recipient of a horse stare, and then a snort. "...."

    Man.

    What is he doing?

    Oh well, he did see what Mordred did, and... oh man, if he screws up, he's gonna be doing so in front of the whole darned festival. But if he doesn't go out...

    Then he can't keep glaring at Mordred.

    "Sorry. That girl's being really unreasonable." He mumbles to the horse. Gathering his determination, he saddles up. One foot in the stirrup and HUP, up he goes and over. Mounted!

    If nothing else, he's coordinated enough to balance and manage THAT. But he has no idea how to direct the horse once he's up... he just stares at the beast's mane. Now what?

Riva Banari has posed:
"Well, I certainly appreciate it. I'd be interested in learning more about what you and your associates are up to. This sounds like the kind of thing I tend to do anyway." Psyber's oblique comments are keeping Riva's attention, it seems. Though when he shouts at Mordred she suddenly wonders if she wants to be in proximity of Psyber for what might happen next.

Riva takes several steps to the side as Mordred decides to make her statement. And as the horse rushes past, Riva blinks. "Wow, that was a statement."

Inga queries Riva's blood alcohol level and she laughs. "Not yet! Soon though. We'll all get hammered tonight." There's enough good drink here to probably pickle the boar Mordred brought in.

Riva resists the urge to facepalm as Psyber turns it up a notch. She just gives in halfway through the comment, her shoulder heaving as she resists laughing at least.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "That obvious, huh?" Mordred asks Sieg, before inspecting him more closely. "Where'd you even find a donkey?" Truly a mystery for the ages. Or Dún Reáltaí has donkeys. One is much more likely than the other!

    "Looking good if you've never done it before. Donkeys are a smidge easier, but for a beginner you just rocked the house."

    Then a glance towards Shirou. Mordred vaguely motions for the bridle. "Use the bridle! Give it a really firm whipping, yank it to stop! You can use your feet against the horse's side too! And your weight!" (Spoiler: giving the bridge a firm whipping as opposed to just a nudge will probably make the horse go full speed ahead, but that's the joke.)

    Finally, Mordred's glare, somewhat defused by Sieg and Shirou, returns to Psyber, and she sighs. "God you know exactly what buttons to push to get me cranky don't you. Feels like the response you're waiting for is for me to shout I hate you, run to my room and slam the door. That's how this shit is handled in this era, right?"

Saber (346) has posed:
     Somewhere in the back of her mind, Arturia knew Kagenashi was needling them both deliberately to get a rise out of them. And yet even as she knew that was probably the case, that did nothing at all to quell the rapidly-building totally-not-rage. And the nogitsune was performing the equivalent of pouring petrol on that fire.

     "Well, appearances can deceive, as well you know..." the Servant quipped almost amicably. The way she twirled the broken fragment of wood, however, might have seemed somewhat threatening. Not that she would dare break Brehon Law. But fox furs were rather nice and soft and warm...

     Unfortunately for Mordred, her question wasn't so much a distraction as feeding into her own building Tranquil Fury.

     "...Brehon Law," was all she replied with, her otherwise soft voice strangely carrying well, although whether that was a reminder to Mordred or a reminder to herself wasn't entirely clear.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber grins widely up at Mordred and says, "Hey now, I do it because your two dads are so incredibly boring that you have to have at least SOME fun male role model in your life, right?" Psyber says, waving his hand at Mordred, "Besides, I know you don't hate me. Just go easy on them, alright? That's all I really wanted to say," Psyber notes to Mordred, crossing his arms again as he looks up at her and then jerks his head back towards Shirou and Sieg, "Now go. Have fun. Grab me if you wanna spar with swords later or dance or something." He gives her a smile.

    And then he looks back to Riva and smiles wider, "Sorry about that," He says cheerily, at least glad to have amused her, "I can get you set up with some accesses to my group organization on a trial basis. I'm sure it already has a lot of people we know."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Violet eyes flick between the nogitsune and the Once and Future King in what seems to be rising agitation. Bedivere has one at each side, now, and he's pretty certain that neither woman is going to let him go without a fight... and he can only hope that he's not the one who gets trampled if it comes to that.

Swallowing harshly, he glances between one and the other again, mind whirling as he tries to figure out some way to resolve this without Dún Reáltaí being reduced to rubble. Lord God grant him courage.

Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly, his eyes flick again to Arturia, just in time to see her smile that incongruously sweet smile. Even he can't help a bit of a shiver at that expression.

"Only to see that you weren't secretly working on burning down the keep," he snaps in response to her casual little drop of information, frowning. "I am warning you; and it is the only warning I will give. Do not twist my actions or my words to suit your twisted needs."

His frown only etches itself deeper into his face when she looks up at him, but he only moves grudgingly at best; just slowly and reluctantly enough that her claws won't quite dig into his arm.

/Allow me to humour her, my lady,/ he casts back to Saber over his shoulder, helpless and frustrated. Or she will find some way of making our lives miserable before the evening is through. It will be but a moment, and then I can see what she wants, and I may then be rid of her presence for the rest of the eve.

He stumbles after the nogitsune.

...I hope.


Oh God, she's angry. He can feel the wave of killing intent from here.

Calm yourself, he adds, with an uneasy look to Arturia. I will be but a moment, and then perhaps she will leave me be—

And he stumbles forward again, as she practically drags him off, jog-trotting a step or two to keep up. "Are you satisfied, now? Must you make a spectacle every time you wish for my attention in a public venue?" he grouses, not quite glaring. "What do you want?"

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Obvious?" Sieg asks, looking confused. He hadn't actually figured out who she was, he just came in in time to hear Bedivere explain it. Failing that, her Noble Phantasm has been keeping him from connecting the dots. It was really just lucky timing on his part, though there were only a limited number of Grail Cycle spirists that he could have been. "No, it was a bit difficult to figure out how to make it go. I asked a man at the stable how it worked, and I know a little bit about it to start with. It's simple once it's explained to you."

    Having a tremendous capacity for learning helps. There's no other way Sieg would be riding this quickly otherwise. It looks like he must have made some novice mistakes along the way. He brushes some straw out of his hair idly.

Staren has posed:
    Staren suddenly stops and stares into space at a notification on his HUD. "I need to get going. Good seeing you again, Inga, Riva, Mizuki." He nods to those nearby, then teleports out.

Inga has posed:
Inga blinks, looking at Riva for a moment. Hammered? Then, she laughs. "Hammered! I like this term very much," she declares. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to hand me a horn of mead, shield-maiden?" she asks, nudging Riva gently.

Inga's eyes slide toward Bedivere and Saber once more, only to find some other woman draped over Bedivere. She reads the tense aura over there at a glance. Might be blood after all. She is sure they can handle it, but she'll keep an eye on the situation all the same.

Absorbing a bit of the conversation around her, Inga has pieced together that perhaps someone is going riding? By the gods, why hasn't she tried to acquire a horse? Though, it is unlikely they would have one young enough to be trained...how troublesome. Maybe a chariot?

Still leaning against KITT, Inga looks back to Staren, processing his explaination. "Oh...well isn't that interesting," she comments thoughtfull, tucking this bit of information away for further rumination later. This is a party, and she is rather determined to enjoy it. It had been a long night, her back still aching from all the work. Drink would certainly be welcome, though she'd best be careful less she drink so much she was no longer able to walk!

When Inga looks back toward Staren, suddenly he disappears! Inga startles, then frowns.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "The hell do you mean two fathers? The king's my father, that's it. I don't have another, because the king's not engaged. As if she'd ever find someone who can keep up with her," Mordred laughs, evidently unaware of the OBVIOUS TRUTH. Possibly, better that way.

    Then to Sieg, she notices him brush straw out of his hair. She frowns, having evidently missed the best part of the learning process, but lightens up after. "Yeah, you know. Obvious. Who I am. Am I that dead a giveaway or did someone spoil it for you?" The latter, but she wasn't paying nearly enough attention to notice. "Not bad, still. You really are an odd Master. So where's your Servant, anyway? I can't sense him even dematerialized right now, or maybe I'm just not paying enough attention. Aren't you, I dunno, worried? Or are you sticking with that 'no big deal, living this long was a blessing anyway' philosophy?"

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Yeah, rule #1 of riding horses: don't listen to Mordred. Shirou quickly realizes what Mordred's trying to get out of him, and he ain't gonna go along with it. So he gently nudges the horse with his feet and knees a few ways. And after some confused turning around, he finally gets going in a somewhat wobbly, unspirited walk out of the stable, reins in hand. He's paying Mordred very little mind at the moment, far too absorbed in the simple joy of being mounted and the terror of what will happen if he flubs up.

    He's probably going to go trotting right by the others without ever looking away from the situation right in front of him...

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva nods, and pulls out her phone. "Just send me the info and I'll set it all up." She grins. "I'm sure this will work out pretty well." Or she'll end up a screaming nervous wreck, but then that was always on the table anyway.

Inga asks her to fetch a drink, however, which interrupts her ruminations. Riva happily does so, coming back with two. One for Inga, and one for her, of course. "Here you are, Inga!" Riva says cherrily, and salutes with her drink. "To friends, family, and good times!" She says, giving Staren a wave. "Supercatboy, off to save the world again." She chuckles, before working on that dire problem of a full drinking horn.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "I hadn't figured out who you were yet. I'd narrowed it down to three possible individuals, but something was keeping me from connecting the dots completely. The only reason I know your name is because Sir Bedivere announced you a little while ago." Sieg explains to Mordred, his tone returning to a mechanical monotone for the duration. He seems to come back to being approximately a person when his presence here is questioned as potentially foolish. It takes him a few moments to consider the subject and come up with a satisfactory answer.

    "If Jean is here, he's probably enjoying himself the same as everyone else. As for my philosophy, I guess I am sticking to it, but it's also because I think this place is reasonably safe. Whoever breaks the peace is going to be putting themselves in more danger than I'd be in, and since the parameters of my servant are unknown, there's no telling whether or not assassinating me would actually stick or take me out of the war." He goes on, in regards to his own situation. "Basically, the risk-reward of trying to take me out here is unbalanced towards risk."

Inga has posed:
Inga laughs, taking the mead and raising it high as Riva makes a toast. She drinks to that, then makes a toast of her own. "Hail to the gods for the bounty of the earth, may next year's harvest be plentiful and may the dead remain in their graves," she says. Hey, its pertinent.

"Now, I should eat before this all hits me on an empty stomach, I spent most of the evening helping with a bit of a difficult birth you see and...." Inga procedes to tell Riva the story as she wanders toward the feast to eat her fill.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Oh, she certainly knew that her marshal was completely trustworthy, even if she couldn't help but question the wisdom in visiting Kagenashi alone. She had a measure of honour, true...but the fox was wholly untrustworthy. Just as she questioned the wisdom of acquiescing to her now.

     She was certainly angry, but she was, above all, a knight. She could control her anger, heed Brehon Law and not tear Bedivere's opposite arm off in the process of trying to drag him away. Not that there was much she could do, under such circumstances. But that hardly meant the aura of quiet fury was going to abate.

     At least, not until his silent entreaty. Her anger was not so simply quelled, but it nevertheless abated somewhat. Luckily, his presence always seemed to have a calming effect on his king. Very well, she grudgingly released him. I do not trust her, however...I shall trust you.

     Not that she thought it would be so easy to be rid of that troublesome nogitsune.

     Idly, she wondered if there was something she could distract herself with...

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber can totally tell that Saber needs a distraction. Psyber is here to provide that. But he doesn't wanna ditch Riva, "Hey, hold on. I wanna see if I can set up a show! So I'll maybe be right back."

    Psyber jogs over to the distraught Saber and puts a hand on her shoulder, "Arturia. I just realized in all the years we've known eachother, we've never crossed swords. Perhaps we should grab dulled blades and put on a bit of a show at the festival?"

    He gives her a look that says 'I am giving you an excuse to beat an immortal being with a stick to vent emotions, you should take it'.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Oh. I see. Yeah that'd do it. Anyone breaks the rules here and he's got at least three Sabers on his ass, after all. So who else did you think I was? Color me curious, since you seem to know so much. And yeah, smart, I guess. If you couldn't tell, I'm not really the subtle mindgames sort of Servant. That stuff is completely lost on me. Gimme something to hit with my sword, though, and we'll have ourselves a deal," Mordred answers Sieg, before glancing towards Shirou.

