Scene #1352: Maelstrom: Upon A Black Horse

Owner	Pose
Gawain	January 16th, 1988 Chicago, Illinois, United States The Black Stallion Tea Parlor Barthomeloi Auberon, Master of Saber of White, suspected to be Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, has invited Psyber, Sir Gawain, and their allies to tea, for a talk of alliance. And so, here they meet, at the Black Stallion, a rather nice tea parlor in a rather shitty city. It's not too crowded, but there's enough of a crowd to make battle seem unlikely. Gawain is clad in his floral suit with a golden tie as he steps into the tea parlor. He does not eye through the hall, instead heading straight towards the energy of the Servant he can sense. On a single glance, he can identify this Servant: Charlemagne. He looks much like many renditions, albeit a tiny bit younger. The table Auberon and Charlemagne sit at is rather large, to accomodate any number of allies. Charlemagne has a rather large beard, brown with bits of gray, and slightly longish hair. He looks kind of like a hippy. He's clad in a fine white suit, and sits next to his master, Barthomeloi Auberon. The man stands out; long crimson hair and a golden suit of his own, very bright blue eyes, as he sips from his tea cup, staring down Gawain and anyone with him. However, he does not speak until Psyber eventually arrives. "Mr. Psyber, I presume? Barthomeloi Auberon. It is a pleasure." The man smiles lightly, his eyes narrowly checking every inch of the group. Charlemagne says nothing, only sipping his own tea, as Auberon speaks. "Please, sit down. The tea here is decent, not as good as it is in England, but that is simply impossible. But, either way, a perfect place to talk, no?" The man, no matter his polite attitude, is a Magus, and as such, is full of deception and lies. Gawain takes his seat, and eyes the rival Saber. This will be one hell of a night.
Archer of Brown	Two gentlemen enter the tea parlor, at roughly the same time. One leans on a cane, the other very obviously a Servant. It's Archer of Brown and his Master, Senator Albert Mason. The both of them nod to Psyber, having previously met him at Kiritsugu's loaner castle in Fuyuki. Gawain is a new face for Mason, but nonetheless receives a quiet greeting from the old magus. Mason is dressed in what must seem like the uniform for elected officials, a well-tailored black suit with a little pin of the American flag on the lapel. His tie is grey. Archer, too, is wearing nice clothes, though much like his Master this isn't out of the ordinary for him. He wears black pants tucked into riding boots, a red sash tied around his waist. Taken with the black frock coat and his tie (which looks as if it was liberated from Colonel Sanders' closet) he has a very Western appearance, more at home in a saloon than a teahouse. "Senator Albert Mason, Independent, Connecticut. And this stern-looking fellow is Archer of Brown," he says to Auberon. The good senator has the trappings of one raised among money. His Servant, while polite, does not. "Glad to meet you, Mister Auberon." The Servant's manners are excellent, but painted-on. He's doing the same searching that Saber's master is, and what's more, he's taken extra care to find a seat at the table with his back to the nearest wall. At least he hung up his hat when he entered!
Mizuki	Mizuki comes here today with a bit of a guilty conscience. It's been some time since she's reviewed her early C.E. Earth history, and she's afraid that Charlemagne and his exploits fall under that banner of unawareness. Nevertheless, she at least recalls that he was a man who appreciated literature and artistry, so she is fairly confident she'll have no problem directing this conversation as she needs to. The only issue there is, she really has no idea where she should direct this little chat. Though the crimson mark on the back of Mizuki's left hand would mark her as a Master -- Gawain's, most likely, considering Jude's absence -- she's really not that familiar with how all of this 'Grail War' business is meant to work. 'Much adieu about fighting and wish making' is what she was able to garner before today. Though, to be honest? She's not interested in a wish or fighting; rather, she's come as a record keeper and a 'sponsor' more than anything. Still, she's deceptively attentive as Auberon makes his introduction, watching every nuance of his movement and listening to each quirk of his voice to get an impression of his character. With any luck she'll have made her mind up about him in a few moments. But for now she would bow as Psyber is greeted and attempt to cement her presence here. "Greetings, Mister Auberon," With her usual, too-relaxed grin, "and good evening. I am Mizuki, something of a conversational facilitator and record keeper that will - assuming I am given your permission, of course - be presiding over this meeting. If I may be honest, though, I am little more than a connoisseur of tea Psyber happened to ask along, so I've no idea how helpful I will actually manage to be." She might steal a mischievious glance at Psyber, here, before claiming a seat in some fittingly distant and secluded area of the table. As some astute sorts may notice, she is keeping her left arm folded behind her back at all times. This does not look unnatural, but it would presumably keep Saber of White and his Master from realizing her actual reason for being here for the time being. But to be honest, she's actually surprisingly crappy at keeping these sorts of things to herself anyway, so it would be a miracle if this helps at all.
Guest Psyber	"That's what I have people call me, yeah," Psyber says in a carefully neutral tone. He returns the smile with a slight one of his own, not saying much at first beyond the initial greeting. The half-angel is not dressed in a suit or anything so fancy. In fact, perhaps in a play of psychological warfare, Psyber is dressed ultra casual. He's wearing jeans, high-top sneakers, his usual jacket, and a black t-shirt with white lettering which reads 'I Don't Need a Permit For These Guns' and two arrows pointing at his arms. The half-angel pulls out a chair and turns it around backwards, straddling the back of it as he sits down and looks at the table in front of him, along with the Servant that is sitting there. He tilts his head a bit. He'll give the others a moment or two to introduce themselves (The Senator and Archer of Brown get a familiar nod from him, since he's met them before). "So what's the 411 here, home slice? I'm guessing you didn't call me out here for tickets to the latest Bon Jovi concert so we can find out if they ever make it more than halfway there, yeah?" He rests his chin on the chair in a casual gesture, tilting his head in the opposite direction, "I'll pass on the tea, too. I prefer Irish Coffee."
Maya	So here Maya was back in the 80s once more. It was an interesting time for earth again she's clad in somewhat moderaly more formal clothing than she normally is. After asll she looks like she crawled out of the Road Warrior normally. She's in not in her normal clothing at. Maya's wearing a red sleeveless shirt which leaves small part of her belly expose and her upper forearms. Also she swears a long pair of red gloves made out of the same somewhat shimmery material which go up to her elbow. Farther down she's wearing a black leather belt with some metal studs on it on a slight angle about the short black skirt she's wearing. Finally she's wearing a long pair of black stockings and a pair black low heeled mini boots to finish off the look. Also of note here and there such as on her exposed portions of her body one can spot some of the tattoos she's noted she have what little can be seen? They seem to hint at a tribal design. Psyber would recall this outfit from the other day most likely. Still Maya's pretty formal for her given they got an invite like this. "Greetings I'm Maya Artisan of the free City of Oasis." She'll moe to sit down when she's got a chance to do so. To those like Mizuki and others who might be able to sense magic? Maya's kinda like a Leyline or small nexus point on legs when it comes to such.
