Scene #8692: Scáthai Senén: Claíomh Fíor Blátha

Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	The 'Land of Shadows' is not a place to return to so casually. Even for Lilian. After her tremendous breach of contract the very first time, when she'd sought the power to defeat Persephone from the warrior woman Scáthach only to be torn away days before the end, the fact she'd been able to come back at all wasn't even strictly optional; it'd been the shieldmaid's demand is exchange for the Wheel of Lugh left by her favourite pupil when most of a dozen Elites had come through the entire list of classic trials to win it from her, on Lilian's behalf. Funny enough, it was only after meeting the people who'd risk their lives for her, and hearing of the strange things that had begun to happen to her, that Scáthach had shown a much more sincere and personal interest in Lilian at all. The fact that two weeks (in the real world; as this is the Otherside, and Skye borders Tír na nÓg, time isn't quite that clean) had become two years is evidence as such. The woman Lilian even calls 'Master' has been here, as she ever has before, with something new in mind for her pupil when she returns every few weeks. And like a lot of auspicious things in Lilian's life, the terminus and transition of it all lies at the winter solstice. Thankfully, nobody has to traverse multiple lethal trials of folklore again; Lilian had resolved the work of coopting these Otherside travel routes for her own means back in Kamar-Taj, and you're free to simply arrive by slightly bizarre directions and an engraved stone circle (told not to open your eyes for the short process after). Doing so puts the mythical Bridge of Leaps behind you-- bridging cliff to cliff with the shores of the !Irish mainland across its dauntingly impossible span-- along with the dark rapid and their circling shadows beneath. That itself leaves you in a place that is merely 'safer', and not 'friendlier'. The instant you leave the mortal sun behind, you plunge into a muted world of leaden air and pale-and-shadow light. The soil is as fine ash, held together by the half-remembered shades of grasses and dreams of wildflowers and shrubs. The old stones are the realest thing here, sharp and grey and coated in aeons of immortal moss. Grey and silver motes of light and shadow drift through the air, rising from the ground like dust. Painterly frost coats everything around you, even the dark trunks of impossibly tall and deeply shadowed trees, still in steel-and-lead bloom at this time. Streaks of white snow, piled in crevices and on rocks, glow ghostly pale under the liminal dawn-dusk above. Your breaths feel heavy. Your footsteps are muted. A chilly, directionless breeze feels like hands on your shoulders. There's a sense of place to it, at least. Down to the west, the landscape rolls down and terminates to a sandy inlet, studded with strangely arranged stumps and flat-levelled stones. Off to the east, not far from you, the imposing shade of a single, lonely castle keep, reduced to a shilouette of black shadow. The steely glitter in the air hasn't at all frozen the rambling creeks that flow together and form the strangely gargantuan fairy pool ahead of you, where numerous streams flow down from the shadow of glacier-scarred crags surrounding you and converge over a crescent-shaped cliff as a curtain of misty waterfalls, pouring into a broad and shallow lagoon, clear as glass, with a carpet of stones at its bottom.
Lilian Rook	The fact this spot will ostensibly be used very soon is quite clear. The freestanding memorial stones surrounding the place's perimeter, engraved top to bottom in ogham, give it a sense of purpose even without the freshly woven crowns of winter flowers, nor the holly posts driven at equal distance between them. The bright red berries still on the briaded vines are about the only splash of colour here, beyond Lilian herself. Knelt by the shore of the fairy pool, opposite the crescent cliff and its dozen waterfalls, on a woven rug with a heap of personal belongings, she's oddly neither dressed up nor down in any particular way, only wearing a simple white and green léine, with her sword laid across her thighs. The look of fastidious meditation would be impressive, if she didn't bolt right up on the spot at the sight of you, and come running right over.
Kale Hearthward	Going through magical gates of any kind is something Kale Hearthward isn't used to yet, at all. The directionless breeze here still gives him a sense of anxiousness, as well. But still. Onward. Kale has coffee. Specifically a thermos at the ready with Lilian's preferred blend and style, and enough extra ingredients and equipment on hand to make it thrice over if needed. The thermos is offered first, then conversation. "You looked..." Lonely. No, that sounds a bit too harsh. Fine, how about 'like you could use some company'. "... like you could use some company," finishes Kale. "This place doesn't seem all that..." He looks around. "Condusive to finding people of the same... mortality, as you." He regrets 'mortality' as soon as he says it, it feels like the wrong word choice, but correcting himself with a better word choice seems worse. Best to just push through, change the topic. "Actually - haven't spoken to you since your graduation, I just realized. I wanted to congratulate you. That was a very nice speech."