    "Hey, not bad! See, it's not so hard. Kind of a fun pass time too," she says, directing the Faker to get his ass over here already.

Michael Knight (543) has posed:
KITT displays more of an awareness of the current awkwardness than Michael does. It's to be expected, really, since KITT doesn't need to eat and isn't currently stuffing his face. Spotting a break in the music from the stage, he takes it upon himself to activate his speakers and play Michael's mix tape. The party is blasted forwards in time, to the far-flung future, treated to the sounds of Kool and the Gang.

♪ "How you gonna do it if you really don't wanna dance/by standing on the wall?" ♫

Michael, beer in hand, stands confused. "I thought I said on my signal."

"You did. I was being proactive, Michael." The car of course didn't take the time to inform Inga that he'd be playing music, so the wise woman is like to get a bit of a surprise.

Michael shrugs, finishes his food, and shows the citizens of Dún Reáltaí how to cut a rug. Since Psyber is planning on doing some swashbuckling, this is likely going to result in a very odd scene unique to the setting of the Multiverse.

♪ "Get down on it! Get down on it!" ♫

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi's only response to Bedivere's grave warning is a look of innocent curiosity. "Hm? I was only stating a fact. Nothing was twisted about it, except perhaps in your hearing." Saber is the one who gets a light smile and a polite nod, next. "It will just be a moment, Your Highness."

    Once Kagenashi has tugged Bedivere away, she turns back to him, her smile faded for a slightly more neutral look. Her arm finally unwraps from his, but only for one hand to settle on his shoulder and the other on his waist as she gives him an expectant look. "Well? Are you going to proceed, or do I have to continue tugging you along until everyone involved is discomforted by such a dramatic display?"

    The nogitsune pauses for a moment, considering her next answer as she stares up at the knight. "She is quite enraged, is she not? But, in your good fortune, it appears she is not angered at you. I believe I have made myself the entire target of her agitation." A soft, brief smile flits over her lips. "One can tell quite a lot about a situation from where a person's emotions are directed."

    She pauses, then, before adding, "I also wanted a dance. Is that so wrong?"

Riva Banari has posed:
"I'll be right here with Inga." Riva assures Psyber. "And this mead." She says, giggling. Inga's story causes Riva to have several astonished looks, as well as perhaps blanch a couple times. "You've been having a lot of interesting times." Riva says as she helps Inga get some food. "I'm glad you're able to put your skills to use so quickly. It's got to be a lot easier for you to deal with this area than Kingsmouth, that's for sure." No zombie hordes, for one.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Based on the association with Sir Bedivere, I assumed that all of you were knights of the Grail Cycle." Sieg explains, frowning as his donkey starts to roam a bit on its own. He lets it, though, simply allowing the conversation to go on in this awkward fashion, "There are relatively few such knights who focused on anonymity. The fact that I couldn't ascertain your identity with so much information tipped me off to that, though without knowing about the grail cycle connection you could also have been Connla, son of the irish hero Cuchulainn."

    He clears his throat, collects his thoughts, and goes on, "My other theories would have been Lancelot or the Green Knight, slightly favoring the Green Knight since his identity is much more flexible."

Saber (346) has posed:
     The nogitsune had certainly learned well enough just which of Saber's buttons to push. That is, her new ones. Previously, the only way to get that sort of rise out of her was to insult her knighthood or her path of the king. It wasn't *jealousy* per se, which would indicate a lack of trust. Rather, it was the fact that Kagenashi was clearly trying to upset Bedivere. That did not sit well with the petite king. At all.

     No, she was not angry at the silver-haired knight. Frustrated, certainly...but not angry. Perhaps he was a little *too* courteous. But then, that was one of the traits she obviously respected most in him.

     Saber was, admittedly, a little surprised by Psyber's sudden offer. That wasn't quite the distraction she had in mind, but so long as she was *not* focusing on ripping some fox tails out...

     More to the point, he was right. "No...that is true, we have not crossed swords." Pale eyebrows lifted up slightly. "So...a match, then?"

     An almost-smirk crossed her face. "If so, then I accept."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Shirou finally does manage to get the horse angled Mordred's way and it knows better than he, and stops without him asking. Phew. Shirou though? Seems really nervous about this whole arrangement. Not least of all because Sieg and Mordred are discussing some very dangerous-sounding things as if it wasn't so. Oi.

    "Come on, it's a festival. Aren't there better things to focus on? You brought that huge boar.." But you're not even gonna have a slice? That seems to be what he's getting at, as he peers at Mordred.

    Finally though, his composure is back, so he asides to Sieg, "That's not a horse, is it?" He's sure it's not. But he's so nervous what it is isn't coming to mind.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Bedivere finally allows himself to be dragged off, perhaps because he's been reassured that his king isn't about to cut in and start ripping Kagenashi's tails out one by one. As cathartic as that might be to watch, it would still be a violation of Brehon Law. He also doesn't want to see Arturia so angry. Better to give Kagenashi what she wants and then get away from her for the rest of the evening.

"I am coming," he mutters, clearly annoyed as she settles her hands over him in a more traditional posture for dancing. He flinches a little at her touch, looking still more annoyed; reluctantly, he takes her up in similar posture, leading off for the—

—suddenly the musicians are drowned out by what the hell is that godforsaken noise.

Bedivere's expression turns sour, and he shakes his head, proceeding to dance completely independent of that music. Maybe he's thinking of some waltz or something; whatever the case, his timing is good, in spite of the discordant noise of some other era blasting nearby.

"Yes, you've made your point, nogitsune. I ask you, what do you want? 'A dance' is not your full answer, and we both know that. Very well, then, you have my attention and you've separated me from my king. What do you want of me, then?" he snaps, not quite glaring down at her. "I have not the patience for your games or your air of coy disinterest today."

Inga has posed:
Inga nods. "Heh...yes, it seems my skills are put to good use here. It is certainly more welcoming than Kingsmouth...but I have not forgotten that is where my duty lies. We must figure out what is happening there. Have you learned anything new recently?" she asks.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber smirks back to respond to Saber's almost smirk, "I'll allow you to grab you training swords, then!" He notes, "As I have no idea where you keep anything around here, so I wouldn't know where to get them."

    He folds his hand behind his back, idly listening to the alternate music choice that just began playing in the area, "You may be surprised, though, at my level of skill. I'm arguably considered peerless with a blade in my home world." He notes, trying to perhaps give Saber something to look forward to in a sparring partner.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Ha! Well. To the best of my knowledge, the Green Knight was a ploy of my mother's. She was kind of a bitch, by the way. Big bearded man though, from Gawain's accounts. I'm not very bearded, and... well, maybe a bit shorter than history relates," she admits, lamenting her height. But then, Arturia is tiny too. It's not really her fault, or her mother's fault, for once.

    "Lancelot's... I hear he was the best of us, even better in combat than the king, but I never got to find out in person. I'd love to meet him. You know, for a spar." Mordred idly dismisses the matter for now, content enough with the answer.

    She turns to Shirou, and then realizes how right he is. "Oh! Jesus, yes, FOOD. We have so much, it's never going to get eaten! Wasting food, now THERE'S a crime worth burning Camelot for. I'd think father would have beaten me to it if any of us had squandered our meals." You'd think she's joking, but if there is one thing the Pendragons don't joke about, it's food.

    Mordred vaguely directs her horse towards the gigantic boar, expecting Sieg and Shirou to follow. Kind of odd to parade around the festival on horseback, but there's room. "So, boy. Sieg, right? What's YOUR deal, besides observation? Sword boy over there can apparently make swords out of thin air, you got anything like that? You mentioned being made to be a battery so your reserves of magic must be pretty damn big."

Saber (346) has posed:
     One last dissatisfied glance back at Kagenashi and Bedivere before Arturia sighed in resignation. She would just have to trust that her marshal could handle the fox; and it was not as if she could attack or curse them under the rules of hospitality, either. Or whatever code she followed – Saber had yet to learn precisely what it was.

     But a good match...that she hadn't had in a while. Her smirk never wavered as she disappeared for a few minutes to retrieve a couple of wooden practise swords from the keep's armoury. Or rather, what little of it had been hastily rebuilt. Tossing one to the half-angel, she almost grinned. "Well then, I look forward to the challenge!"

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "It's not?" Sieg looks at Shirou questioningly, and then down towards his mount. It is very clearly not a horse, but to his eyes they look 'close enough' that he can't tell the difference. He's quite knowledgeable about heroic spirits and how to discern their identity, and all matters of the grail war. But as has been the case previously, his common sense and knowledge seems to be sorely lacking. No, he really doesn't know the difference between a horse and donkey, although looking at them side by side like this he can tell that they're not exactly the same.

    Apparently he doesn't have anything to say about Lancelot or the Green Knight. But he barely has an answer for what HIS thing is, either. Sieg shakes his head a little, "Large mana reserves is really all there is to me. I guess I learn pretty fast, too. But if you're expecting me to say I have a powerful mystic code, you're going to be disappointed. I have no talent as a magus." Nevertheless, he ISN'T saying that he's not a threat.

    "He's got better magecraft than I do. Somehow he violates energy-to-matter conversion requirements in the usage of Gradation Air." Sieg points Shirou out as he describes the 'trick'.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The sudden burst of music from KITT is regarded by Kagenashi with little more than a brief glance toward the source of the sound. Her attention is brought back to Bedivere a moment later, anyway, and he's far more interesting at the moment.

    The dance is not one that's familiar to Kagenashi, but the nogitsune is quick of mind and agile besides. It doesn't take her long to catch up and fall into step, each movement flowing elegantly from one to the next.

    "You are incredibly demanding sometimes," she replies with a brief sigh. "Well. You are the one who seemed to so skillfully notice how my thoughts work. My feelings, my choices. Can you not think of a reason? Perhaps, in light of my own solitude, I would like to help someone who has earned some measure of respect from me with their own wishes."

    Her head tilts to the side slightly. As harsh as his tone is, hers remains calm and gentle. "Perhaps I wished to make one last assurance for myself of the thoughts that woman holds, and, through obstruction and irritation, make your time all the more pleasant later. Look; you touch me with such annoyance and reluctance. Perhaps you may hold her all the closer, when it is her turn? Perhaps she may grasp your arm that much more firmly."

    Her light smile returns briefly. "Or maybe I am simply rotten to the core, and I do nothing but take pleasure in seeing you growl and snap like a cornered dog, while your king seems prepared to rip my tails out one by one, and I am simply rambling to muddle your mind even further. I am truly horrible and deceitful, after all, am I not? It is not as if I can be trusted."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "That's... a donkey? Or a mule?" Shirou's none too versed with animals either. But if he keeps guessing he'll get it right eventually. "Oh well. Close enough, we're not going gallopping anyways." HE HOPES. Mordred, don't make him into a liar!

    Though when this trick of his is brought to light, Shirou makes a consternated face. He can't deny that. Nor is he sure he should be showing it off in front of Mordred. But if Sieg's gonna point that out... "Don't ask me how. I don't really understand it either. Tracing out something like Mordred's sword isn't that hard once I get a good look at it."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "Nh. No matter how you look at it, I'm an amateur. There's no way my magecraft's better than yours if you have any at all." Shirou grouchily affirms, hoping to correct Sieg's misunderstanding.

    So instead he turns on Mordred and nods vehemently. "Right! Getting all that food ready wasn't easy for anyone involved. You shouldn't go without having some of itt! that'd be a waste." Though he doesn't really want his food to go her way... or maybe he does. if it calms her down... that's a worthy cause.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber is already shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on something when Saber has re-emerged with the two weapons. He flexes and stretches a bit, wearing a t-shirt despite the cool area. It's a pretty mundane t-shirt, solid black. He cathes the sword and then flourishes it a bit.