Ark Line	"Did you get it yet?" Ark stares off at the horizon, tossing a round object up and down in the picture of an idle action. A tall, thin man stands near him, wearing a tweed jacket and a porkpie hat while he messes with some black box covered in dials and displays. Caster puffs on a cigarette all the while. "Patience," he mutters, "is a virtue." "Yeah, but this is old tech. I mean, it's what, eleven hundred years before us? Well, me," Ark corrects, still tossing the object up and down. "You're not too far gone from this year, but you're like, the smartest guy in the world. Anyway..." Toss, catch. Toss, catch. "...this view's kind of great, isn't it?" He's looking out across a parking lot, with cracked pavement and grass peeking up. There's a row of shrubs on the far side. Caster doesn't look up. "I've always preferred the beauty of the desert." A pause. "I think I have it, and them. They'll know I'm here, you know. Should I...?" Ark catches the sphere in one hand. He tucks the bomb under his poncho somewhere. "Nah. I got it. It's all about first impressions, right?" Ark stands, picking up a plain brown bag. He slings it over his shoulder, and then slips a tiny radio unit into his ear with another easy motion. "Besides, if they start something, I expect the building to come down." He shoots a glance at the tall Caster. "Got it?" Caster presses his lips together in a thin line. "The collateral within the city for something like that --" "Great! Glad we're on the same page. See you in like fifteen." Ark bails, leaving Caster scowling on the roof. He's got a couple blocks to cover, but it's a great day for a short walk. Ark starts humming as he approaches the parlor, a figure all in grey among the more colorful city streets. This, he thinks, is gonna be /terrific/.
Gawain	"I did not." Auberon is very quick to respond to Psyber, paying attention to nobody else in the room. Perhaps he doesn't see anyone else as important. He sees Mizuki's seals, but he figures that she may just have a Servant nearby; there's a few in this alliance, after all. Charlemagne finally speaks, towards Mizuki. "Keep what records you will. This should just be a very short meeting. My Master has an offer that you cannot refuse." He sounds quite charismatic. No wait, that's the Charisma he's packing, nevermind. Auberon takes another sip of his tea, speaking calmly towards Psyber. "Let me do this quickly. I am aware of your alliance with Mikhail Alkaev, and I must tell you it is an awful choice of alliance to make. Alkaev is nothing more than a novice magus, his family no more than five generations of magi. His family's win in the past was a fluke, and since his grandmother, they have bred not a single decent mage. All the youth knows is magecraft that influences the mind and novice fire spells. He is ineffective in this War." "If you actually want to /survive/ this War, you need a strong ally. That is where myself and Saber of White come in. We can get you to the end of this war. Saber of White's abilities...are quite magnificent, and I myself am very, very powerful. It is in my family's blood, after all. We are the top magus family in all of the Clocktower. Now. Think over that for a second, and I'll tell you my offer." Charlemagne speaks again, to the rest of the group. He is not part of Psyber and Auberon's conversation, apparently. "I take it from your name, Archer of Brown, you are from a different world and war of our own? Are there many such Wars? Though, none is likely as interesting as this one, I would say." He take a sip of his tea and smiles, watching the Archer carefully. Two Sabers, an Archer, and a homewrecker. Tonight will be fun.
Guest Psyber	"I see," says Psyber, resting his chin on his chair some more and watching Auberyn with a faintly curious look to his eyes. He's fairly focused on the negotiation, and so the side conversation and most other people here don't get too much of his attention. He yawns a bit, covering his mouth with a hand and rubbing his eyes. "You want me to betray Mikhail and his Caster and jump allegiance," The half-angel muses on the idea. Largely because it gives him a chance to listen to the input from Gawain's ACTUAL Master over the radio while pretending he's actually the one considering their proposition, "Well. That's a doozy," Psyber notes brightly. "See, I've got this friend of mine who," Psyber waffles his hand back and forth, "Well, she allied herself with a group of people long enough to get power, betray em, and then try to... HRGK!" Psyber makes the sound effect as he draws his thumb across his throat, "And I'm always lecturing her about how that wasn't really a great call. About loyalty and shit, right? I think I'd kind of lose my entire moral standpoint if I betrayed someone for a bit more power, yeah?" Psyber takes out a cigarette and sticks it in his mouth, lighting it and asking, "You don't mind if I smoke, right? Nah, of course not." He notes, idly musing. "It would have to be a heck of an offer you're making, I imagine. I'll hear it out."
Archer of Brown	"Seems that way, don't it?" The Servant ponders it for a moment, then offers a noncommittal shrug. "Haven't yet heard of a boring Grail War, myself, but I reckon you'd be right about my whereabouts, Saber." Archer doesn't appear to have ordered any tea, himself. There aren't many poisons strong enough to affect a Servant, but he doesn't want to take any chances. And... well, he'd rather be imbibing something a bit stronger than tea at this point. Senator Mason is quiet, his hands folded gently atop the table. His cane rests near his chair, and every so often he reaches over to sip at his tea. You're never too old to learn something, and he's learning quite a bit about tea etiquette. He's also learning about the caliber of this Master, making notes. He holds his peace until any offers are made. He's not here to strike deals for a Grail War that isn't his--no, his position is strictly advisory.
Emiya Shirou	"That's a great argument for why we should team up, but not one for betraying an ally." States Emiya Shirou from his previously quiet corner of the meeting table. He seems unimpressed with Auberon already, but his expression is more amazed than sour. Servants always bring out that reaction in him. "There's more to a Master than how many spells they know." Shirou declares solidly. He's not especially well-dressed for the occasion but he has picked his best clothes.
Mizuki	Mizuki would keep her response brief, here, and her expression practically mute. In contrast to her normally casual iteration of formality, her muscles have lapsed into stiffness and her hands have found themselves carefully rested in her lap. With her lack of breath and pale complexion, one might well assume she was stricken with the curse of undeath. She remains visibly attentive as Auberon speaks even if her thoughts may, in truth, be wandering to a matter of more immediate interest to her. This, of course, would be Charlemagne's character, to see if at least one of the pair are worth listening to. As such, after allowing for a natural pause once Auberon finishes, she would address the Saber of White with a small smile in his direction. "Saber of White. Good evening to you as well." Assuming she's received it by now, she would steal a sip from her teacup. "I admit I know less of your history than perhaps I should as a mildly learned sort, but if I recall correctly you have quite the voracious appetite for the fine arts. If that is indeed so, might I offer to bring you some literature should our paths cross again? I know not of your feelings on the matter, but I," The fingers of her right hand would rest on her chest in a distinctly oratory gesture, "would not wish to spend my afterlife constantly feuding with no respite into the lands of imagination." The Master might be a tough nut to crack, but let's see if we can't butter up Charlemagne some. For some reason the suggestion of 'kissing up to Charlemagne' rolls rather funnily off of her internal monologue's proverbial tongue. With regards to the proposition as it stands, Mizuki gives little in the way of response. Her eyes would ultimately rest on Auberon in silent attempt to coax a continuation, but she would otherwise wait patiently, listening to the commentary of others where it's given.
Maya	Maya nods and isn't moing to cause trouble she doesn't intend to pick a fight unless someone here strts one. She looks wondering just what they have in minf an she strts to get an idea as they start to speak. She listens as they speak of magi blood lines for a moment and and is happy her reputation is not so well known in the multiverse. "I admit shifting alliance can be a thing but matters born of such a way leave me wary." she's being polite after all she can try to be poltical when she needs to be. "I'd have to agree on that matter. I had allies betray me before in the past it's not a plsent situation." She gives a nod sot Mizuki for a moment. "As for the eariler mention of Grail wars? Yes there's been a number I been aware of and this is not the first I have been involved in."