Trudy Grimm	This isn't the first time Trudy Grimm has seen the Land of Shadows, and in this visit she is extremely grateful for Lilian's esoteric directions to the shortcut that allows her to bypass all manner of unkind trials. It isn't until well after she feels that familiar chill and leaden-heavy air that glimmering green eyes open first to the sky, then across to that familiar, forboding castle keep. "Mmm~, I had only been here the one time, but it feels oddly refreshing to return," the witch comments mostly to herself. She doesn't bother with calling any servants forth. The Grimoire hangs at her hip, buckled firmly shut. Such white is blindingly bright in this dim world and Trudy is inevitably drawn to that crystal clear inlet pool and the woman seated there. She only ceases when Lilian stands and runs. Wait, am I imposing? No of course not-- this was an invitation-- She's just not used to seeing Lilian run. The woman often moves with purpose, of course, but running usually only happens when something heinous is afoot. The Lilian in Trudy's mind isn't usually one to be so... rushed? "Hello!" The witch puts on her biggest, sharkiest smile, "Are you in good spirits?" Closing her eyes, Trudy holds her hands out to either side. Her shadow expands ominously, "I could try calling some out, if you'd like~." Kale mentions mortality. Trudy's shadow reverts and she glances towards him with a curious expression, like she didn't quite understand what he said just then. Her gaze returns to Lilian, trying to read the her face now.
Angela	It would be nice, Angela thought, if she could just send someone like Gebura herself to help with battles and leave smaller matters to Agents but, unlike her 'mother', she has to live life on hard mode. Typical. But nevertheless, the Agents Gebura trains ought to be the next best thing but she has been overrelying on Shajo and Nonon as of late and the Manager insisted that newer agents go out more and get multiversal experience and Angela literally cannot disobey. And so... NEW AGENTS UNLOCKED MAX is actually one of the survivors from a battle against leviathans in Rita's world which earned him the right to get an Ego Gear. He is a green haired young man wearing shades and wielding ... giant teddy bear paws? And with him is... CERI who s a pink haired woman with ringlets who is wearing a red and white suit with ruffles around the wrist and carrying a large axe that looks like a stiletto as its blade in the right light? ... Sure! Max is fumbling with the video pad in his big fuzzy paws for a moment when Ceri casually takes it into her hand without a word. "We have to do our best~, silly Max. No fumbles today, mhmmm?" Max says, "Gosh, Lady Ceri. I'm sorry, but my EGO Gear makes it had to hold onto weapons..." Max says sheepishly. G"Just follow the instructions." Gebura says. SOME TIME LATER... "Woah...." Max says, eyes wide as they find themselves into a realm of ash and shadow. His mouth hangs open in serious awe--not just of th esudden shift, but of the snow (he's never seen snow), and the strange sky.... Ceri places a hand to her mouth like she's about to say 'oh my!' or 'I do declare!' but she doesn't get that far before she spotted Lilian rushing on over. "The Dame Commander... Wow...." Ceri says. "Dame Commander." Gebura says. "...Was curious about the sort of person who'd be your mentor." Seems like this was Gebura's curiousity that brought the team over rather than a strict order from Angela herself. She intended to bring Nonon and Shajo over but Angela actually insisted on the newbies, saying it was the Manager's orders. "Any other rules?"
Tamamo	Tamamo, while not having been here from the beginning, doesn't leave Lilian to wait long. Well accustomed to travel by secret paths, she arrives calmly -- up until she has to deal with being in the Land of Shadows. It is, to her, a disquieting sort of place, though she'd been very focused on her goal, before, and tried to put it well out of mind. It's not so much the ghostliness of the place, but the half-dark stillness. Even she seems muted in that heavy air, cast in shadow, though her eyes remain a source of light and color. The fact that they do not merely reflect light is most apparent in a place like this. "Lilian... are you well prepared? Have you wished for aught?" Kale's offer of coffee is regarded with faint approval, though she, of course, only brings tea, as ever. "I suppose it had been somewhat pushed from my mind that we would be returning here just now. Of course, it had always been necessary, and you had told me as much. She sees... something in you, as well."