    "Very well, since I issued the challenge, I will let you come at me when you're ready. Let's have a good, clean match," Psyber says, his feet shifting into a less than orthodox stance that's hard to read as coming from any single style of swordplay while one hand casually holds the sword downward at his side.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Just a look?" Mordred asks towards Shirou, apparently curious now. Though, he has the wrong idea. It is hardly her sword! But then, that's the deal with it. If it WERE her sword, it would be a lot more dangerous. Funny how Noble Phantasms work.

    "Now I'm even more interested. Bit sad to learn YOU don't have a trick of your own," she tells Sieg too, "But I guess we can't all be winners. Hopefully your eyes, wits and Servant carry you through without need of you ever doing anything yourself. So what's in it for you? What are you going to wish for? Or is that private?" Sieg didn't seem like someone with need or desire for a wish, from the way he spoke of still being alive at all, but then maybe he has something deep down he really wants.

    Mordred moves a bit, idly, once she has snatches a plateful of boar from atop her steed, to gaze towards Psyber and Saber. That ought to be good.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Hrmngh. Now that he's had some time to get TALKING with Mordred, Shirou seems to be relaxing a little. Though he's still atop a horse, the horse is seemingly not minding just standing there... he's gonna really have to ask Bedivere about Mordred later, won't he?

    Oh what the heck. he'll anwer Mordred's curiosity. This is a festival, not a time to worry about things like that.

    He dismounts with ease and gently pats his ex-mount's side. He'd stay mounted, but he has no idea how the horse might react if something weird happened so close to him.

    Because as soon as he's about ten feet away...

    Shirou mutters, "Trace, on." While the boy's brow furrows with intense focus, golden light flares from his palm and spreads out into a hazy wireframe matching the structure of Clarent. Over about twenty seconds, the lightshow fills in with greater and greater detail. The golden light recedes with a *kshhh-CLANK* at the end, leaving the Radiant and Brilliant Royal Sword in his grasp.

    And he casually tosses it up at Mordred. Or rather, he's ABOUT to, but doesn't when he sees she's going for the boar. Instead, he keeps it in his lap after getting back up onto his steed.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Shrugging the heavy blue cloak off her shoulders, Saber folded it carefully before she set it aside, as if it was something precious to her. More than simply as an expensive garment, especially considering her plain commoner's clothing beneath it. It was as if it had been a gift from a cherished friend who had gone off on her own journey with the promise of an eventual – if brief – return.

     Once that was done, the knight-king smiled, testing the sword for a moment before settling into her familiar en garde stance. "Very well," she replied almost cheerfully. or, at least, cheerfully for the otherwise stoic knight.

     For a long moment, it might have seemed she wouldn't move at all, remaining as still as a marble statue. But then, with a sudden burst of speed which would be nearly impossible for the normal human eye to follow, the petite swordswoman darted forward, low to the ground, the wooden sword sweeping into an elegant forward arc aimed for the half-angel's torso.

     But then, Psyber was hardly a normal human.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The silver-haired knight stops talking, but the way he does it suggests he still feels some measure of annoyance. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, and his brows are furrowed slightly, violet eyes cold. That she troubles herself to work his and Arturia's last nerve at all is an annoyance in and of itself; her mere presence here is an oversight on his part that he's still not pleased about.

In spite of his annoyance, his movements are likewise graceful; though how much of that is from his martial training and how much of it is a simple unconscious instinct to stay light on his feet. Even in full plate, he can move with surprisingly little noise... although it hardly compares to the instincts of a thousand-year fox.

"You have strange ways of helping." Bedivere gives a short little sigh, as though he were resigning himself to the dance or two to come. He does cast a brief look over to regard Arturia, who seems intent on a duel with Psyber. That might have been interesting to watch, if only to see her cut loose against somebody, but there's no hope of escape right now.

Eventually, his violet eyes flick back to the nogitsune. "I do not enjoy being close to anyone," he points out, when she raises the point of how reluctantly and with such annoyance he touches her. "Even my brother-knights." In fact, the only person he doesn't mind even standing close to him is Arturia. That he lets her, in light of that admission, would probably be telling on its own. "Besides which, I am not so certain your intentions would be so altruistic. I have seen those lonely become bitter when faced with others who know not that loneliness."

"I am not certain about horrible, but you are certainly deceitful, and it seems to be your very nature. But are you not a fox? That is their way, I have heard... though they were not so in Albion. That seems to be a peculiarity from wherever it is you hail from, this 'Azuma,' and other such lands." He shakes his head. "Such creatures do not exist in Albion. Or did not. Although we did have such creatures as dragons, or gryphons, or unicorns – and stranger creatures – they were rare... and they were strong. Sensible men did not seek them out."

He finally shakes his head, regarding her somewhat dubiously. "Whatever your motivations are, all I can do is continue to guess. You are certainly not forthcoming. Nor would I expect you to be, I think. But you seem to enjoy seeing me in my discomfort, so what else am I to believe?"

Mordred (12) has posed:
    OmnomnomSPITTAKE.

    Mordred doubletakes when Shirou just casually – for a given definition of casually, it did take him pretty much half a minute – whips up a replica of Clarent. Replica or not, that is worth more than a glance. She quickly stuffs the contents of her plate into her mouth to empty her hands, dusting them with a cloth and then inching closer to the Faker and his new toy.

    "Huh. I feel like I should be insulted, but damn if that's not impressive. You can do that just from having seen me swing it once? Really?" Sure, it's not as impressive as making lightning strike from the heavens or hurling a fireball, at least visually, but she'd have to admit this might just outclass even the magic of her mother.

    And her mother was hardly a scrub.

    "How'd you even come across that sort of magecraft? I mean, Noble Phantasms are... I'm pretty sure you should be dead right now. Or at least crippled for life." Well, Sieg is right, this boy sure is breaking the rules.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Oh." Sieg files the information away. It's a donkey, not a mule. This may or may not come up later. With regards to Shirou's ability as a magus, he answers, "As a homunculus my natural ability far exceeds that of a human. If we speak purely in terms of what I might be capable of, then even the best human is inferior to me. As I am right now though, I know next to nothing. I can improvise pretty well, but nothing big. I was designed to be a battery, but actually using the power available to me wasn't emphasized, so there was no need to teach me anything."

    "So... like I said, you're a better magus than I am." He reiterates.

    He pulls his donkey to a halt and moves back towards Shirou and Mordred when it drifts too far away. Then he answers Mordred's question, "I don't really have a wish. I don't even know what I want to do with my life. I think that I'd be okay with Jean getting his wish. He's a good person, so I think he can be trusted not to make a bad wish. Might be a bit trivial, though..."

    Infinite wine, or something.

    "Mordred is correct. My best guess is that his elemental affinity is something strange that gives him a high capacity for doing things like this. I'd probably be pretty good at transfer of power, for instance." It's an accurate guess, but only because Sieg is legitimately good at comprehending magecraft even with so little exposure.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber has some experience in combatting the Saber-class, mostly due to his early antagonism against Mordred and their frequent clashes on Terra Majora. He remains just as still as Saber does, red eyes calmly set upon her as he waits for the opening move. Subtly, his grip on the sword tightens in expectation of the first move.

    When she moves forward, his left leg slid backwards through the dirt, a quick and simple motion to shift center of gravity and brace. At the same time, the sword and the hand wielding it are raised. Psyber's swordstyle is uniquely suited to himself in that it's cherry picked from a mastery of hundreds of other styles and supplemented by his unique physiology to execute maneuvers that would be impossible for anyone not superhuman.

    One such move results in a thunderous CRACK of wood striking wood when Saber's training sword meets his. Rather than try to parry or dodge, in the instant Psyber lifted his arm, he'd changed the entire grip on his sword, reversing it. With the flat of the blade resting against his arm, Psyber used his own forearm as a brace to counter the overwhelming prowess, power and speed of the strike with his own durability and upper body strength of his whole arm rather than simply his wrist or forearm.

    Even still, the force of the blow slides him an inch or two in the dirt before the clash is fully resolved. In an instant after that blow, Psyber hops back and releases the sword again, once more shifting to a traditional grip as he takes that small move back. An instant later he follows it up with a swift and decisive trio of thrusts towards the midsection of his opponent, trying to force her to give ground while he probes her defenses.

Loros (303) has posed:
At the back of the gathering, a new figure has arrived. Bent and hobbled, Master Sorol leans heavily on his staff as he makes his way through the people. This is, of course, Loros in disguise, and his disguise is not so involved this time, doing nothing both to hide his own aura. Nor are his dark starfilled eyes hidden this time.

Still, he approaches no one and makes few waves as he approaches a decent spot to watch the fight from.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva's totally watching the swordfight, a half-empty horn of mead in one hand and the other holding a round of bread stuffed with boarmeat, ravenously eating and drinking and cheering them both on while hanging out with Inga and Mizuki. GIRL POWER CORNER, YO.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "If you say so, Sieg. I bet even having half your capacity would make a huge difference for my training. I can only make about ten of these before I'm empty." HE CAN MAKE TEN CLARENTS. WHAT. Well, make, but not use too well, sure.

    "Elemental Affinity? Like fire or earth?" He idly asks, genuinely curious. "Whats yours?" Now that the matter's been brought up, anyways. He figures that Sieg would know, even if he says he's only able to improvise.

    Which leaves him with the matter of answering Mordred. "I just stumbled over it. When I needed a weapon one in a pinch, making one was the only option there was." Yeah, put that way, doesn't it sound reasonable? ... Like making solid weapons out of prana was EVER practical...

    But oh, it looks like a match is starting. Shirou's attention easily turns that way!

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    "And yet I am quite certain there is one person you do not mind being close to," Kagenashi idly remarks to the knight's statement. Her glance shifts aside briefly, looking away in curious thought. "Well, you do have good reason to doubt me. Perhaps you should. I could be plotting to cast you down the moment you are at your highest, so your fall will be as long as possible."

    Her gaze returns to Bedivere after a moment's thought, her fingertips drumming briefly along his shoulder. "Some would say that trickery and deceit are a fox's nature, and that the kitsune are merely repressing what they truly are. Others would say that I my eyes are a sign of a matching tongue, peculair among my own race. And others...know not what a fox even is. How unfortunate for them."

    The nogitsune falls silent for a moment more, her gaze even and thoughtful. She seems about to say something, judging by the brief part of her lips and the glow from the star orb in her tongue...but it fades just as quickly before she steps back from him, letting her hands fall to her sides. Her expression is calm, but lacking in any earlier playfulness. "...I enjoy your discomfort, but at times you drain the entertainment from it. Though I must commend you for finally making good on what you owe. Perhaps you are not so stubborn as I thought."

    Her hands curl gently at her sides as she glances over to where Saber and Psyber spar. Is that some amount of discomfort in her form? "Your king is a skilled combatant," she remarks, deflecting attention toward something clearly far more interesting.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Eh, maybe you'll figure one along the way. If I'm anything to go by it took me a while to find my purpose in life, and it went straight against my mother's wishes. Then I had to be a huge loser and did what she asked me to anyway," Mordred tells Sieg with a shrug, before adding: "I'm not too different. Dragon blood, I've got a shit-ton of mana. Prana. Whatever the difference is, I'm not a magus. Can't really do much with it though. Shoot it out, boost myself, that's about it. Simple, but gets the job done. I could never stand the training and theorycrafting needed to be a proper magus, it's way too much boring work."

5tShe almost forgets to add: "No offense."

    Then to Shirou, she hrms. "Only ten of a legendary sword, uh. And you're probably still learning the ropes. Here I thought the modern age was devoid of legendary magicians, and one turns up able to just replicate any sword he sees."

5tShe doesn't want to miss too much of the match though, so her attention is easily focused back on that between replies.

Saber (346) has posed:
     In all fairness, the Servant had expected some manner of dodge, block, or parry with her rather simple opening manoeuvre. Many times, she could use her speed and agility to her advantage; few Servants could match both, and the Saber class was prized for both speed and strength. In Arturia's case, her abilities fell somewhat in the middle as the result of being as versatile as she was. 'Good at many things, expert of none' as the saying went. Even still, there were few Servants who could match her speed.

     On the other hand, she wasn't sparring with a fellow Servant at the moment.