Ark Line	The door opens. There's the tinkling of the kind of bell you'd expect in places like this. Ark lets it fall closed, crossing the parlor as he hums the rest of his little song. It's chipper and upbeat. It's also really easy to pick out the conspirators over there. Maybe it's the floral print suit and the golden tie. The young man in grey strides right up to the table, making a bee-line to the nearest open seat. He pulls it out and drops into it, holding the bag in his lap. With a somewhat relieved sigh, he pulls his hat off, running a hand through vivid purple hair and then tugging his high collar down to expose his pleased grin. Amber eyes, nearly glowing and definitely not quite human, take a quick sweep of the table. "Hi," he says. "I forgot to -- what's the phrase?" He mouths something puzzledly. "RSVP...? I never did figure out what that actually meant... anyway, I forgot to RSVP, but man, you guys make it really easy to find you!" "Oh!" Ark snaps his fingers. He reaches into the bag. "Almost forgot." He closes his hand around whatever's inside, picks it, up, and drops it on the table. CLANK There's a big ol' plate gauntlet in the center of the table. It is terribly out of place. "I wasn't sure what the protocol was to put myself in the running," Ark asides. "This is my first Grail War. How's that work for you guys?" His grin widens, pleased as punch.
Gawain	"Sticking to your morals is only going to get you killed. This is a war, you need to play smart, not friendly. We both possess the strongest Servants in the War: The Saber-Class Servants. With them, we can easily destroy any vermin that get in our way.". Auberon sets his hands on the table, both in fine black gloves, as he smiles. "If we do not work together, and you remain with Alkaev, you will die. However, join me. We destroy the other Masters and Servants, and I allow you to live. When we reach the end, you order your Servant to kill himself, and I will give you quite a bit of money from my family's coffers to compensate you." Gawain visibly frowns at this, but he does not speak. He hopes he knows what Psyber will say. "I would quite enjoy that. Literature has...changed quite a bit in the centuries I have been gone.". Charlemagne smiles warmly. It might be working, or he might simply be playing her back, who knows. And then ARK LINE appears. Apparently another Master, it would seem. A very odd one, likely not from this War. Auberon looks at him with disgust and then turns back to Psyber, while Charlemagne is watching him defensively. It is Gawain who greets him. "Ah! Are you from another War? I do not remember ever speaking to you, but I seem to attract quite a bit of Servants and Masters to me.~ I am Saber of Gold. What...is this gauntlet?". Auberon is completely ignoring Ark Line. Let the lessers speak to the intruder, as he continues with Psyber. "If you do not find my deal to your satisfaction, you can simply walk away from this table, and in the future, we will fight as enemies. Weigh your choices carefully." About a minute after Auberon speaks, however, someone might hear a..bus? Moving close to the tea parlor? No, the bus is heading straight /for/ the tea parlor. Those who can sense Servants will sense one moving forward at high speeds, while those who can sense magic in general may sense something walk through the tea parlor doors...there's a giant man, almost seven foot. He seems...to be made of wood and steel, and has a sword and a shield at his side, well equipped in armor, and some sort of rune on his head. Most importantly, his left hand bears Command Seals. And back to the bus, it is now crashing through the wall, ramming over a waitress as it makes a quick turn and a halt, patrons fleeing past the armored Master. This is Rider-level precision of driving, as a Servant in pearl-white armor, head to toe, with no visible face smashes through the bus doors. He turns straight to Charlemagne, however. "CHARLEMAGNE! You make no attempt to hide yourself, and at last, I have found you! I did not expect my wish to come soon this quick, but now, I will finally erase your name from the history books!". The boasting Servant turns his head towards everyone else. "Do not interfere. You are not my enemies. It is only this mockery of a king I have issue with!" Charlemagne narrows his eyes at the Servant, as he manifests his armor. Ruses are broken, he has no reason not to: It is fine gilded armor, reaching up to his neck, a sparkling blade at his side in a hilt, as the Servant stands. "Name yourself, if you have issue with me." Bus Driver Servant instead seems even more angry, as he moves closer. He's ignoring everyone else for now: His rage is focused on Charlemagne. "You do not even recognize my voice, after all you put me through? You do not deserve...the title of Saint!" A cracked glass blade appears in the Servant's hand, as he takes battle position. Meanwhile, Auberon is reaching into his coat...and removing misty vials of...something. Well, this got dramatic fast.
Archer of Brown	Now, here's a new face. If you want to catch flies, use honey. Senator Mason, at least, treats Ark with due respect, giving the strangely-dressed figure a grandfatherly smile. "It works for me. Are you expecting someone to tell you otherwise?" offers the senator amiably. "It's 'répondez, s'il vous plaît,' by the way." There is indeed more to a Master than how many spells they know, but more importantly, the boy seems to grasp the importance of honoring agreements. Shirou receives a brief glance from Mason, nothing more. It's tinged with approval, as a teacher might pay a promising student. Subtle, but visible if the boy is looking. Archer looks at Auberon like someone might look at something unpleasant found under a log, but Mason's disapproval is of a different flavor. Saying that, out loud, amidst Servants, no less, will cost the magus hard-won ground in this discussion. It was a foolish thing to say, and the others will no doubt crucify him for it. Mason shakes his head. And then a goddamned bus crashes through the wall. With commendable clarity and enviable ease, Mason rises, leaning on his cane for support. "You have no business deciding the merits of Saber's sainthood, I'm afraid." The old man looks at Bus Driver Servant, then to the injured waitress. Gently, he points the diamond head of his cane in her direction. "You simply haven't got an argument to stand on. People in glass houses, and all that." There's a subtle shimmer in the air around Mason, the work of some sort of magecraft. Archer, in the meantime, materializes his guns and rises steadily from his seat. His hands rest closely to his legs, ready to unleash fire and lead on the first fellow to make a move towards the table. "I already don't like you. Get back in your bus and drive off, Mister."
Mizuki	Mizuki takes advantage of the moment when the bus crashes through the side of the building to pinch at the bridge of her nose. This Auberon guy really is not gaining any points with her by wearing his intentions of dominion plainly in the open like he is. She doesn't find the notion of 'complete control over the battlefield' at all endearing, nor is she particularly compelled to side with them by raw talent alone. She's certain Psyber and Gawain agree regardless of how vocal they may end up being, so she leaves their method of breaking this to him, and if they'll do so at all, to their discretion, but suffice it to say that she doesn't really like this guy. She's equally unsure about Charlemagne, and this uncertainty mounts quite a lot when that poor fool with an apparent vendetta against him breaks into the room. Her elbow would slump on the the rest offered by her chair, and her cheek would comfortably slip into the palm of her hand. Then she would watch the events, worldlessly, as they transpire, so tempted at several moments to give some perilously rude retort that never fully manifests in her mind. In the end she allows her utter apathy toward such a phenomenally obtrusive occurrence to demonstrate her feelings instead. "Better to die with your principles than to live in a vacuum," She would mutter, presumably inaudibly, to herself. She's not going to involve herself in any fights at the moment, but she might subtly apply some temporal boons to others should they wish to make moves.