Futaba Nuki	To Futaba's credit, the Land of Shadows is not a place she's ever really been to. She might have heard it mentioned in passing once or twice, but this is the first time she can recall ever really seeing the foreboding and almost mythical-sounding place. Without the context of previous visits, she also doesn't have any reason to really brace or prepare herself a repeat of any lethal trials. Actually finding her way to the engraved circle is the first hard part at all, and only in the sense that Futaba's general curiosity about things still has her gawking all over the place up until she's instructed not to look at anything. The temptation is powerful, but Lilian knows her stuff. She'll just have to wait until she's given the go ahead to look around again, impatient as she is. Just stepping onto that ashy dirt has her doing a double take, and the mossy stones awaken some sort of primal instinct that takes all of Futaba's willpower not to just try and chew on one of them. Pulling her attention away from the stones and moss, she next notices how chilly everything is here, and her choice to wear her usual lighter track jacket is suddenly feeling less practical. Regardless, Futaba toughs it out, and she whistles lightly at the sight of that castle to the east. Once again, she dukes it out with her instincts in the span of a few painfully long seconds, and then she tears her attention away well enough to head towards Lilian as she comes over towards the group from that pool. "Oh! Hey, Commander Rook. We're here, just like we promised!" Futaba declares with a bright-eyed smile, nodding quickly at Kale and Trudy as she soon follows up on their statements with a hearty cheer. "Yeah, congratulations! It really was something else. The way everyone quieted down when you started talking? It might as well have been an empty room the way you got that to happen!" Nodding at Gebura next, Futaba takes a deep breath to steady herself first. "Right. What do you need us to do? Or not do? We'll make sure it gets done or not!"
Xion	Xion had planned on being here - to show support, again, or to decline to give up, again - as was necessary. There simply wasn't anything less she could do, on this day of oaths. It was not her oath, even, but... It was an oath that determined if someone Xion cared about could be happy. And 'cared about' was a humble way to express the fullness of what brought Xion, for a third time, to the greyscale Lands of Shadows. Dressed in her classic black coat, silver draws trailing across the sides of her chest and hood down so it was only her raven bangs that dimmed over her eyes, Xion didn't so much as travel the unfriendly land as skip impatiently to the end and still somehow come halting, fleeting, and a dash late. While her hands remain empty, the black-gloved digits tighten and open slowly and methodically as Xion considers Kale already offering coffee and Tamamo considering Lilian's needs. With a wide-eyed sort of curiousity, the noirette inspects the little moments between the others, and without frowning, scuffs the grey dust held together by the dreams of roots with the sole of her boot and frowns. "I could zap over and get something, but... I wasn't sure what we'd be doing. We're not fighting for you, so--" Nervous, for a moment, like she was asking a 'stupid question' on a test, or to a teacher, Xion's furtive tone is matched by the scan of her eyes across the group. "... I guess I'm still not sure what we're doing. Is it... a sword recital? Witnessing a duel?"