     And while she had not expected the strike to land, it was a test...one that yielded an unexpected result. The fact that Psyber had blocked was not a surprise in and of itself, but the manner was most unorthodox, something more widely used with a knife, a main gauche, or a wakazashi...not a full-length sword. "Interesting," she quipped with a smirk as the blow was deflected, sending her momentum backwards. The reverberation would have stung a mortal, had it struck with that amount of force.

     The riposte was quick, the rapid strikes which would have otherwise caused her to cede precious ground. That is, if she chose to move backwards. Saber often used other options.

     Her left foot crossed behind her as she instead pivoted to her right, a move seemingly more befitting a dancer rather than a swordswoman. The flaxen-haired knight used that circular momentum to strike at his back with a reverse blow.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
When Kagenashi points out there's probably one person he doesn't mind being close to, the silver-haired knight tenses. He doesn't protest the point, though. Protesting only seems to fuel the fire, or perhaps he simply doesn't have it in him to argue semantics. She's right, even if he doesn't like to acknowledge it to her. Or to anyone else, when it comes down to it. While the man doesn't quite glare at her, he does regard her with a certain degree of discomfort.

Ugh. Why did he ever allow her to needle him so, on that forest path...? It's been nothing but misery for him ever since. Worse still, nothing ever shifts her boredom away from him for too long, and she seems to delight in his suffering.

"If it is any consolation," he says simply, inclining his head in a gesture of stiff politeness, "I doubt everyone until they have proven themselves to me, although I cannot necessarily say what that might require. It was a necessity in Camelot, and a necessity it remains, even here. It is hardly personal... although, it is true that I do not trust you, in particular. Anyone who obfuscates their goals and their motivations so is hardly one to inspire trust in me."

He immediately steps away when she releases him, not quite shivering, as though glad to be released from that unpleasant obligation. Plenty of men would kill to dance with such a lovely creature, but it seems he has no regard for her outward appearance; just the unpleasantness of what he sees beyond that. He does not trust her, and it resonates in every fibre of his being.

Bedivere at least has the good grace not to brush off his sleeve or anything so crass. He readjusts his cloak, but that could be a simple measure of warding against the weather – it's cool and brisk, as an autumn day should be, and not quite so cold as to threaten winter yet. Psyber might like to refer to the place as 'Coldasfuckistan,' but it's not really an accurate reflection on the natural weather patterns.

He turns, folding his arms and regarding the match with thinned lips.

Someone, possibly a villager, tugs on his sleeve from behind and hands him something. The villager is gone before he can really comprehend that he's been handed a horn of mead, or even protest that he doesn't drink alcohol. That seems to get him to frown even more, but more from puzzlement than anything else. So he just holds onto it, not drinking it, although he does give it a cautious and vaguely distasteful sniff. Maybe Arturia might like it once she's done.

Although it doesn't smell so bad, he decides. Almost sweet. Which is somehow even more distrustful to him.

"She is," he states, in agreement to Kagenashi. He'll let her deflect the topic, if only because wrenching it back around is much more bother than it's actually worth. "She always has been. We were an evenly matched pair, in Camelot, when we took to the field together. There was no enemy host we could not best, working together. But as she is now," he states, shaking his head, "she is far greater than I will ever be. I could never match her; she is far more than human, and I am but a mortal."

He continues to hold that horn of mead, too. Awkwardly.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "I don't know." Sieg admits to Shirou, but since he's a homunculus it's not hard to imagine that he had a broad magic specialty built in. He's definitely not a super specialist like Shirou is though. There is no purpose in a battery that can only supply a cripplingly specialized flavor of mana, after all. "But I think that doing what you did just once would drain me dry and kill me, probably. I'd need detailed plans of the object I'm projecting, too." Apparently he's not quite sure of his limits.

    As for Mordred's observations, he just shrugs. But he does decide to try just throwing some power around like Mordred is talking about. The notion of a 'prana burst' fairly simple, though he isn't capable of it anywhere near on the level that Mordred herself is.

    After a moment or two, Sieg manages to point a finger into the sky and send a misty, green-blue bolt of energy flying. It's enough to have a physical appearance, but... it's the mystical equivalent of a bug zapper. And it looks like it burned Sieg's finger to do it that way.

    "I think just throwing around power would be bad for me." He complains, displaying his ruined glove and burned finger to Mordred. Evidently, he really IS just not good at being a magus right now. Even compared to Shirou.

Loros (303) has posed:
And then someone goes and lets off a blast of raw magical power into the sky. Loros half flinches, the shadows around his old man form growing intensely deeper... and then he realizes what it is and sighs. Approaching the edge of the cleared space for the fight, he catches the end of Bedivere's comment.

Leaning on his staff, he hobbles over and inspects the Knight with a critical, if eerie gaze. "Only mortal. I hate that phrase, to be honest." There is a shake of his head. "First, to be mortal is to be capable of growth, of change. Few immortals can say the same, with rare exceptions. Such as the half-angel. The -half- part being the important bit." As an old man, Master Sorol's voice is touched with more than a little bitterness and raspiness of a long abused throat. Half-leaning against his staff propped under one arm, his hands busy themselves rolling up a cigarette.

"And what -price- was paid, hm?"

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden has been over in the corner of the party, sipping at his MacAnally's beer and watching the power struggles that really seem like they should be going on places that aren't a party. Oh well.

    He's got a steak sandwich and a beer and is trying to soak in the social waves from people being there.
    Yeah. Totally not a nerd.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi's arms eventually move to cross in front of her, hands clasped in a posture of elegant reservation. Her eyes shift toward Bedivere again as he dubiously investigates the mead he's been offered, her brow raising slightly before she steps up to him again. Whatever came over her enough to make her stop the dance so abruptly doesn't seem to have completely muted her. "Drink. It may help you enjoy the evening a little more, and forget all the discomfort of a moment before."

    Then Loros arrives, drawing a look of curiosity from the nogitsune. She looks over him briefly, then glances back to Bedivere. "Yes, listen to your elders, Bedivere. I am sure we can get you into enough shape to equal dear Saber soon. It is just a matter of time."

    Kagenashi is silent for a moment, the thoughtful look coming over her expression belying a moment of consideration before she acts next. A bow is given to Loros, first, before Bedivere is given the same. "If you will excuse me, I believe I have made enough of an appearance for the evening. I will retire to somewhere more...quiet. Enjoy your festival, Bedivere."

    With that, the nogitsune...simply vanishes. Seems to be her favorite method of leaving a situation, doesn't it?

Inga has posed:
Indeed, Inga is sitting with Riva and Mizuki, eating heartily and watching the spar with interest. Inga wonders about the appetite. Her's had certainly increased since she became involved with The Bees. Surely Riva hadn't always eaten like that? Then, she was certainly athletic...

"I always enjoyed watching fights like this," she comments. "I remember once Sigrid (that is the shield-maiden I told you about) accepted a challenge to a dual. She'd endured many insults, finally decided it was time to thrash the man. Bets went around, and I would have certainly put my money on her if I had been allowed to have a say – but of course I knew who would win the bout," she comments. It generally raises some suspicious eyebrows if a known prophetess wants to make a bet. "She did thrash him, too," she said, a fond smile appearing. "She tried not to humiliate him though – she was...a kind person," she finished.

Inga eyes the old man moving to Bedivere, a brow rising. Another wizard? What happened to the oddly dressed man with the staff? Inga scans the room, eyes locking onto Dresden, being decidedly anti-social. "Riva, do you know that man?" she asks, motioning. "And do you think we should try to help Sir Bedivere?" she adds with a small smile. Whoever Kaganashi was, she was surely torturing him.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "Ten of a crappy knock-off." Shirou retorts in correction. "I'm still working on the kinks in the process. Making weapons like Clarent-" yeah he somehow is aware of the name, maybe without thinking about it much, "Is pretty tough, and every little mistake... well, they break easily. So, if you could practice swordsmanship with ten swings each day..." Would you make a lot of progress?

    Not that Shirou sounds bothered by his lack of prana. It's not anyone's fault, he has no right complaining about this hangup, and certainly can't envy what anyone else has when his ability is like this.

    But if he could make fifty, or a hundred, and get closer each time, then he could more reliably repel that crazy Leyte when she causes trouble again.

    He ESPECIALLY can't complain if Sieg said that doing this would kill even a mighty homonculus. Shirou's face contorts and freezes in an expression of horror. Gurgle. Great. A homonculus thinks he's some kind of freak.

    But then, magecraft demonstration. "... You did that just by focusing power?" Shirou's amazed, snapping out of the prior frustrations. Burned finger or not, that was impressive by Shirou's standards. "Maybe you need to strengthen the finger first so it doesn't get burned... no, that doesn't make sense either. Using your own power to guard against your own power... whatever. I'm sure you'll figure out some technique if you try, Sieg. But be careful... and don't experiment too much in public." That should be obvious, but he'll try and help the Homonculus.

    Even Shirou can see Sieg has lots of talent.

    Speaking of which, he asks Mordred, "What do you mean by boost yourself? Is that like self-Reinforcement or something else? I don't really understand how you Heroic Spirits work too well." So consider him curious.

    But for the battle at hand, he's easily captivated by the spar. If he could even achieve half that level of proficiency, it would be something to be proud of.

    He doesn't even care about being better than either of those fighters. Just being able to move like that and compete is something to look up to.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Saber moves forward as Psyber does. A simple and elegant counter to the prying straight thrusts of his sword. Psyber can simply give her a smile as she comments on the interesting method that he used to block. His comment on the matter is saved for later, since for now he wishes to focus on predicting a counter.

    As he steps forward, he carries through his motion on the miss, shifting his weight forward and moving into a nimble roll. As he tucks into his roll, the sword swings at him from behind with speed and grace. He avoids taking a full hit to the back, but he exchanges it for a grazing hit that makes skimming contact with the back of his skull. And from someone like Saber, even grazing contact is enough to leave at least a bit of a welt and some sting.

    Coming out of the roll, Psyber vaults to his feet and rubs the back of his head where she made glancing contact with the palm of his hand, "You as well. I rarely find myself matched in swordplay, as my world has advanced to guns. Your grace doesn't diminish the power of your blows," He professes to her with a slight shifting of his stance.

    Moments later, he's darting in towards her. Since Saber has landed even a glancing blow on him, Psyber wants to respond in kind. He moves in a flash, tilting towards oneside with a practiced motion. It's a pretty obvious feint on his part. Easily seen through and predicted. Logic would dictate that the second strike would come in from the opposite side, trying to misdirect her and create a hole in her defenses and strike at her ribs. And true to that obvious maneuver, Psyber's hand comes down in a diagonal stroke towards her ribcage. Only!

    That hand is completely empty, meant to draw attention to motion and instinct to parry. Instead, the true strike is in the third move after the double-feint. A low and sweeping chop at the legs of his opponent.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Well bad or not he did just successfully blast SOME magic out on a first try. Sadly she can't really teach him. She more or less got made with most of her skills and knowledge imparted directly into her, just taken straight from the king. Now Arturia, SHE might be able to teach someone how to prana burst, since she probably learned the skill naturally. With a huge advantage from her bloodline, but still.

    "Think of it as a trump card if you have to. You don't have to be able to take someone out with it, you just have to be able to make them THINK you can do it. Make them doubletake just long enough to think of another way out. Or refine it. Couldn't help you with that, I just do it and it works, it's not a learned thing." To Shirou, she simply explains: "It's like if I had thrusters on each of my limbs. You know, like a jet plane. I can shoot prana out of my hands to swing faster, or out of my feet to jump over a building. Or I can just put it all into my sword and shoot beams out of it, or just make it really sharp in general. I don't know, you ever try explaining to someone how you breathe? It's awkward. Like if you tried to explain the damn sword thing, it'd probably go over my head. But for you it's just that thing you can do."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva gets plenty of exercise. Also, dying and reincarnating does wonders for your caloric intake problems. She laughs at the latest tale of Sigrid. "Oh man, I probably would have loved to meet her. She sounded awesome. Maybe we can find a way to go back in time and pick her up too, wouldn't that be great?" She wobbles a bit. Maybe she's a little drunk. She thinks for a moment as Inga asks if they should help Bedivere, and Riva just waves a hand. "Naaaaaaaaaaaah. He's so reserved and super honorable and humble that it would end up being super awkward if we tried to mess with it. He's a big boy, let him make his chivalrous honorbed, right?" Riva chuckles again, and then glances over in the direction of Harry. "Oh MAN, it's the wizard! hell yeah, Harry is good peoples. HEY HARRY!" Riva gets to her feet and wobbles over to Harry, immediately descending upon him and beginning to drag him over to the Girl Corner. "Come on over here, you're sitting with us, get all the magic together! Hell yeah."