Guest Psyber	Psyber gives Auberon a long look at the comment about his morals. The casual nature falls away from his face for a moment as he says in an iced-over tone, "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion." Psyber looks at him hard, "Alexander the Great." It provides all the answer Psyber needs it to regarding his choice of who to side with in this affair. Psyber leans back in his chair and then exhales a plume of smoke directly upwards from his cigarette. He smiles a bit and then adds, "I could never order Saber to fall on his own sword," Psyber says with a slight laugh, as if the idea strikes his fancy. He tilts his head a bit and then inhales heavily, burning the entire cigarette that remains before exhaling another acrid cloud of smoke. Of course, a bus comes through the wall before Psyber can say much more about his morality or the fact it will one day see him killed. Auberon is not incorrect. Psyber's particular moral obligations and personality failings will almost certainly be the death of him, so he can't object there. Instead, as the bus slams through the wall, Psyber lifts an arm to shield his face from flying debris. "You know, I heard Chicago Public Transit was bad, but that one is way off route." He's not getting up to engage the Rider, instead opting to stay in his seat for the moment and see how this one plays out.
Ark Line	Ark frowns severely at Auberon's reaction. He clicks his tongue, murmuring, "Well, that was rude." What, and him just marching up and sitting down wasn't? He nods a little at Senator Mason. "Ohhh. I don't speak A-RAY," he says somewhat nonsensically and a little apologetically. "That's cool, though, thanks." He turns to Gawain, who is actually talkative. "Sort of. We've got a Grail but no War. I guess it's busted." He smiles and shrugs helplessly. "I figured, if I want to get my wish, I need to go get one that isn't. Troublesome, huh?" He sticks out one hand to shake, the demi-gauntlets he's wearing covering the backs of his hands. "I'm Ark. Ark Line. I heard that 'throwing down the gauntlet' means issuing a challenge or something, so I got a gauntlet. Not much of a throw --" <"Ark, there is a motor vehicle coming right towards the building,"> comes a hasty voice in his ear. Caster watching from nearby. Ark's eyes widen; he brings one hand behind his back, rising from his seat, and uses his other extended hand to grab Gawain by the forearm and use him as leverage. He pulls himself over the table, flinging himself bodily to the far side and hitting the floor in a roll. Glass and splinters fly across the now-frontless teahouse. Ark comes to his feet behind the group, bringing his hands up in front of him. He holds a sleek-looking automatic pistol in one hand, pointed at the driver rather than his Servant. In his other, left wrist crossed under his right, is... ...a fan? Those well-versed in archaic and obscure weapons would recognize it as a tessen, a Japanese war fan normally made of iron. This one is made of polished white bone, etched with tiny patterns and symbols all the way across it. He holds it like he'd hold a knife. In normal circumstances, neither would be much of a threat to a Servant. "I don't get it," Ark says to Psyber.
Maya	Maya listens for a moment and thinks for a moment and she thinkis for a moment at the speechs that's going on she tilts her head a little bit t as shje listnes she looks ot the othrs for a moment and listens about how literature has changed. "It has hopefully you have found something enjoyable to read at the very least." AS Ark Line shows up she turns to greet them poltiely. "Hello." Wait there's a bust coming right for trhem? She leaps get to cover and hits the ground fairly hard as someone kicks down the door with a frekaing busy. "What is is with earth based mass tranist?!" She starts to get up and wonders it seems a grudge of ages has come to be played out this war once more.
Emiya Shirou	Disgusted by Charlenmagne and this affair for now, Shirou falls quiet to let the others speak instead. He's pretty sure what Psyber's going to say already. Pretty sure. SHIROU definitely won't agree with those terms. Order Gawain to kill himself? No. Not happening. Utterly unacceptable. Unfortuantely, or maybe fortunately, he needn't worry too much about the matter because ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. Servants arm themselves, a BUS almost wrecks everything and... Shirou stands up and hurries away from the table. "Are you serious? This is the worst time and place, you morons!"
Gawain	At this point in time, the Bus Driver Servant and Charlemagne are standing several feet apart, both with their swords drawn; Charlemagne's is likely easy to figure out, a glamorous sword of color that seems to cycle between colors every few seconds. Bus Driver Servant's, on the other hand, is a steel flamberge, the blade teeming with cracks all over it. His pearl white armor completely conceals his identity, as he calls out towards the lumbering creature of wood and steel moving into the tea parlor. "Outsider! Check on the wounded civilian!" The creature responds with a nod in the direction, before lifting it's steel shield as a gun is pointed at it. It's voice is strange, hard and firm, with little emotion, and it's mouth does not move as it speaks. "I am not your combatant. Please lower your weapon so I can aid my companion." Outsider stares at Ark Line for a moment, before continuing to move towards the bus, where in front of it, one of the waitresses lies unconscious and wounded from getting smashed by a bus. Chicago public transist /is/ bad. Despite it seeming to be the Servant's Master, the creature seems to see itself as an equal. As the Senator voices what seems to be defense towards Charlemagne, the Servant seems to make a frustrated noise, as he speaks loudly. "Oh, I quite do believe I have the merits! Our Lord would not give such a title to a man as petty as he! Do you not even remember, Charlemagne? How you sent an army after four brothers over a brawl gone wrong? How even when you were the one to make terms, we still got the short end of the stick?" Charlemagne stares, and seems to grimace. He knows exactly who is talking. But, he doesn't get a chance to out the Servant. "I am Renaud de Montauban, son of Aymon! Years was I /forced/ into your service! I did not even start the brawl, yet you did not care! I accepted an entrance into this War for only one thing, to wipe you out of history, but that no longer needs to happen. Now that I am face to face with you, I can simply get my vengeance in battle!" Renaud raises his blade, but before he can speak, Auberon laughs, clapping with one hand, as the other messes with the vial. "Bravo. What a sad, sad tale, from a sad, sad ghost. Mr. Psyber, I wish you could have agreed to my excellent offer, but it seems that you were not thinking of yourself. That makes you an enemy...and as of this Servant's entrance, this is a battlefield. Saber, destroy them all." Auberon then suddenly starts spouting...something not in English, as he flicks the lid of the vial. Liquid nitrogen bursts out of the vial, lunging at Ark Line's...fan... as an icy tentacle. The stream rapidly splits into two smaller streams, the second stream dashing straight at Psyber. Gawain rises, summoning his armor and his blade. Renaud steps forward...and rises his blade. "I call on your strength! FROBERGE!" The cracks on his metal sword begin to grow bigger...until the entire blade shatters, replaced with flame, pointing straight at Charlemagne, who points his own blade back. It seems, truly, that despite being the worst possible place for it, a battle has begun.
Mizuki	Some poor fool crashes through a window and starts flailing a pointed stick at Charlemagne. And as she'd predicted, there will be retaliation for their unwillingness to cooperate with the pompous senator and his servant. Oh, and last but not least, the Big O is evidently outside tending to civilians. Probably a good thing since the police will likely be here in short order. Mizuki sighs, summoning her sword into her hand. She would stand behind Psyber, cloaking the half-angel in a temporal field which should speed his movements and strikes. And for her part? She just waits, for now, gingerly flicking one of her bangs out of her face so that she may get the best view of this 'Auberon' character. With a particularly dark glare, she would reply, "I have not the time nor the patience to deal with some sort of petty rivalry should I choose to return here and aid my servant again." She would level her sword at him. "We will settle this now. Or if we do not settle this now, I will relieve you of that insufferable arrogance so that you may reconsider any future attempts at hindering our advance." Then she would disappear, only to reappear behind him. Her revolver in hand, she would try to use any element of surprise she might've usurped through her time lapse to deliver a swift, clean shot at Auberon's foot. This is chiefly meant to keep him here so that she doesn't have to endure the small agony of seeing him get away, only return later with that same air of delusion. Really, after all her recent experiences, the last thing she wants to see is some moron who reminds her of how self righteous she was just months ago. At this point, she might also take a moment to look to Charlemagne, who will likely not take kindly to Mizuki's attempt on Auberon's well-being. She doesn't want any unpleasant surprises from either of them.