Petra Soroka	Petra would prefer, a little bit, to have to traverse multiple lethal trails of folklore to get here, but that can wait for another time. There will be another time, Lilian implied that at one point, so Petra is content with taking the easy way there this time; it's for supporting Lilian, anyways, not for actually being relevant herself. It's far from the first time that Petra's stepped through a ring of stones to teleport somewhere, and surprisingly, it's also far from the first time that she's been in a monochromatic pale-light world that feels directionlessly hostile to her presence; though not so many times, and never this particular one, that she doesn't hold her breath when arriving in the Land of Shadows. The cold atmosphere makes her shove her hands into the pockets of her battered bomber jacket, which she's still wearing over top the nice, expensive outfit she got from her outing with Tamamo, with the one pair of pants she was allowed. Pillar of Creation is strapped to her back, because Petra is very hopeful about making a good impression about that, at least. On the walk down the cliff, Petra looks the junior agents over, pattering along the ash-soil behind them. She didn't come here from Lobotomy Corporation with them, and she's not personally introduced to every new agent hired at the company, so outings like these are how she sees many of them for the first time. Her elbow, cocked from her hand still resting in her pocket, lazily fans out to her side in an approximation of akimbo when she speaks up to address them abruptly. "'Lady' Ceri, huh?" The cool-and-mysterious-veteran vibe she was so carefully cultivating falls apart immediately when Lilian comes into view and approaches them. Implicitly-raised eyebrow is instead replaced with lighting up with excitement as it becomes extremely clear that Petra doesn't consider the Gaelic tunic to be 'dressing down' at all, regardless of the quality of it. Not that she knows what it is. "Lilian! You look like a-- a fairy, or, or an elf, or something, like--" She blushes and gets locked in a mixed-up combination of two of her idle animations at once, flustered into laying one arm across her chest like she means to cross them, and one hand gesturing vaguely to emphatically elaborate. "Like-- because of-- the outfit, and the, everything, surroundings, you know, that's--" Petra coughs and recenters herself, mostly. "Um. So. Good luck, anyways! Do you, like, need anything from us in particular?"
James Bond	Bond opens his eyes once the Bridge is safely behind him. The watch on his wrist could only reflect something so ordinary as the time in the place he left the world of mortals. Even without assuming otherworldly tricks or interference, when he looks down to check it after adjusting the lapels of his sylishly oversized black leather car coat, the bezel of the watch is cast in dreamlike, muted tones. Experiences like this aren't so uncommon as they used to be--but, lowering his hand and surveying the landscape, Chevalier James Bond looks very much like a worldly man in an otherworldly place, by his expression alone. His outfit--that coat, the matching sweater, the collar of a white button-up peeking from the sweater's neckline, and, of course, the very watch he'd just 'consulted'--does very little to dispel the notion. Bond still feels the chill, despite it. Muted footsteps carry him forward with seeming certainty--but his cold blue eyes sweep questioningly across the painted landscape, even as he approaches. A lacquered wooden gift box is tucked neatly under one arm. The tension in him disappears, when Lilian comes bounding over. "That was good advice you gave, at that graduation ceremony." Bond smiles, warmly, his free hand in the pocket of his leather coat. "I wasn't sure what to bring your teacher as a thank-you for her hospitality," he says, motioning with a brief lift of the gift box. "So I settled on a vintage grand cru Bordeaux."
Tamamo	Even with the muted presence of a Nobody in Shadow, Tamamo can clearly notice this one, and brightens (illusorily?) by a notch, as she says, "Oh, Xion!" and beckons her over like a dialogue cutscene prompt. It may be marked 'listen' but that still makes her part of it. Looking over the others, she can't help but think of three groups -- those who are returning, those who are here for the first time, and those who were here to gain the Wheel of Lugh, but aren't here, now. A frown crosses her features, staring out into the landscape, at where Hibiki Tachibana is not. In that one case, it might be more of a problem were she here, and yet... it bothers her. She'll think on it, later. Whatever she thought while staring into the far distance, there's no sign of it on her face when she turns back to the assembling group.
Xion	Xion, who took no Bridge or circle of stones this time, but found her own dark way here to the Land of Shadows, is on edge. She had wandered through the forbidding forests of bleached out colors and walls of black trunks without sight of forest floor, nor branch or canopy. A wall of prison-bars in black, and the feeling, the dark threat of emptiness-that-menaced. Except... She had been here before. The monsters, the menace, were not so scary when unprovoked. She had seen the Land Unlit By Colors. Lilian, and the scarlet-flowering berries, were the only color here in more ways than one. Spooked, first by James Bond having a gift in lacquered case ready to go as much as she is by being greeted by Tamamo, the Nobody's wide eyes narrow only to pop again. "Hey, Tamamo. I forgot a gift." Xion breathes as she's indicated, more mouthmotions than sounds, but she is consoled by being simply told what to do. Falling into line besides Tamamo comfortably, closing her hand around air reflexively to summon nothing-at-all and wince, remembering not to idle motion into brandished weapons in the fairy lands. Instead she lets her hands ball into slow-closed fists, and exhales a breath.