She leans on him as she begins talking to Inga again. "After we fought some super deadly ice dogs and stuff he made us a portal and took us to his own world in Chicago, and we had pizza. It was awesome!" That's right, Harry. There's NO ESCAPE NOW.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The drinking-horn earns a brief but dubious look from the knight, and an equally dubious look is cast over to Kagenashi. He seems disinclined to actually drink, content to hold onto it for the time being.

"I do not partake," he says simply. He couldn't afford to have his wits compromised when he had been marshal, and he's not compelled to change his ways now. "Perhaps my lord might have a taste for it. I do not think such things affect Servants as they do those who are not." At least, not to see Sir Gawain. He might even believe that a Servant could eat Gawain's cooking and not die! They'd just, you know, wish they were dead.

Blinking somewhat owlishly, both at Kagenashi's response, and at her bow and subsequent withdrawal from the festivities, Bedivere hesitantly returns that bow. It's only polite. Then again, it's not really quite as surprising as he might seem to let on. She comes and goes as he pleases, and that seems to be her way. However, it leaves him in even more dubious company. He's not really sure what Loros is, but he's sure he doesn't want to become too interesting to the old man. Wizard. Whatever he is.

"Growth often becomes the domain of those who strive beyond their station," he points out, shifting the drinking-horn to his other hand. Doing so bares the mark of his command seal, momentarily; a stylised, knotwork sword in lurid red. It does not glow, but the red is easy to spot against his pale skin. "I am content with what I have. She is greater now than I could have become. I am content with that. Hers was the legend. Not mine." Those violet eyes are distant, for a moment, as he watches Arturia and Psyber cross blades. "I am glad only that her sacrifices are remembered, and that she is not forgotten."

He glances back when Loros speaks of prices, frowning. It's an expression of thought and consideration, rather than simple displeasure; as he studies the bent old man. Who is not really an old man, nor is that really his name, but Bedivere seems content not to call him on it. If he wishes to masquerade, he won't contradict him or call him out. "Price paid for what?" he asks, glancing Loros' way.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry can barely hold on to his steak sandwich as hands are ropped on him and he's dragged over towards the Ladies Table by a drunken Avatar of Avataryishness. He also has now been divested of his staff cause that was leaning up on the table.
    "Oh h-hey Riva. Hello, hi uh h-hhh." And then he's planted in, sitting next to Inga and Riva and why is his mouth tasting like honey now.
    Hnnng.

Jeanne d'Arc (536) has posed:
     A woman with waist-length blonde hair done in a braid and with striking violet eyes pops up near Harry and the Magical Girl Squad. Jeanne d'Arc has arrived. TIME FOR THE PARTY TO START.

She is in a smart black skirt and a matching top and comfortable pair of boots. "Hello." She says, French accent and all. "Pardon me." This isn't helping. "Monsieur Dresden, is it not?"

Loros (303) has posed:
Loros finishes rolling his cigarette, and lights it with a fingertip. As he inhales, his twisted body straightens up. As he exhales a starshot cloud of black smoke to the sky, some of it clings to his hair, sinking in and deepening the color back to its usual shade. This time the transformation back to his usual form and demeanor is slow, not instant.

"The price she paid to be what she is. Or the price paid by others." He glances aside at the young looking knight, particularly the mark on his hand. "But then, you already know all about that, don't you?" Yeah, if you were looking to be uninteresting to Loros, staying a man of honor through pain and suffering isn't the best way to go about it. And then there's the whole 'True Love' part.

The staff is now a cane set in the hard packed dirt as the magus keeps his gaze on the fight. He smirks though when Harry is surrounded in women. He makes a note to try and arrange for that to happen more often, if he can. But back to matters at hand!

"Still. What you said is true. There are those who do nothing with their potential, or cannot. Being mortal is not an easy thing." And then the wizard turns his head and meets Bedivere's gaze with his own. "...and what is the Fate of the Loyal Knight who in legend and story was one of the Last and the Few still standing at the side of his King at the End?" He smirks faintly at Bedivere before turning back to the fight with another puff of his cigarette.

Riva Banari has posed:
"Oh man, don't be shy Harry! Just relax! We're not going to bite." She pauses. "Unless you want us to~" She teases, laughing. The arrival of Jeanne causes Riva to wave her over. "It's not a problem! Sit down! The more the merrier, Jeanne! Oh man, you have the best accent, did I ever tell you that?" Riva chuckles. "Reminds me of a guy I dated in college. He said he came from Paris, but I found out he was actually from Scranton. But you! You're the real deal. The super-awesome Jeanne d'Arc! Man, it's like half of high school just showed up and decided to be awesome superpowered badasses."

Yeah, she's definately drunk.

Saber (346) has posed:
     Already into her move, Saber didn't have the time to change the direction of her strike as Psyber rolled quickly forward, the swipe merely glancing the back of his head. For a split second she was worried...at least until she remembered that she had witnessed his decapitation once already. He did say she wouldn't have to hold back.

     "And I, as well. Even as a Servant, I would be remiss in not adhering to Exercitum. " The virtue of maintaining physical excellence and lifelong practise might not have seemed to make much sense for a Servant, but she wouldn't be a knight if she ignored one of the chivalric virtues.

     And just as well; the half-angel was matching her speed. She couldn't help but grin now; though not a battle to the death as the Grail War was, it was nevertheless exciting.

     Psyber was indeed correct; the first move was a feint, and the jade eyes moved to predict the incoming next move. As she had many times in practice with Sir Kay, her instinct to parry took over, and saber brought her wooden blade up to bear. Too late did she see the true move at her legs. The surprised Servant stepped back, but not fast enough to evade a graze on her thigh. And for a graze, she had to admit it stung. "Well-played," she commented with a half-grin, half-grimace.

     Favouring the leg slightly, she used one of her favourite tacticts; footwork. It seemed she might dart forward, only to stop short with a quick shuffling move, stepping back again before appearing to dart forward again with a quick thrusting feint forward. Then suddenly she lunged forward, far more than what seemed possible with her short stature, bending deeply into her knees with what appeared to be an overhead strike at his shoulder, only for the blade to 'miss', looping around and over her head instead for what would have easily been a decapitating manoeuvre for an ordinary combatant.

Inga has posed:
Inga lifts a hand to cover her mouth as she begins to laugh at Riva's antics. She's had a bit to drink, but she's no where near so far gone as Riva. Poor man. Poor wizard? Ah ha, so he is a wizard. She lowers her hand in order to nod to Dresden, her smile friendly, but certainly more reserved than Riva. "Harry is it? A pleasure to meet you. I'm Inga," she informs him. "Do join us," she says, motioning for him to take a seat.

She looks toward his staff again, wondering if he has carved similar runes into his...her oak staff leans against her leg. She looks back to him an raises a questioning brow. "Chicago? Pizza?" she asks, looking back to Riva.

Then the arrival of Jeanne. She nods her head to her. "Greetings," she says.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    What a dazzling fight. Shirou almost forgets to answer Mordred. He shakes his head to clear it before doing so, as otherwise he'd just probably stammer out gibberish.

    "Thrusters... like a rocket or jet engine? Man, the prana that must take has to be ridiculous... that sounds like a good way to move around if you wanted to be like a typhoon. My method involves improving the muscles, bones, and other things directly. If the limb's stronger then it'll be faster, right?" Solid logic. except, if you screw up with that method, you're likely to destroy your body. "In practice I can't really rely on it much yet."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry plants his cider on a table to free up a hand. He reaches that out to Inga and murmurs. "Harry Dresden. Wizard. Uh, hi." He coughs and adjusts his Bears sweater, wiping his greasy hand first before offering it again. "Uh, and Chicago's where I'm from. Pizza is a meat and cheese pie." There's a lot of small words right now as there's plenty of faces he's avoiding. Gh.
    And then Jeanne shows up and Harry twitches at the appearance of the Servant. "GAH. Hi, uh. hello."

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
The knight does not by any means miss that brief glance, flicked to his left hand, or the red mark inscribed against his skin. It's rather like a tattoo, except that no tattoo has such a feel of potent magic about it, almost tangible Power, merely waiting to be used. It will not be, of course. Not by its current holder. Not unless the need is dire.

He may look young by the standards of some, but Bedivere still has signs about him of that pain and suffering – but they are on the whole much more subtle than they had been, although perhaps the quality of his eyes, an age and a weariness, will never fade entirely. He offers a subtle half-smile. "Yes," he answers softly. There's no point in pretending or beating around the bush. He may be ignorant of such witchcraft as Loros wields, but he knows when he is in dangerous waters. Evasion won't buy him anything. He saw that look; he knows Loros understands the significance of that mark.

"Living is not an easy thing, no matter one's nature. Perhaps some times are easier than others, but there will always be a time when we are called upon to make some sacrifice, or to fight for our lives and livelihood. Such seems to be the way. If not something of our own worlds, than perhaps within the greater scope of the multiverse itself." Bedivere gestures vaguely with his free hand. To the question, though, he merely cants his head to one side, as though puzzled. "My fate? I do not know. I am hardly a footnote in the legends of my world, it seems, and I am content with that."

There's a short pause.

"...In truth, I had not even looked."

Loros (303) has posed:
Loros gives Bedivere a huge smile. Dazzling, charming, friendly... and almost certainly not to be trusted. One hand dips into a jacket pocket and pulls out... a book. A ruffling of pages, the insertion of a bookmark and a copy of Le Morte de Artur (In both English and French translations) is handed over. The bookmark of course is how Bedivere's actions at the end of the Battle are recalled.

"...Perhaps you should."

And with that, the wizard wanders into the crowd, and despite his distinctive appearance, is soon lost from sight and knowledge.

Sieg (566) has posed:
    Out of nowhere, Sieg loses track of the conversation with Mordred and Shirou. He suddenly starts rattling off, "Saber-class container. Unknown identity." The automatic reaction seems to take him by surprise. Evidently it's programmed into him and he's still getting over it. He looks towards Mordred and Shirou, and then points Jeanne out in the crowd. "Who is that?" He asks, unaware of the rudeness of his actions.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Not really. It's pretty efficient, but... dragon blood and all that. Even cloned, it gives me... shit, I dunno how to quantify it. A lot of juice, let's say it like that," she decides on, answering Shirou, before turning to look where Sieg is pointing.

    "You know it's kind of rude to look at people's stats constantly like that right?" she teases, before answering seriously: "From her voice, that's Saber of Black. Dunno her real name. You could think of her as my fated opponent. She's from my war. Haven't actually talked with her at all, but Bedivere falls all over himself whenever she talks. She must be a pretty big deal."

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Dragons produce prana just by breathing." Sieg explains, concerning how much power a dragon has. He doesn't seem to pick up on the fact that he's being teased, instead offering a curt nod to indicate that he understands what Mordred is telling him. This kid is extremely impressionable. It might not be a good idea to let Mordred be the only person teaching him about this kind of stuff.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber seems satisfied to have at least returned a graze for a graze in his exchange with the Servant. He exhales a bit, making sure to keep his head on straight. He doesn't want to press the assault on the Saber-class, knowing she has speed and grace in equal parts. A sloppy follow-up could result in a heavy counter delivered to him, so he backs off for now.

    "Thank you," He says to her comment on his maneuver, moving back to place himself in a neutral stance, "I adhere to the philosophy of the form with no form. The lifelong pursuit of mastery through adherence to no style, but a knowledge of all." He explains during their brief moments of pause between clashes, "I find humor in the fact that my servant would probably enjoy this display greatly, and yet is absent." He grins to Saber widely.