Guest Psyber	Psyber looks over to Ark Line and explains, "Chicago has pretty good pizza, but is a terrible city in terms of public services and generally..." He waves a hand around slightly, "It's just a passing comment on Chicago as a whole. Don't worry about it." "Well," Psyber says to Auberon, "If you got everything you wished for, you probably wouldn't need a Grail War, so that's kind of the point of us being here," Psyber notes, smiling a bit in a chipper tone. He actually doesn't move to dodge the liquid Nitrogen as it streams towards him through the air. When the stream hits him, square in the chest, he topples back out of his chair and hits the floor. Liquid Nitrogen is pretty damaging, especially when exposed to unprotected body parts. When he rises a few moments later, it might indicate that he took the hit intentionally. The center of his chest is an icy mass, which he taps with his fingers a couple times before knocking really hard on once. As the icy remnants of shirt, flesh and bone fall away, Psyber has about a softball-sized hole in his chest where, amidst the blood pouring from the new wound, one can actually see his heartbeat. It's pretty gorey. "That wasn't the smartest thing you could have done, Auberon," Psyber notes. Despite the intense pain of the open chest wound, he still attempts to maintain a casual look about him. The acceleration field from Mizuki may help his regen a bit, and the wound is already starting to knit itself closed. Psyber doesn't move to attack him, though. He'll let Mizuki handle him. She seems to be on point with that anyway.
Maya	So here comes the Bus Driver Servant just whom is he? He clearly has a history with their host that much is sure she hears about the clal for Civilian and that's what's Maya's going to look into helping the civilians she wonders about the name for a moment but he seems to explains thing. Okay this is a heck an old grudge she expects but right now she's looking to aid civilians even as well they just had the battle lines end up being laid out for them.
Ark Line	Psyber explains. Ark nods thoughtfully. Hmmm. He blinks, once, at the creature. Polite automata, at least. "Sure thing. What's with the bus?" He lowers his gun. Lacking a background in the right kinds of history, most of this goes right over Ark's head. He can understand someone wanting revenge, though; that, he won't get in the way of. He smiles a little to himself. "I'm not going to stand in your way, Renaud de Montauban, son of Aymon," Ark says, copying the tone and inflection a little too precisely. He sounds a bit like he's mimicking the name in a mocking way because of it, though his other words don't lend credence to the idea. "Good luck --" Auberon interrupts with a laugh, a proclamation, and an order that is probably unwise. Ark looks at him askance, and swings his gun around just as he starts to speak in tongues. He knows just enough about magic to get the idea that he's /doing/ some. "I was looking for an excuse, anyway. What've you got?" Liquid nitrogen explodes outward, and a tendril leaps for the bone fan. Ark recognizes the substance as soon as the vial breaches. It isn't uncommon where he's from. He takes a step back, the entire event happening practically in slow motion, his smile spreading into a toothy grin and his amber eyes wide and gleaming. The sides of the tessen light up in an identical color, lines of luminescence racing up the length. Ark's Knight Arm comes alive as Grain floods the weapon. He speaks a single word: "/Boil/." Correct Future takes hold of the tendril that races at it with its power. It does not slow; instead, the extreme temperature of the substance is assaulted, bringing it up to room temperature in fast-forward. The tendril coming at him turns into a plume of gas, exploding all around the Liner without freezing him like it did Psyber. Ark's rail pistol fires from within the gaseous shroud, a pair of sharp reports accompanying the shots at the magus with the liquid nitrogen. He speaks into his radio while he opens fire, falling back and keeping a toppled table nearby if he needs it. <"Caster. I might need reinforcements. Stand by."> Caster, hurrying down a street nearby in his tweed jacket and porkpie hat, sticks a hand into his pocket. He closes his fingers around the object hidden inside. <"I am on my way."> He manages to keep most of the nervousness out of his voice. Direct conflict was never his forte.
Archer of Brown	"Let it be known that I don't approve of your methods, sir." The senator's expression is one of disappointment rather than anger or indignance. Still, he hasn't made any hostile actions, and even places a hand on Archer's shoulder. "At least you acknowledge your recklessness. Archer, please allow the entity's client to tend to the wounded." Why the verbal acrobatics to avoid 'Servant' and 'Master?' Archer stows his sixguns, eyes narrowed. "I hope you know what you're doing, Al--" Aubernon speaks up, and Archer backs against the wall to keep an eye both on the magus and the newly entered Servant. His suspicions prove to be well founded, as the haughty magus ends up declaring war on everyone present. The term 'in a flash' denotes urgency, as if there's a need to have an action done quickly. It doesn't do justice to the speed with which Archer redraws his sixguns. No, the motion is nothing but fluid grace, there for one moment only. Archer fires, not at Auberon, but at the rapidly spinning ceiling fan above him. Four wooden blades and an immeasurable amount of splinters rain down around the magus, followed by the fixture itself. Mason on the other hand ignores the fight completely, and begins ushering civilians with gentle urgency away from the fight and out of the teahouse.
Emiya Shirou	This... this is bad. In the frozen seconds between real seconds, Shirou's mind grinds through a host of awful things utterly WRONG with this entire situation. Magic and Servant battles. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. And not in some forsaken alley or park or rooftop but right on the street. A tea place, even. TOO much is wrong with this. Entirely FAR too much is wrong with this. "What are you... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Not here and now! There's people around..." But it's too late, and Auberon just started hurling around magic. left and right he turns, checking for anyone who hasn't run away... and then dashes himself. Not to run away, but just to get out of the range of things that would splat him until he can figure out what's going on. Psyber's here, he can handle stuff pretty well! "Everything about this is stupid...!" As he withdraws though, the sight of Renaud's weapon transforming grabs SHirou's attention. The redhead stumbles backwards, landing on his tush with a thump... every time he sees a new weapon, something in his mind is overcome with awe and fascination. Such a pity that these beautiful weapons are being used like this. The Holy Grail War... this is almost a disgrace of them now. "They're really fighting here... then it looks like taking Charlemagne down's in our best interests..." And he has several ways to deal with this situation. A repeat of Reaper's fate could be called for, even though the idea gets Shirou's stomach churning. He'd love tot ry and talk Auberon down but the magus seems way too unberably stubborn... "Dammit, why's everyone always so unreasonable...?! ... trace... ON!" Prana rushes through his Circuits and into his palms, where it gathers and glows. The light spreads out to fill an invisible mold with plenty of it spilling out every which way in brilliant arcs. Shirou's still not very good at controlling Projection and it shows... but as the light fades he's holding a black longbow in his left hand. In his right... more power flows out and takes shape with a sizzling display, becoming a simple estoc. The long and thin sword's easy to warp and reshape. In Shirou's grasp it remolds itself like clay, lengthening slightly and thinning down. The redhead mounts it like an arrow while forcing Prana through his eyes. The short distance to his target is now practically point blank... Auberon. But he doesn't draw the 'arrow' or fire, not just yet. Because maybe, just maybe, the next few minutes will see the end of this conflict. "Gh... why am I hesitating? We have to deal with this guy sooner or later. Nobody's ordering killing Gawain if I can help it!"