Lilian Rook	It is, of course, Lilian's intent by running towards the gathered arrivals to first leap on Tamamo, wrap her arms around her shoulders, spin around her on the spot, and squeeze her with energy that is two thirds adoring and one third nervous vibration. The full combo attack, however, involves leaning over and scooping up Xion the instant she asks a single question, hoisting them of their feet with the urge to apply pressure to someone belovedly reassuring. "Oh my goodness. There's really so many of you . . ." Lilian says in the process of putting Xion back down again, mindful of the sword still gripped in one fist that she braces clear of her. Scanning the crowd paints a glint of green against airish backdrop that even mutes her skin. Her lips twitch nervously towards a smile, then away from it as if scalded, before settling unevenly on a more picture-perfectly-put-on imitation. 'Lilian... are you well prepared? Have you wished for aught?' "Of course I'm well-prepared. I am for everything." she says. "So don't worry. It'll be like always." There is a hint of selfward-intended reassurance in her voice. "Even when, once in a blue moon, I'm not thoroughly ready for what happens, all that occurs is that I cause a huge mess for everyone anyways. Nothing important." Lilian says, laughing slightly more than half-genuinely. 'You look like a-- a fairy' Lilian restrains what her body does on reflex to a sharp jab into Petra's solar plexus and a too-late nervous-guilty expression. Letting her hand hover for a second in uncertainty, she settles for putting it back down on Petra's head as if trying to reassure a cat whose tail she'd stepped on by accident. "It's special. Isn't it? No one's done this in ages. A hundred fifty years at the last. And before that, the gap is absolutely massive. So. You're allowed to be impressed." Letting herself give into the impulse for a moment, Lilian folds her sword to her waist, lifts up her hand, curls her fingers, and spins full round on one toe, intentionally cocking her hip to let the dress sway out where she stops. "And of course I look gorgeous~" '... I guess I'm still not sure what we're doing. Is it... a sword recital? Witnessing a duel?' "Ah. That's a good question to ask." Lilian says, just a tiny bit guilty. The amount doesn't defeat the stubborn little smile she has for Xion. "I wasn't really allowed to say before. But since you're here, it's probably fine." She glances to Futaba asking the obvious. "It's . . ." 'Condusive to finding people of the same... mortality, as you.' Lilian opens her mouth, pauses, says "And exactly how mortal am I, Hearthward? I'm inclined to believe at the moment that I will far outlive you, won't I?", and then stares with lips parted at the coffee held out once she notices it slightly late. "Oh." She blinks, then gingerly takes the thermos. "Thank you. Actually." She's still too anxious to make the little laugh that slips out sound fully professional and not tinged with chagrin. "I had to dumb it down and make it a bit more repetitive and longwinded for a commencement address, you know. But. It came from a place." She looks aside, then back. "I think transitional moments in life always should." Lilian smiles a little shyly at Trudy's offer, saying "As long as they're the sort I can drink." and then "I'm glad to see you again. I recall this was a place you came at personal cost for nothing in return. So you're always welcome." Bond's appearance has her raising an eyebrow as if she's already penned a dry remark in her head, but her shoulders visibly relax another half-degree at a reassuringly steadfast presence. "You're quite conscientious, you know. I'd think you a womanizer, if I were one tenth as observant as I am." She nods faintly. "It's not quite Roman wine from conquest overseas, but I suppose the gesture is well-researched. Good on you."