    Of course she comes in again quickly and Psyber steps back, immediately going to the defensive. 'Watch the feet,' he says to himself in his mind,t rying to keep track of where she'll be going. Of course, this makes him very susceptible to her plans and maneuvers, trying to figure out how she's going to move. When it looks like she is feinting, he steps in towards her aggressively... exactly like she wanted.

    He shifts his shoulder trying to avoid that strike and her sword strike is streaking right towards his neck. Moments later, there's an incredibly echoing CRACK that echoes through the area. This is not the sound of wood striking wood. It's also not the sound of wood striking neck. Instead, in a SPLIT second, Psyber has sacrificed an arm to save his head.

    Bent against the strike of the blow, the forearm of the half-angel's non-dominant hand has taken the full force of her strike. And while incredibly durable and well-fit, Psyber still does have bones. And the force of that strike has, from the sound and the shape of his arm, fractured his radius and probably the ulna too.

    There's a grimace of pain on his face, but it's not THAT major a wound in relation to some that Saber's daughter has inflicted on him. He still has enough energy to try a bold and powerful counter with the hand holding the sword. A powerful bisecting chop, meant to capitalize on Saber being so close to him by slamming her squarely in the side with his sword, just above the hips.

Inga has posed:
The white-haired woman reaches out to take the hand, observes as he wipes the grease off first, then actually clasps his hand. She's used to this custom by now, at least. It is not so odd. "Chicago...I am not familiar. Is it in our world, Riva?" she asks. "Meat and cheese pie...well, that does sound delicious actually," she adds, pursing her lips slightly. She's plenty full now on roast boar, good cheese and fresh bread among other things. Of course, there is mead, which she is drinking not quiet so quickly as Riva. Inga is fairly attached to her dignity. And being able to walk. Though...

The wizard seems rather uncomfortable. "Your staff, is it oak? Birch?" she asks, looking over to give a more careful inspection of the symbols on his staff. She looks a bit puzzled. "Interesting...I don't recognize these symbols," she says with a small frown. The numbers look familiar, she's becoming used to seeing those. She's learned some at least.

Inga sips her mead, looking back to the fight. Two very gifted people with the sword, that's for certain. To be able to move like that...she can't imagine it. Or really, more painful perhaps that she can imagine it, but knows that if she were to try it, it would fail spectacularly.

Inga looks to Bedivere, watching him page through a book the old man had given him perhaps? Is he nervous, watching his lady fight?

Belatedly, to Riva, Inga places a hand on her shoulder and smiles, soft and sad. "I do not know that we could go back...do you think it even possible? We...could not go back for Sigrid. She is dead," she explains.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Suddenly there is a smile and a book being offered to him. Bedivere accepts it, but only because he's standing too close to actually refuse gracefully. It's a weighty tome, and the title is unfamiliar to him – either the English or the French, as he's still only learning the former. Frowning as he puzzles through the unfamiliar arrangement of the title's letters, he can feel something unpleasant creeping through his veins as he slowly takes its meaning.

'The Death of Arthur,' it says.

With equal caution, he flips through to the bookmark, skimming over the pages and taking a few moments to puzzle out their meaning. (In this way, he can understand Jeanne's frustrations with learning how to read. What comes so easily in the ancient languages seems damnably hard to him, here.)

So absorbed is he in his new reading material that he hardly catches Loros' leave-taking, and indeed, he seems to tune out the rest of the festival for a few moments, book balanced in one hand and drinking-horn in the other. Somewhat distractedly, he makes his way over to a relatively lonely bench, settling down to where he can put the book down and flip through its pages less awkwardly.

...It's not so different from reality, he decides. His actions are accounted for, and related somewhat blandly, as though the author had not known a great deal about himself. That, too, was to be expected... he had never let anyone know him too well. They have not remembered he was the Marshal of the Realm, or that he had commanded Arthur's armies; or that he had worn the same mask as the king. There is little mention of himself until the end. He finds he does not particularly mind.

Well, if anyone would have remembered what he had done, it was his loyalty, and his last service for the king, he supposes, closing the book with a soft, dusty thump. Sighing, he turns around, carefully cradling the drinking-horn and watching the duel from a distance... but still he doesn't drink.

Only to hear the sharp crack of blunt impact against bone. From the sight of it, from here, it's at least not a blow against Arturia – but even he can't help but wince at it, tucking the book under his arm and the drinking-horn in hand, drifting a little closer to better see the duel; close enough that both combatants would be able to see him. He doesn't gravitate towards anybody in particular, though, and the frown on his face suggests that he's... not precisely nervous, but not really calm, either. It's not the fault of the duel, though – he trusts her to handle herself, and he knows her skills are honed to a razor's edge. No; he's been given a lot to think about...

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Hoh, so there's things even Mordred doesn't know? Well, Shirou's not gonna tell her what he knows. That would be really rude. And besides, the legendary saint who was burned at the stake has probably been through way more than enough already. Shirou definitely doesn't like the idea of making it easier for others to torment her further. His expression turns a little obstinate though, perhaps revealing some of his resolve towards... something or another.

    "Heh. I'm surrounded by..." Shirou starts to say, though how to finish that statement? Monsters is almost appropriate, regarding Mordred here. But she'd probably kill him if he said that, and it's not really the word he wants to use.

    Really, Homonculi, countless Heroic Spirits, a half-angel... oh well, he just won't finish that statement.

    "Well, it just means I've got a long way to go." He declares to nobody in particular, then blinks at Sieg. Apparently his little robotic outburst was surprising.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Mordred looks towards Bedivere for a second.
    She hops off her horse.
    "Be right back, Sieg," she says.

    She is, suddenly, by Bedivere. She puts a finger on the book. "Do not, ever, read the section about me. I made that mistake. Actually, I have no idea if that's the same one I read, but apparently someone somewhere thought I had a thing for Guinevere."

    With that helpful comment, she returns to Sieg's side.

    "I wouldn't say I generate magic by breathing, but I'd say I have a pretty big pool. I have as much of a need for a Master as most Servants. To generate magic just by existing... damn that'd be convenient," she finally answers him, before looking towards Shirou. "Surrounded by what? Heroes? Yeah, welcome to the real world I guess." She obviously means 'heroes' in the traditional sense, not in the good guy sense, but that's probably hard to tell from tone alone. Sieg would likely catch on with his knowledge, at least.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Inga gets a smile, a softer smile. She knows her stuff. Harry is less grumpy this time, as he spots her accent. "Ah, it's mostly mathematical equations on magic and latin crap. That's how I was taught magic and that's what I use in my day to day stuff when I'm wizarding." He chuckles a little bit, angling more towards Inga than drunk Riva. Or Jeanne. He knows the feeling of that servant.
    "That's sort of my job though, I'm a detective. Uh." He chews on his lips, and fiddles with his beer. "Uh."
    How to put this. "I solve crimes and find things that have been lost." There, keep it simple.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Suddenly there is a Traitor Knight standing next to Bedivere, who seems not quite certain how to take that. He's still on his guard around her; it's impossible for him to bury that hatched too quickly. He has too many reasons, but... she's shown up so suddenly and given him such bizarre advice that he can't help but fix a confused look on Mordred.

What.

"I will keep that in mind," he says simply, with a confidence he doesn't really feel. Who in their right mind would actually consider that? Did they even know what Guinevere was like? Or Mordred? Obviously not. "Uh."

And then she's gone.

Well, that was different. So he simply shifts his weight, holding the drinking-horn, which is still untouched, and turns his eyes back to the sparring match between Arturia and Psyber.

Riva Banari has posed:
"Yeah, pizza is great! I'll get one sometime when I come and visit, it'll be a party. A pizza party! WHOO!" Riva waves her mead horn around. Clearly dignity is not high on her list of important things. Inga, however, does bring her down from her jovial mood. "Oh. Dead, huh? Well... That's too bad." She frowns. "I'm sorry."

Loros (303) has posed:
Somewhere else, Loros smiles faintly to himself, glancing at his -annotated- copy of Le Morte de Artur.

"No hurry... no hurry at all."

There might be jaunty whistling - which gets a few of the villagers at the outer edge of the party to give him funny looks - right before he vanishes in a cloud of cigarette smoke and evil chuckling.

Inga has posed:
If Harry is paying attention to the language she is speaking, and is enough of a nerd, he may know it as old Norse. Her own staff is carved with futhark runes of course, which if he knows his stuff, are primarily runes of warding. She also wears what appears to be an amulet shaped like a hammer on a leather cord, made from antler, carved with the rune thurisaz. She also has many pouches attached to the belt of her dress.

Inga smiles, seeing him relax. She'd hoped turning the conversation to something he was knowledgable about would make him more comfortable. "Wizarding. I have rarely heard it referred to so casually," she replies with a small laugh. He goes on to explain what a detective is, and Inga nods again, her eyes showing her understanding. "Ah, that is good! I do similar things I suppose – I have been called on to find lost people quite a few times," she says, her smile slipping for a moment. She wonders who they would have called on to find her, and after how long they would give up looking. "...those sorts of things...they did not always end happily," she comments.

Moving on! "Ah, Latin. I can speak it, at least some," she comments. Of course in her time, Latin was a language people still spoke. "Are you...from my world?" she asks, glancing toward Riva in case she could confirm. "I have never heard of Chicago. I am from Uppsala," she continues.

Saber (346) has posed:
     "To learn all styles...that would require more than a lifetime," Saber mused. "But then, that would be ideal for someone who is ageless." In theory, it would be a good thing for a Servant to learn, though how much a Servant would remember from War to War was doubtful. But then, the King of Knights was a rather unique Servant, and perhaps she had more time now to learn. It would hardly be a waste of her time to do so, not to mention that it seemed like it could be interesting. The Servant wasn't one to simply seek out amusement for its own sake, but surely there was no harm in it? "I shall have to seek more of this 'form with no form'."

     It was a bold move, a desperate one in times when the fear of having one's head severed from his body was a lethal concern, and it was not unheard of for a knight or warrior to sacrifice his arm to save his life. And that painful sound was unmistakeable. Inwardly she winced, even though she had witnessed the half-angel be injured far worse than that. The fact that a fracture was the extent of it was more than enough proof that her opponent was not completely human.

     Most of the time, closing the distance worked to her advantage; she tended to be at a disadvantage when it came to ranged strikes. However at that moment, she was far too close in and at an angle that left her open. Psyber's counter landed squarely on her side, earning a grunt of pain from the Servant. "Hah...well-played..." she replied hoarsely. "That would have been a killing blow..."

     Arturia was forced to step back to disentangle herself, holding her side with her unarmed hand. True, they would both be healed by the next day, but it was going to smart for a while.

     Even still, she chuckled lightly, grinning. What was a little pain when she was having fun?

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry grumps a bit and heistantly reaches out to pat Riva on the shoulder. "Death happens, kiddo. Sort of the thing we all have to deal with. Don't let it get you down too much. It's a party, right?" He helpfully pushes one of Mac's lagers over to her. More drunk, yeah, good thought Harry.
    Inga gets a smile. "Ah, well. I'm sort of open about that, really. I'm even in the phone book under Wizard. And that's in a world that doesn't properly believe the supernatural even exists." 'Phone Book' comes out sounding something like 'public register' to Inga, at least.
    He takes another bite of his steak sandwich, a tingle going down his spine at Loros does his Evil Overlord laughing, and grumps. "Uppsala. Hmmm. Chicago is the New World, if that means anything to you. America, on one of the Great Lakes. Not really too different an environment from you. Though." He looks at Riva. "We haven't got your Buzzing, that's for damn certain."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Even through the pain, Psyber is still smiling as the two step apart after that heavy exchange of blows. The half-angel reaches to his broken arm and says, "I think you would do well with it, if you could learn it. It's mostly just dedication, of which you have much." And then he pretty harshly yanks the arm by the wrist. There's another series of cracks as he sets his own arm and then wiggles the fingers.