Mizuki	Mizuki would, incidentally, be given quite a bit of liberty by the actions of the others present to pay especial attention to Charlemagne. She would expend an extra bit of her energy to place a temporal bubble in-between the Saber and Auberon -- one that will have quite the opposite effect of the one called upon Psyber if entered. That's to say, it would compress the time in the region Charlemagne would likely find himself in when it is used, likely preventing him from reacting immediately when he notices his master's peril.
Gawain	A minute ago, Auberon was smug. Now, hell is on his doorstep. Unless something happens now, he will die three ways. Charlemagne is instantly reacting, somehow deflecting the flaming blade with his own, and using his Servant speed to dash to Auberon's side. And then time gets slower! Luckily, Auberon was shot in the foot, causing him to fall on his ass and avoid a rain of bullets. There's still the ceiling fan, though. As Charlemagne makes it through the time bubble, he is smashed in the head with a wooden ceiling fan. Servant stats stop it from murdering him, but he does begin to bleed, and starts to grimace. However, his attention is on something else; moving Auberon to safety. Outsider, having been granted passage, moves straight to the unconscious woman. He puts his sword and his shield on his back, and moves her actually into the bus, so that he can set her down and look at his wounds. He doesn't seem to care much about the fight surrounding him. As Charlemagne moves, Renaud surprisingly doesn't attack him whilst he is slowed in time. But, once he is back to normal speed, he is rushing at him with the flaming blade. Charlemagne makes a quick deflection with Joyeuse, the blade blocking the searing flames and deflecting Froberge backwards. Auberon, in pain, shouts upwards to Charlemagne. "Destroy them! Use your Noble Phantasm." Charlemagne seems reluctant, as he holds Flamberge off, watching /everyone/ in the room like a hawk. "There will be damage outside this room, the blast will go on for quite a dist-". "Must I use an order?" "No.". A quick banter between him and Auberon has him pushing Auberon backwards, as he shifts his feet, and holds Joyeuse in two hands. "I am Karolus Magnus, King of the Franks! This will be the end of those who oppose I!". The colors of the blade seem to start shifting more rapidly, as he slants his feet, moving backwards in order to be aiming the blade at everyone in the room. It's fairly obvious what he's doing. He's about to use a Noble Phantasm. Gawain moves forward, but gets trapped in the time-slow field. Woops. That's going to give him a pause until Mizuki can release it, so he can't deal with Charlemagne immediately. Renaud just steps backwards, holding his blade to his side. Does he have a plan? Or is he seeing what the others can do? Either way, what happens next is likely going to end in /somebody's/ death.
Archer of Brown	Mason helps a startled old woman off of the floor--one handed, in fact. The old man casts a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone noticed him drop his 'frail senior' act, then continues working to get people out of the teahouse. "Archer, you may use your Noble Phantasm." The Servant sends several bursts of prana through his revolvers at Charlemagne. "What's it look like I'm doin', pickin' daisies?" "Your /other/ Phantasm." Archer nods, and ceases fire. The Servant takes a seat at one of the few tables still left standing. "Deal me in, then." The Servant reaches into his coat pocket and produces a deck of cards, placing it on the table with a definitive thud. He also produces about twenty dollars in cash. The senator nods and joins Archer at the table, the two of them... starting a game of five card draw? Mason raises his staff, and a barrier of hard light surrounds the table as prana begins to accumulate around Archer. The senator matches the ante and deals Archer five cards. One, two, three, four, five. Archer looks up from the table and faces Charlemagne as the king gathers energy. "Dead Man's Hand." The words are hollow and empty, but as they pass the Servant's lips, so too does a wave of immaterial energy, passing over the enemy Saber like water and bringing with it a cold wave of dread. What's about to happen?
Guest Psyber	"Alright, look," Psyber starts, anger finally starting to show in his voice, "I gave you plenty of chances here." Psyber looks legitimately pissed off at this moment, "You could have walked away, retreated, and I would have let you go. Instead you just kept doubling down on your bed. And now I have to play an ace from my sleeve." Psyber reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a pad of paper. He flips through several sheets, coming to one and then tearing it off. The pad goes back into a pocket and then he closes his hands over the sheet. He slowly expands them outwardly and the shaft of a weapon starts to appear. As he spreads his arms, into reality is manifested a cobalt and silver hammer, "Erinyes, the weight of my past sins." The others are setting up defenses, but Psyber's personal defensive capability only extend so far as himself and maybe shielding one. So he'll opt for offense in this moment. The hammer, big as it is, is nimbly and easily twirled in his hands. He leap-dashes forward towards Charlemagne. As he does so, the back of the hammer opens up and an Essence-powered rocket appears, igniting to send Psyber across the room even faster than normal. He swings the hammer in a horizontal sweep, trying to transfer all that motion into a powerful blow aimed at Charlemagne, wanting to knock him off his feet, if not critically wound him, in the hopes of disrupting the Noble Phantasm.
Mizuki	Mizuki is not your typical sorceress, no, but she still has one essential sense common among all magi. That, of course, is the one that tells her that anything prefaced by a lengthy, melodramatic incantation is not something to be trifled with. She would immediately blink away from Auberon via her usual temporal channels, likely landing herself far enough away from the action to focus on a specific target. That target, of course, is Charlemagne. She would use both of her hands to conjure a single temporal bubble, here -- something that she must do to compress time so completely as she intends to now. She would press at the corners of her monochromatic sphere until all the white dwelling within would give way to pure black. Were any to behold it in its current form, they might well assume that it is some variety of dark matter, or some other mystical concoction most foul. And their assumptions would, by and large, be mirrored by reality. The sphere would come flying at him not from Mizuki's position, but again from a position to his side. The thing would distort time and space for the molecules of air in its path, dying them the same telltale black-white hue that the orb itself had been. These regions would recover quickly, but with any luck, the Saber of White will not be so lucky. If all goes as Mizuki plans, the thing would collide with his chest, draining the color from his entire form and leaving him -- and his noble phantasm -- frozen completely in time. With Creation's providence, this effect would last for the next ten minutes, but she honestly has no clue how long it will persist for. That would require her to know Charlemagne's powers as well as she knows her own, which is certainly not the case. Still, all she needs is for it to -work-. Not for any especially lengthy duration so long as it actually has the effect she hopes for. And a good thing, too -- the strain on her power has already caused the stasis field she'd placed previously to dissipate.
Maya	The plan is go for the other saber, and she can get behind that she's done what she could for anyone here and Outsider is worklin on the remainder she turn about to see Charlemagne. "You both have made your choice." Maya notes and that's where the flare up of magic, blur fire envlops Maya's body as the fight starts up and rather than attack directly? She pulls two fate cards, one is speed the other is all both are red and one might make out a stylized jester upon them. Then her allies would find themselves being covered with a pale green aura and their reaction times would be noticably quicker.