Lilian Rook	Turning away from the group, towards the short cliff, Lilian holds up the thermos to the crescent moon of waterfalls, and says "This doesn't count, does it?", this time in the family tongue she seldom uses in front of company. The next moment, your ears pop from the thudding impact of the better part of two hundred pounds hitting hard-packed dirt at a considerably Olympian speed from somewhere out of the sky. Pale ash and glowing snow rises and falls in moonlike gravity. "Nay, my Senén. A drink before battle is a custom and a courtesy. It is no measure of a retainer." Lilian doesn't so much glance at the tablet, but she does whisper to Gebura, "Well. Look up." The figure at the top is familiar to a few, but not all. There's scarcely any secret to whom she could possibly be. At least six feet of grey and sable clad woman, draped in a white-furred mantle and wearing highland boots laced up to the thigh, whose each and every step from the settling cloud of ghostly dust manages to resound with graceful weight where no one else's makes a sound. With a white-gold torc around her throat and an iron chain, festooned with fang and bone and antler and tooth, barely holding back her hair; red so dark it would almost better be called black; she of course seems not one day older than before, and yet you could almost swear the intense-- near-overbearing-- pressure around her has grown slightly from before. The air visibly bows before her, taking away the steel and grey glitter motes that rise from the memory of stones here. She looks down from the cliff with a gaze that perpetually seems like a luridly reflective artifact of photography, white instead of red mainly obscuring the original colour of her eyes. "This is a kind of second commencement." says Lilian. "Of a more real kind. I've proven every other thing I can, and so what's left is . . ." Her eyes naturally drift to Scáthach, seekingly. Her gaze is deeply unusual. Deferential without meekness. Patient without hesitance. A respectful silence and giving way that comes from a well-rehearsed relationship and a healthy dose of respect, where she would usually push back against a feeling of being diminished. "When the bards sing of the warrior and take their measure, are the companions they gather under their cloak along the dusty roads they walk not part of the verse?" says the warrior maid. Plain as if it were fact, and not question. Forceful as if prohibiting disagreement by nature. "As the companions who heeded the call, you are granted the right to bear witness to the Claíomh Blátha's final trial. But more, you have the right to bestow upon her a single boon of your choosing. The blessings that follow a warrior into battle, however small, are woven into their fate as well." "However, a companion is only as worthy as their wisdom. For each boon you bestow, I will take in equal measure a gift of my own into battle. I have many, and I will nary be so unfairly kind as to match each to the strength of weal you offer. Offer that which you place your faith in, for my Senén is placing her faith in you in accepting. Make certain each is worth the price I will take in war-treasures to the field. Use your wits. Name your hand on the scale. And if you find nothing worthy of your warrior, use your discretion to trust her with only your well-wishes."
Trudy Grimm	> "I'm glad to see you again. I recall this was a place you came at personal cost for nothing in return. So you're always welcome." "Oh, stop," Trudy closes her eyes with a smile that clearly says 'Don't, actually', "I've long-since decided to do everything I can to help you in any way I can, after all. Though I know I've stumbled selfishly here and there--" She's having trouble staying focused on the good vibe, but she's trying to hang on to it with everything she's got. It's tough to be this close to Lilian after what she was subjected to by the Timestreamer. After being attacked by a stronger version of herself, commanding a hollow but no less top-form version of... "--Ah," The witch catches herself, eyes blinking open, "No, nevermind that. Sadly the only spirits I can summon are the sort that do the drinking, so I'll just as soon leave them be." Leaning forward a bit, Trudy folds her arms behind her back and whispers conspiratorially, "Oh, but if you're going to kill Kale, try not to break too many of the bones. I'd surely find a use for them." "As for how 'mortal' you are... That's not a question I'm emotionally prepared to answer, you know?" She smiles again, earnest but a little...apologetic? "Besides. I think miss Tamamo has far more say in that than anything I could muster."
Trudy Grimm	Scáthach Trudy's posture straightens right up at the sound, the vibration of her landing, the wind teasing through her hair. The legendary warrior woman who once visited her own homeland. Or, a version of that woman, at least. She turns, steps back and aside. Every bit as tense around Scáthach as she was in the presence of the fallen Valkyrie so very long ago now. A clear sort of... cautious, unambiguous respect. She glances down in thought as she considers the terms Scáthach places. So Lilian is facing a trial by combat. And to use the blessings of her comrades-- of course, it makes sense that one's friends are a part of their strength. Her eyes search for a few moments while, seemingly subconsiously, she reaches for the Grimoire... and then past it. Her fingers wrap around some beads dangling from the book's binding. > "Oh. I feel like I asked before but do you have a preferred gemstone, Miss Rook?" > "Gemstone? That's the first time anyone has asked me that. I suppose I'm rather fond of natural black onyx. For a number of reasons." > "It looks rather nice in brighter reds too." Deftly, Trudy detaches a pair of leather cords and lifts them up. On one is a round black bead nearly the size of her thimb, glistening onyx, engraved with Teiwaz; the rune of Victory. On the other is a blood red onyx bead closer in size to the tip of her pinky finger, engraved with the rune of Protection, Algiz. Trudy casts a look towards Scáthach to ensure the warrior maiden can see what she's doing. She produces a green crystal in her other hand, eyes closing, holding both beads out on her palm. Their respective runes manifest above her outstretched hand; first Teiwaz, then Algiz; each sinking into their respective rune and giving the engraving a faint white glow outlining the carvings. The green crystal, now devoid of whatever light lurked within it, is tucked away while she offers the beads to Lilian, "I was always meaning to give these to you. I have given them the mission to keep you safe and to serve as reminders that I'll always support you."