    "Well, the force of your blow meant we likely would have killed eachother. I'd continue, but I think your Marshal has been left by his lonesome and could use the company of a king," Psyber notes, idly swishing his sword at the air as he tests his other arm and then wipes some sweat from his forehead in a careful gesture, "This has been pleasant, though."

Sieg (566) has posed:
    "Yeah, but... you're not a dragon the way I mean." Sieg says to Mordred, looking back towards Shirou blankly. He remains silent for a time and then states, "I need to return this animal and get going. I'll talk to you two again soon, I'm sure. I guess... I'll try not to look at servant's stats as much?" He sounds uncertain, as he turns his donkey around and rides away.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
On the sidelines, the silver-haired knight is watching, still as a statue. He still has Loros' copy of Le Mort d'Arthur tucked under an arm, and the untouched drinking-horn held in one hand. His eyes are on both Arturia and Psyber, as they seem to finish up their proceedings.

The mead is given a somewhat dubious look. Still, the smell of it isn't as offensive as some of the poorer wines he's had, and indeed it carries a sweet scent to it. Half a glance is cast left, and half a glance right, and then he raises the horn to take a drink.

...oh. That's not bad. Not bad at at all. Another drink, as they go about finishing up their duel, and so long as nobody seems interested in interrupting him. Before he knows it, two thirds of the horn is empty.

He doesn't so much as move to call out to Arturia, but he does remain where he is, watching her.

...It's suddenly a little hard to stay on his feet, and he snorts a little, glancing down to the ground as though it's somehow wronged him.

"Bother," he murmurs, slurring a little. Maybe that mead was a little stronger than it seemed... no wonder he'd heard tales of the Saxons drinking themselves to a stupor. Was this what they had drank? He could believe those tales, in that case. And everything seems so curiously light and fuzzy about the edges.

He smiles in Arturia's direction. It's a little uncertain, because the world is spinning slowly, and he finds he wants to sleep, or go someplace much more quiet than this noisy festival ground.

"Well-fought, my lady!" 'My lady?' Not 'my king?' Wait, is he grinning? "Well-fought indeed."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "yeah, that word works." Shirou's grateful for it too! But really, to think this kid is apparently willing to try and grow to meet the challenge these heroes present...

    Even now, he's not really joining in with the festivities and merriment. Though nearly every waking moment he's spent that wasn't dedicated to the occasional search for his home Fuyuki, or getting himself nearly torn to shreds by Leyte or something else in this crazy Multiverse was devoted utterly to construction, hauling things around, cooking meals, first aid, and other necessities of getting Dún Reáltaí to the point where it can celebrate.

    He's done everything he possibly could. Donated money and materials, took up a hammer and pounded nails. Helped raise roofs and pack insulation, work with the 'modernized' aspects of the engineering.... there were even a few times when he pointed out critical flaws in some hurried constructions - which also turned out to be excellent for practicing his structural grasp magecraft.

    But now everyone's celebrating, and Shirou has apparently contented himself with a single plate of food, let himself be lead off on some crazy wild horse chase by Mordred, and now.. is spending the time watching everyone else smiling and being merry. He's not really a part of all that muddle himself, and is instead smiling from afar.

    The people of Dún Reáltaí are smiling. It's more than enough of a reward, when he didn't want any to begin with.

    "Don't listen to this weird knight. If it helps, do it. You're in the Holy Grail War." Shirou corrects as if it was a matter of course. And he as at least looked up that much.

    "Hey, Sieg, before you go.... did you have fun?" It's a single, simple question. What with the Homonculus being such an unknown factor, and deprived of normal life, Shirou's deemed it important. Sieg must find something to smile about!

Sieg (566) has posed:
    Sieg pauses momentarily, looking back at Shirou. "Yes. I think so. I was happy to experience everything today, and to speak with you and Mordred. I hope to do it more in the future. I think that is the definition of fun, isn't it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but Shirou doesn't manage to get a smile out of him. Perhaps he's just got a stoic streak in him.

Inga has posed:
Inga nods to Riva. Sigrid is obviously well missed by Inga. She'd been one of the best people she'd known. Riva reminded her a good deal of her.

Inga nods to Dresden too, though she begins to look vaguely uncomfortable at the talk of their own mortality. At least she didn't really have to worry about Riva dying...

Back to Dresden, she takes another sip of mead. "Ah, I see. Yes...I've been told some about the new world. Another continent we did not know about – though I'm told centuries later men from my part of the world sailed there," she replies. "You do not have the Buzzing? ...Are you sure?" she asks, raising a brow. "I would have told you my world didn't have such a thing either until I was choosen. Still...I am glad to see that there are still those knowledgable in magic, who do what I had...I hope there are still some who keep my gods, somewhere," she comments.

Inga looks up as Sir Bedivere calls out to his lady, noticing the horn in his hand. Her lips pinch for a moment, until she realizes it is hopeless trying to hold back her laughter, and lets it loose. "By the gods, he's drunk," she snickers, draining the remainder of her own horn of mead as she looks back to the wizard Dresden. "He does not drink – he must have been quite nervous if he's doing so now," she says. The poor man.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva waves a hand. "Yeah, you're right. It's a party. Well..." She picks up the offered beer and cracks that one open. "We'll drink to them all! Yeah!" She'd already turned off her phone. Don't worry guys, no one is going to need to worry about Radios From Last Night (TM) showing up.

The fight, however, winds down and Riva salutes them with her beer as well, drinking again. Didn't take long for her to get going again. "Oh, it's not so bad, Harry. You just have a bunch of sassy bees talking to you all the time."

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "I see. Yeah, that's it!" Relieved, apparently enogh to relax, Shirou leans back and places his hands out behind him to support his weight. Apparently.. he's forgoten what he's sitting on.

    "Hwaghh!"

    Because he DOES go tumbling off the horse. First he flails his arms for balance. The traced Clarent goes sailing in something kind of half-assedly Mordred's way, while Shirou tumbles off the equine and WHAMPF, hits the ground.

    The horse snorts and trots a few meters away.

    "... Rrrnghh." The magus grumbles in resignation. Yeah, he's got a LONG way to go.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry grumps as botht the girls start up again, and leans back on his chair. "He'll be fine, Inga. Bedivere is... he is a noble man. I can't imagine that changing while he's drunk." A snort though as he tips back the last of his cider and takes another bottle. The lager this time.
    A look to Inga, and the Wizard murmurs. "I will tell you that I am... very accquainted with a woman I suspect is a Valkyr working for a crime boss in my territory. She is a terrifying woman. Your gods are alive and well, dear Inga." Another sip. Ears are slowly turning red as the Wizard relaxes.
    He snorts at Riva though, and murmurs. "I just have a sassy skull and Strongly Worded Letters from the White Council.... and you know, The Queen of Air and Darkness with my freaking batphone."

Saber (346) has posed:
     The petite blonde frowned thoughtfully, not critically. "In most circumstances, a Servant might be unable to learn a new style of combat, but my circumstances may very well permit it," she mused, then smiled. "I shall seek it out, then."

     And he was right, that would have been a mutual killing blow. That sort of thing happened often enough on the battlefield, her own end notwithstanding. It was not something she particularly enjoyed thinking about, preferring to consider sparring merely for its own – nonlethal – sake. "Aye, it would have been..."

     She appeared to be so into the enjoyment of the match, in fact, that she was almost startled having it pointed out that the nogitsune had disappeared – probably literally – and that Bedivere had been effectively freed. Moreover, he seemed to be carrying a book tucked under his arm. "Hm...I thought I might have caught a glimpse of Loros once again...he seems to have taken a liking to my marshal." What is it with all these odd beings taking a sudden interest in them? Or rather, Bedivere in particular.

     She turned back to the half-angel again with a grin. "Indeed, it was a pleasure..."

     And suddenly, a voice that she had never in a million years ever expected to hear praise her quite like that. Arturia's head snapped around and she stared almost in disbelief before the sea-green eyes flicked to the drinking horn.

     Oh. Oh, dear. She had better go see that he wasn't regretting the following morning....not *too* much, anyway.

     Retrieving her cloak and keeping the sword in her right hand, she made her way back to her now three-sheets-to-the-wind marshal, setting the cloak on a bench and propping the sword up against the table. "it would seem that you have had your first taste of pure wine," she observed, helping to steady him as best she could.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    "Take care. And yeah, well, I wasn't being entirely serious. Keep an eye on the enemy's stats, always. Maybe don't bring it up in social conversations though," Mordred tells Sieg, before looking at Shirou – and catching her sword. Or the replica of it, anyway. She ignores the fallen boy entirely, instead focusing on the weapon.

    "Hn. Something's off about it, yeah. I can't put my finger on it. It's not blunter, it's not lighter or heavier, it's not offbalance, it's just... off." How else do you describe a rank down? It's not even a physical thing! Ah well. She spins the blade around, grabbing it by the end and extending the pommel towards Shirou. "Here, get up. You stayed on that horse pretty long for a newbie."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "You should be careful. It rarely ends well when he takes an interest or a liking in anything," Psyber cautions, shifting his sword from hand to hand as he slips back into his jacket and then leaves the sword leaning up against something sturdy. He lets Saber go tend to her Marshal, however, and seems content to have provided a distraction.

    The tired half-angel flexes his hands and then stretches, working out some kinks in his muscles before taking a rag from inside his jacket and wiping some sweat off his face.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
Oh, hello. Suddenly Bedivere isn't quite so unsteady on his feet, and that's because Arturia is propping him up from the other side. That's good, because he's wavering a bit, as though he can't quite seem to find his balance. The ground, it seems to shift so. Was it doing that all evening? He can't quite remember, and his eyes narrow slightly at the effort of trying to recall that particular detail. He remembers standing near the musicians for much of the afternoon, and he remembers being abducted by Kagenashi for a little while. Things get a little fuzzy after that.

Apparently he decides there's not much percentage in trying to dredge up that detail, and he lets it go, expression relaxing into a completely carefree smile, even as Arturia puts two and two together with a look to the drinking-horn. By the way, that horn is empty. The poor marshal is going to be hating life, the universe, and everything tomrorow, isn't he...?

"Mead," he says, grandly, with a sweeping gesture of his other arm. He's at least careful not to accidentally hit Arturia with it, but there's a certain clumsiness to it that she never would have associated with her marshal; an uncoordinated grandeur that only being really freaking plastered can seem to bring about. He's also slurring a bit; another pecularity, given his usual eloquence. "I'm told it's mead. And it's oh so sweet, my lady, like honeyed wine! Better than wine. Ah," he adds, stumbling a little. There's a distinctly musical lilt to his voice; a note and timbre that suggests he's speaking Gaelic, not his usual Welsh, which he makes no effort to hide. "Not so bad as I had thought. Why didn't I do that before?"

Because he had duties to see to, and he couldn't trust himself to manage well enough in Camelot, that's for certain. He frowns a little, wavering on his feet, though thankfully Arturia keeps him from actually stumbling. "Hmn. I think... that I should probably..." Drink a little more, an insidious little voice suggests, but he ignores it easily enough. Ignoring temptation is something he's quite good at. "Be off. Aye, I don't feel well, of a sudden... may we go, my lady?"

The keep is spinning most peculiarly, and he's not so sure that's a good sign.

"Farewell, everyone!" he calls, turning, with another of those grand gestures and that silly-looking grin. "Thank you all for coming. Hope you enjoyed yourselves. Aye."

This time he does stumble, directly into Arturia as he turns to file back toward the keep.

"...definitely not feeling so well," he mumbles under his breath, although he can't seem to help that stupid grin stuck on his face in spite of it. Of course, he's not really sick, but he's not really used to such disorientation, either. And given how much he drank and how quickly he drank it, on an empty stomach and with no real tolerance for the stuff, well, it's a wonder he's not literally falling down.

Fortunately, he seems inclined to return home, and he won't offer Arturia too much resistance in going back up the hill to the castle keep.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Rubbing his back a little, Shirou starts to stand... then grips Clarent, using it as extra leverage. He reclaims the traced weapon, but doesn't seem so interested in it. To him, it's a tool more than a treasure. It will be gone in under an hour and he can always make another.