Emiya Shirou	This is not the true Excalibur, legendary blade of King Arthur. It's merely a cheap imitation, a paper mache mockup as imagined by one idealistic squire. But even so.... "HWWWWWUUUUUUUOOOOOOO!!!!!!" Underestimating that illusion is very, very ill-advised. Shirou's charge towards Charlemagne brings him straight into the Noble Phantasm's path. He doesn't care though. If he dies so be it. If he can save one other life, then isn't it worth it? As it stands though, he's beyond the realm of conscious thought. Everything's burned up and his conscious mind is currently reeling in a tiny corner, a scorched and gibbering wreck that desperately needs to STOP reaching for something it cannot have. "TAKE THIS!!" Shirou shouts as he closes in on Charlemagne and brings the roiling, roaring Holy Sword down with all the force he's got. "Eeeeeeeeexcalibur!!" A Noble Phantasm's true power is only unleashed when its name is called. Unfortunately for Shirou, he has neither the prana to do that nor an illusion strong enough to respond to that name. It looks like Excalibur, it's certainly mighty... but it is not the Sword of Promised Victory. But should this flawed fragment of a Holy Sword strike, the radiating power amplifies the force Shirou puts into that blow tremendously - enough to dislocate his shoulder and nearly rip his arm out its socket. Flesh and muscle tears, bone cracks. He screams in pain throughout the slash, but does not stop...!! On impact, all that power is unleashed with a thunderous, deafening, unearthly noise much like a tidal wave of lightning. It all goes off into a small explosion of pure force. Enough to crater the ground. Enough to rip the roof clear off. Enough to shatter walls. The weapon itself is also a lost cause, fragmenting soon afterwards...
Emiya Shirou	'Use your Noble Phantasm.' Those words fill Shirou with a sense of awful dread. He'd seen Joyeuse, and into the soul of that sword. He knows it is capable of terrible things if unleashed. How is he supposed to counter that? If joyeuse is unleashed, it'll devastate a good chunk of the city block. Dozens, possibly hundreds of people will die. If he does nothing, people will die. Wide-eyed, Shirou takes a step forward as if to cry out and shout down Auberon from a distance... but he clenches his teeth a moment later. It might not work. There's a very strong chance it won't work. And if taking Auberon down won't stop Charlemagne fast enough, then he has only one choice, doesn't he? Any icy chill runs down his spine, all turning white-hot a moment later. A Flicker of an old, hated memory threatens to rise up but he squashes down on it hard. It will not happen. He will NOT let that happen. Even if it costs him his life. "Huaaaa....!!" Sucking in a deep breath, the idealistic squire focuses everything he's got on something far beyond the reach of men. A Holy Sword. THE Holy Sword. Nothing less will suffice if he's to stop Charlemagne in one slash. "Don't burn out on me, Circuits... I need this...!! Trace... ON!" He drops the bow and estoc. They clatter to the ground and vanish almost instantly into a gust of prana. Both his hands outstretched, Shirou adjusts a foot forward into a deeper stance and grips the air with both hands. "My body... is made of swords!" At once the wild energy flying from his hands calms somewhat. And those who can sense magic will notice huge fluctuations from Shirou. The boy digs deep of the reserves Iianor's workshop allows him to fill, drawing on everything his Circuits have held onto. Nearly every erg of prana he can focus, he grabs. Like a race-car driver flooring it. The result, of course, is NOT AT ALL comfortable for Shirou. "GYAAAAAaaaaaaaaaagghhhhhhhhhhh------!!!" Well he just screwed up SOMETHING. Because he lurches forward and coughs out specks of blood. Eyes full of blazing determination settle on the distant Charlemagne. His balance and stance regained, Shirou resumes gripping the air... The light of hope and glory, refined, polished, sharpened, and imbued into the ultimate symbol of victory and nobility - a triumphant, sacred sword born to answer a wish purer than the Holy Grail itself. For a brief moment, Shirou even feels that... perhaps this cheap imitation dirties it. Using it for this purpose, however, definitely does not. FIRE roars through SHirou's mind, as all of his thoughts are focused into the laborious, inhuman process of reverse engineering something beyond the reach of all mankind. Anyone else on this planet would've toppled by now, consumed from overload and burning out their circuits entirely. In his case... In his case, he's developing the world's worst headache and that's only the start of Shirou's trouble. The boy staggers, grunts, groans... but then.... "uuuuuuuuOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" A blinding surge of prana rockets outwards from his fingertips, wrought in holy white, noble gold, and a regal purplish-blue. It fills in from the hilt upwards as he breaks into a full-blown CHARGE. His body held low, the forming illusion held out behind him and brought about, wound up for a strike. A sleek, royal blue grip and golden pommel. A golden, slightly upswept cross-guard... and a thick, mighty blade of silvery-grey metal forged in the heat of grandest legend. Fairy letters run up the blade, proof that this is no work of man. Except, well, maybe this one is. Gawain would know merely at a glance that this is no true work of the fairies. As Shirou closes in on Charlemagne, the SWORD OF PROMISED VICTORY roars with all the power Shirou gave it. The edge fills with light - a faint aura of blue expands with swirling whites filled with flecks of gold. Yes, Shirou's blade doesn't match the original's purity at all.
Ark Line	Ark does not gun the magus down where he stands, largely because things get CRAZY. He keeps back, trying to keep an eye on what's happening and where it's all coming from. Some kind of time bubble, trick shooting, less-tricky shooting and a swordfight all at once. He's kind of impressed. Ark ignores the whole 'civilian casualties' thing. Other people have that covered. He trains his gun on the enemy Saber's Master, snapping off a couple more shots more to give him something to think about than to actually threaten him. That Charlemagne guy will probably keep deflecting them, but that's okay. Things start to get colorful instead of merely insane. Ark is led to believe this is potentially lethal. He's never had to deal with a Noble Phantasm before. The concept of them is interesting -- he's aware that Caster has a very strange one, but he hasn't had to employ it -- but their scale is apparently all over the place. This one... Ark gets on the radio. <"Caster, can you take him out if everyone else gets vaped?"> Caster is outside when he gets the message. His reply is quick. He's moving outside the cone of effect. <"Not in the city."> Inside, Ark rolls his eyes. He lowers his gun to his side, flipping his tessen in his hand to hold it in a normal grip. <"Oh come on. It's not l--"> Caster's response is vehement. <"/Not/ in the /city/."> He grunts. So much for a Servant actually serving, Ark thinks. He briefly glances down at his hands. He could try and force the matter... but what was that about a 'bad work environment' or something? He doesn't need to push his luck in that regard. "Ah, well. So much for insurance." Mizuki tries to tie him up in a time bubble while people go on the offense. Good a time as any. Ark raises the war fan, remarking, "Geez, letting your weapons' names slip left and right... I guess I should pretend to be fair for a change." He smiles momentarily. A look of concentration overtakes the expression. Ark unfurls the war fan, the bone slats spreading, the surface between them a lattice in glowing amber. The patterns flow like a river, the surface ever-shifting glimpses of what could be. "No Noble Phantasm... my Knight Arm is more than enough!" His eyes grow wide. The manifestation of the false Excalibur draws his attention. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He swings the fan. It leaves motes of some kind of energy behind, a spray of odd-colored lights that break free. It jumps into the expanding light of the image of Excalibur, surrounding the weapon in a corona of amber. Ark's Knight Arm changes, the surface mirroring the false Excalibur, its image suddenly rendered in negative space on the lit-up Conceptual Weapon. The Grain he used alters the flow of things as they come. It does not merely make a sword sharper, it makes that weapon's cuts deeper, strikes heavier, and the fatigue from wielding it worse. Correct Future's power touches false Excalibur, and it makes it /more/. It makes it /greater/. It amplifies everything about it, from the damage to the range to the strain of it's user. Ark's yell joins the cacophonous combat as Grain flows free. It is joyous. "/CORRECT FUTURE!!/"
Gawain	It was obvious very early that Charlemagne and Auberon were going to lose. Nobody knew exactly /how/. Psyber's hammer smashes Charlemagne to the ground, injuring him badly, as he coughs up quite a bit of blood. He lifts to his feet, trying to say Joyeuse's incantation, when suddenly, time freeze! He's not saying a word. Ever again. Shirou's Excalibur Image, augmented by Ark's Correct Future, is devastating. The laser mauls outwards, turning Charlemagne and Auberon to nothing. The floor they standed on is black, crumbled. The rooftop above was annihilated. The blast continues through to the wall...and if not stopped, will kill many, many people. And this is when Renaud learns things are Really Really Bad. He's dashing as fast as he can, assisted by Maya's Haste spell, as he smashes through a weakened wall to the side, out to the street. Seeing the blast, he looks out to the street ahead, and internally prays. And then he says one word. "Montauban." The word echoes, as his armor shakes and shatters. Three marble walls begin to rupture from the ground, before rapidly sliding to the end of the street, and cementing themselves in front of civilians in the blast's path. The blast crashes down into the combined wall, which withstands its power, shattering as the blast finally dissapates. Renaud rises from his knees, clad in only brown rags. His brown hair is long, and his facial hair ragged. Had he not moved, many civilians would have died, as he shambles back inside the now ruined tea parlor, and falls to his knees. As all this happens, Gawain moves forward towards Shirou, and attempts to grab him and pull him back to safety. Outsider is still in the bus, paying attention to the injured woman from earlier. He misses all the fun. "Shirou! Are you alright? Can you speak?", Gawain shouts out as loud as possible at the lad, as the tea parlor now looks like the role it played: a destroyed battleground.