    Besides that, he can't take pride in it. It's a half-assed job. If the original wielder can see that so clearly, then why should Shirou value it so much?

    SO when he grabs it, he's not relieved. "Thanks." And his appreciation's only half-serious. "... That's not how I planned to get off though." He adds quickly. Then rubs at his tush, wincing. The saddle did make him sore...

Inga has posed:
When Riva lifts her drink to drink to the fallen, Inga does so as well. "Hail to the honored dead, to Sigrid," she says, then drinks. One does not ignore a toast. If Riva keeps making them, Inga is going to be completely 'hammered' as well. As she looks back toward Dresden, she sways a little where she sits. "I know that he is, I do not doubt that. He's made me quite welcome here – I do hope he and lady Arthur...Arturia? Stop being so...stop denying their rather obvious feelings for each other," she comments. Perhaps the mead has loosened her tongue a bit.

Then Dresden has her immediate and rather intense attention. She reaches forward to put her hands on his shoulder and look into his face, her dark hazel eyes wide. "Truly!? A valkyrie!? Oh...oh..." she says, tears rising. This has made her incredibly happy. To know that her gods are still known, surely worshipped by some, active in the world...

Suddenly her hands tighten on his shoulders. Her eyes go wide, then roll back in her head, the full fury of a vision grasping her. When they come like this, there is no resisting them. It is like being swept away in a rip tide. There is no swimming against it. Her whole body tenses, shaking. Then she speaks.

"A shadow, a shadow so large it seems to stretch forever, always behind, just out of sight...He Who Walks Behind. Teacher, student, a hot rage, an inferno....flames lick the sky, a boom deafens the ears...blood and death...and the thing, the thing that is Outside...." she says, her voice nearly breathless, fevered.

Her hands fall from his shoulders and she slumps forward, still shaking, the vision leaving her with the aftershocks. Glypsing wyrd does not leave a body, or a mind, untouched.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry Dresden is about to snort and chuckle over HOW ADORABLE Bedi and Arturia are when that happens.
    The wizard chokes a bit, and reaches out to grip at Inga's arm to keep her from biffing into the dirt from her chair, stammering. "Dammit dammit dammit, you should have warned me you were that sort of seer." He plants his beer on a table to free up his other hand and props Inga back up, grumping and flicking his arm out at the table. "Ventas servitas!" A bottle of water flips out of his cooler, and over to his hand. This he hands to Inga, while lookign around and seeing just how many people... uh, actually noticed the full on Seer's Rant.

Saber (346) has posed:
     "Mead," Saber repeated, hoisting him up with a strength someone of her stature should not have been capable of. "Yes, it is a wine made from honey," she explained – probably entirely uselessly – with a sigh. "I should have warned you, first..."

     Arturia could hardly hold it against Bedivere, getting completely plastered on a single horn of mead. For one thing, that was the first time he had probably ever taken anything alcoholic completely straight; typically, any wine he drank had been so diluted that in reality it had been water lightly flavoured with wine. And second, it was mead, perhaps the most potent of such drinks. It was as if he had been thrown into the ocean to learn how to swim.

     "Aye...aye...we should be off. Though first," she made a point of warning, "We need to visit the well. You will want a drink of water before retiring for the evening." It might not have done her, a Servant, much good to learn just what it was that caused hangovers; her ethereal transient body somehow precluded becoming intoxicated. But now, she was thankful indeed that she had learned that information.

     Fortunately for the soon-to-be-regretting-it knight, the petite king was sturdy enough to steady him and remain solidly on her feet even as he stumbled into her. "'Twas wise of you indeed never to have consumed to excess," she commented softly, wincing as he called out to the others. Poor Bedivere was certainly going to regret this...that is, if he remembered it the next morning.

     "Yes, I bid good evening to you all," she said with a little more dignity and a slightly embarrassed smile. "Please, feel free to enjoy the rest of your evening."

     Once done, it was off to the well to make sure the poor hammered knight would not be too dehydrated the following morning before returning to the keep.

Inga has posed:
Inga is prevented from plunging to the floor and perhaps looking more drunk than Bedivere by Harry's quick intervention. While she's still trembling, her breath a bit heavy, she's pulling herself back together as the here and now begins to settle around her.

The water is accepted, and after a moment of breathing carefully, she sips it. Water really couldn't hurt at this point, for recovering from a vision or for the inebriation. Really? Why now? She shouldn't have touched him, that often triggered it...not always, but enough that she'd noticed the trend.

After a little while of deliberate deep breaths and sips of water, Inga no longer looks as though she's going to pitch forward and faceplant on the floor. She does however, look embarrassed. She looks up to Dresden, closing her eyes for a moment as she sighs. "I'm so sorry. I...hope I did not make too big of a scene. I should have warned you," she says. Not like it had come up in conversation. Should she just add that to her introductions from now on? Hello, I'm Inga, I'm a Seer and I might just see something intimate about your past if you're in my presence. Mm, yes, that would make her many friends, surely. Not at all awkward.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva noticed. She's not really panicking, though. Seems this happens often enough around her that she's not too worried. "She does that a lot, don't worry, she'll be fine." She might be underestimating this one in her drunkenness.

Riva, however, doesn't seem to have any problems with awkwardness as she just gives Inga another hug. "See? She'll be just fine! Nothing to worry about, Harry. And you wouldn't believe how helpful they get sometimes."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry sighs and grumps and pats Inga on the shoulder again. "Sassy bees need no explanation, I suppose. But... Yeah, that would be... uh." He bites his lip. "That would be the first time I used Fuego. And I stopped an Outsider with it." He chuckles sheepishly, sitting down next to the Seer and patting Riva who's hugging her now.
    "And don't read too much into it, it's just... uh, a thing that happened." He finds an other steak sandwich and one of those room temperature McDonalds cream pies. Mmmm.

Inga has posed:
Inga looks to Riva, accepting the hug. "Ah...it is good to know they can be helpful and not just inconvenient," she comments.

Inga takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking back to Dresden. "Yes, I saw it all...I feel as though I was there," she comments, frowning. Dresden is playing it off. She should too. That would be the appropriate thing to do for now, surely. Her cheeks flush slightly. "Yes, a thing that happened. A lot of Things happen, don't they?" she comments.

"Fuego...fire. I must work on my elementalism more," she grumbles.

Inga pats Riva's arm lightly. She's a very affectionate drunk.

"That was not the Bees however. Their voice has a different cadence. I have always had the gift of prophecy, even before the Buzzing," she informs him. "Do people in this time still have this ability?" she asks.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    The party is still going, though a number of people have filtered out. Over in one corner by the beer table, three supernatural folks are hanging out.
    Harry Dresden has a homebrew lager and a steak sandwich. He is sitting with Inga and Riva.
    Riva appears to be drunk and affectionate.
    Inga looks like she's been a litle shocked by something, but is recovering.

    Harry can't speak for anyone else because he's trying ot be social with these two.

Ahri (491) has posed:
    Stupid Summoners. Stupid League. Stupid HOURS LONG BATTLE STUPID DUMB RRAAAAAAH

    So, yes, incase anyone was to wonder why Ahri has decied to arrive so late, they need only read her thoughts. . . or her current expression. Both read the same way: A SUMMONER DID IT. Still, at least she has made the effort to arrive, to move about, to find herself something to devour, and a place to flop down for a moment to gather up her composure.

    Stupid Summoners? ... Jinx is rubbing off on her.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva is in fact hanging out with the timeshifted wisewoman and the modern sasswizard. She is full of booze and food and is very huggy at the moment.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry grumbles and ruffles at Riva hair, looking to the girls. "I can't imagine... well." He chuckles. "I can totally imagine, actually." He slumps his shoulders and sighs. "That's not really something I like to talk about though. It's sandwiched right between two of the worst decisions of my life. They were... the right ones at the time, but damn they've kicked my ass ever since."

    Harry looks up though, and waves a cider in Ahri's direction. It's a plain brown bottle with a waxed cork to seal it. Old School. "Over here, Fluffy!"

Ahri (491) has posed:
    Food -devoured-. A moment to just relax... eartwitch. Fluffy? It takes the Kumiho a long moment to realize the name was directed her way. When she finally does glance over, and spots Harry, she's up on her feet to make her way over. "Hiii~ Seems you found some people to keep you company while I dealt with a bunch of numbskulls back at the institute. Having a good night?" it's a general question for Harry and anyone near the man.

Inga has posed:
Inga is possibly still being hugged by Riva, who may still be drinking. She's looking at Dresden however, nodding, her dark eyes knowing. "That is how it is. Forces working beyond your control, choosing the paths of your wyrd as they mingle with other's...the gods use us hard," she comments. "Even with the second sight...I cannot know where I am going. My teacher, another Seer, she forsaw that I would go on a journey longer than anyone we'd ever known, that I would follow the sound of the Buzzing. I never could have guessed where it would lead me."

Inga purses her lips thoughtfull for a women, then asks. "How are you with the undead? Fire is quite useful in keeping them from returning – tch, if only the people had burried their dead with the feet tied like they should..." she shakes her head, looking up as Dresden greets someone.

Inga blinks. She should be used to this oddities by now. A fox woman. Not the first she's met, at least. Inga smiles politely, nodding to her. "Hello...ah..more or less, yes," she replies. She could have done without more nightmare fuel, alas. "I'm Inga," she introduces, then motions to Riva. "This is Riva," she adds. She almost adds a warning about her Sight. Hopefully the gods are done with her for now.

Ahri (491) has posed:
The vixen gives a nod to everyone gathered, "nice to meet you all! I only just met Harry yesterday, he's a very kind man, though I think you both seem to know thtat already.

Inga has posed:
Inga looks back as Riva's presence behind her suddenly gets heavier. Surely enough, the woman has passed out against her, and Inga isn't exactly going to be able to hold her up. Sure, she could shove her off, but that would be rather mean. Inga chuckles. "Mind easing her down onto the bench before she crushes me?" she asks Harry and Ahri.

"Ah, it is nice to meet you Ahri – by the gods so many people have fuzzy ears and tales around here," she comments, still a little tipsy herself.

Back to Dresden, Inga nods. "Yes, this is true. It is how we have been desposing of the restless dead in Kingsmouth. Ah, but there are so many of them..." she says, shaking her head. "We'd welcome your help if you ever have the time. I've set up a safe place, well warded."

Ahri (491) has posed:
The vixen gives a bit of a handwobble. "Unofficial and all that stuff," she says in a sort of hushed tone. "I'm not even sure who I can tell that to, here, Harry," she points out before taking a seat near by. She doesn't seem very phased by the ears and tail, thing, though. "Nice to meet both of you."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    "Yeah, fire works pretty good. It's a spiritual balm, really, when you look at things. I mean, sure it kills things dead but that's the point. Cuts off the stuff that bump-in-the-nights need to keep working." Harry smiles a bit, and waves Ahri over. "Inga, this is Ahri. She's a foxlady and is a friend."

Ahri (491) has posed:
The vixen smiles, "I just do what I can here and there, you know?" she says before taking a seat near by. She doesn't seem very phased by the ears and tail, thing, though. "Nice to meet both of you."

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Harry chuckles a bit, and hands Ahri a beer and a sandwich. "She is extremely fluffy but don't let that fool you, she is a salty lady." A look at the vixen, before a drunken smile. "Hahhaah. Sorry, just, you came in all mad and... well. I know the feeling there." He pts the seat between himself and Inga. "Inga here is a Chosen, and she's very nice." A sound assesment from a drunken polite Harry.

Inga has posed:
...And she's very nice? Well, alright. It would seem they are all a bit tipsy. Inga laughs. "Well, it is good to meet so many people who are nice – and also salty," she remarks. "And fluffy," she adds.

"You are...very nice too! And good with fire. Also you have scruffy facial hair and I was beginning to wonder if men still grew beards," she says, frowning comically.

Ahri (491) has posed:
"Well, yeah, I had a lot to say!" Ahri notes as she takes the offered food and drink. Beeeeeer? Meh. She'll be polite about it, though. "Salty? Meh. Gangplank is salty," she idly comments before happily nomming on the sandwhich she was given.