Emiya Shirou	You think you have something in control. An outrageously dangerous (to himself) move with enough power to cleave a Servant in half is all Shirou intended. Stop Charlemagne before he could finish charging up Joyeuse. But instead... The presence of a strange foreign... not quite magic, a poisonous energy that Excalibur nevertheless accepts - or is forced to accept rather - brings his hazed, agonized mind out of the corner it had taken shelter. Being awake, aware, and seeing what's going on in those few split seconds is agony to him in a hundred ways. With a loud, furious squawk of dismay, Shirou tries to cancel Excalibur's Projection upon realizing what kind of power it now held. But it's too late, the Projection's too strong for him to deny it-- And the Sword of Promised Victory nearly destroys everything. The roar of its power is deafening, the light is blinding... and the force of the backlash not only destroys almost everything around Shirou when it slams into the castle walls, but it threatens to come right back at SHirou. "What did that bastard--" Yeah, he's pissed alright. pissed enough to start being insulting! Luckiyl, just as he's about to get vaporized by the holy sword's backwash, Gawain yanks him away to safety. As soon as he's released... Shirou wobbles, clutching his head. "Rrrrrghhaaah...!!" But he bites his tongue to silence himself. Even as his whole body tingles numbly. His Circuits are in utter shock from the abuse he just put them through and he's having trouble moving with ANY kind of coordination. "Sa...ber of..." He doesn't finish that. It hurts too mcuh tot alk, but there's a pleading look in his eyes as he struggles to look at Gawain. The look asks, 'how bad was it out there?'
Archer of Brown	There's just a sort of silence, in the absence of Auberon and Charlemagne. Senator Mason dispels his forcefield, Archer collects his cards, and the two sit in awkward quiet as the smoke clears (both literally and figuratively.) This would mark the second time in a row that Emiya Shirou has displayed his not inconsiderable strength. The old man sighs. He'll have to speak to the boy, at some point, about pushing himself so hard. Then again, perhaps he won't. Shirou is still young, still at the age where he can overexert himself without costing his life. A vase rolls off the table and lands on the vaporized remains of Auberon and Charlemagne, shattering on impact. Archer rolls and lights a cigarette.
Guest Psyber	By this point, the wound in Psyber's chest has almost entirely closed, leaving just bare flesh and the hole in his shirt. The half-angel heaves a few deep breaths after his attack on Charlemagne, but then steps back and away as Shirou's attack comes out. The hammer drags across the floor and he brings his arms up in a defensive stance, mostly intending to diminish blast waves or flying debris. When the explosion dies down, there's a lot to deal with all at once. He gives a glare towards Ark Line when the blame for an overzealous explosion seems to fall on him. But he doesn't make a move to attack, mostly out of not wanting there to be two fights here in one day. So he'll stick to glaring and assessing options.
Maya	things are getting more than a bit crazy she sense a good deal of power from whateer is Done to Shiour's weapon nd she can only stare at what's going down. "Wait you have over..." She calls out too late as the whole thing plays out before her and she watches as Renaud races in to try and tank the blast. Renaud tanks the thing and seems to surived or he has for the moment. She now races to help Renaud as Gawain had Shirou for the moment. Sir Renaud, she can at the very least provide him some form of mana. She was most impressed about how evne with a Vendetta from life he acted to protect innocent. She's going to fish out of her clothing a strange glowing item which seems to be a rune...
Ark Line	The Sword of Promised Victory nearly carves Chicago a new one. Due to the intervention of another Noble Phantasm, it is prevented. Ark, near the back of the coffee shop, throws himself bodily forward when the beam cuts through it and Renaud goes to block it. He tucks into a roll, the backwash tossing him into the side of the bus. He manages to soak most of the impact with a good, if slightly odd landing, but he'll be feeling that tomorrow. Ark pulls himself to a stand, dusting himself off. He bends down and picks up his dropped gun, giving it a quick look. Correct Future never left his grasp. He folds it back up with a motion, snapping it back into its narrow, collapsed shape. "Phew. Good shot; you got him, guy." Ark glances at Shirou, brushing a lock of vivid purple hair out of his eyes. His hat came off. Annoying. He surveys the damage. Outside, Caster makes his way to the front of the building, the tall man staring at the carnage with his hand holding something tight in his pocket. Ark sighs. "I think it got the gauntlet, too. Do I have to get another one...?" He drops the gun back in its holster, running his fingers through his hair and getting dust and detritus out of it. He does not seem terribly bothered by the carnage. Ark quirks a brow at Psyber, his demeanor calm but the look in his eyes anything but. It asks, 'do we have to have a problem?' He looks about ready to leave as it is.
Gawain	Renaud rises to his feet, tired, not injured. he moves back to the rest of the group, a grimace and a glare at Ark Line for what has happened here. Outsider finally leaves the bus, the young woman presumably sleeping inside, as he steps behind Renaud. And Gawain turns to Shirou, as he carries him away, setting him on the ground. "...Only Auberon and Charlemagne were hit. Don't worry. We've won." At great cost. A tea parlor in shambles, a lord vaporized, a Noble Phantasm sacrificed, and hundreds of lives almost lost. Tea has been ruined for everyone forever.