Angela	"Ah, Lady Ceri is a former Director of the Cinq Association!" Max says. "I can't believe that Lobotomy Corp was able to hire her!" Ceri tut tuts, "Boasting of one's reputation in a small pond when swimming in the ocean is uneccessary." She pulls tightly on her gloves, one after the other. "And unfortunately, the weapon provided to me is completely unsuitable for my training." She looks to Petra and adds, "Forgive him, he is a bit of a fanboy. Our dear Sephirah has warned him against such predilections but he just cannot stop himself, the poor thing. WIth fortune I will one day return to my old position but for now I'd rather focus on the champion of the day although I wnated to ask, about Yuri--" ''Well. Look up.'' It's tough to whisper to Gebura without Ceri hearing since she's the one holding the tablet. Her eyes do sort of tilt up a bit but then Ceri just hefts up the whole pad up so she doesn't have to. "Futaba right? We'll chat later." Her gaze settles on the six foot woman above, an appraising look in her eyes. She can't feel the wind pressure--she's on a tablet--but Ceri needs to brace herself and keep a firmer grip on the tablet and Max visibly gulps like a cartoon character. "...Wonder what it's like having had a master..." Gebura murmurs, setting down a cigarette she was about to put between her lips. "Didn't exactly give us warnin' but I did have these employees bring something along that might be useful. Max, pick your jaw up the ground and hand it over." Max unshoulders a bag over his shoulder and then after a long commotion of reoving his Bear Paws so he can actually dig into the bag without shredding whatever's inside, he finally withdraws... A heavy looking black coat with a pair of pouches along the waist, long sleeves, plenty of buckles along the side. There's some golden lightning-fractal-like lines across the sleeves and and edges of the coat like fractures from a damaged mirror. It's a sturdy well designed coat, those golden lines are slightly indented into the cloth itself. "Since I didn't prep nothing, I'll just give you what I was gonna give for your birthday, since we've gotten to know each other." "A coat from the Legendary Red Mist...!" Max whispers. "What power does it bestow, I wonder...!" "It has the power of being a coat." Gebura says. "With incredible high quality Thread..." Max murmurs, with special emphasis on 'Thread'. "The better to stay warm in Winter with and so it doesn't tear easy." Gebura says. "Stop embarrasing me and hand it over." Max duifully offers the coat to Lilian.
James Bond	Bond nods in steady agreement with Lilian--and indulges for only a brief moment, a thought of a transitional period in his own life. Her later remark, about his gesture for Scáthach, draws an impish smile to his face. Warmth in his so-often hard blue eyes probably isn't new to Lilian or Tamamo by this point, but it still colors his smile wonderfully. His gaze drifts, to follow hers, when she turns toward the cliff. Bond startles, slightly, quite unsure of what to expect--certainly, it wasn't an impact like artillery. He peers, through the slowly drifing degree of the impact, at the cause herself. This is a kind of second commencement. Of a more real kind. That would explain the atmosphere. Not in the physical sense, but that sense of excitement, of hushed eagerness, the expectation hanging almost tangibly in the leaden, dreamlike air. Almost as tangibly as the dust and ash kicked up by Scáthach's landing. His brow furrows, when Lilian's teacher sets forth the rules of the trial. Bond's mind is on what he's brought with him. The Walther's grip would work against her. His hand snakes out of his coat pocket, and into the pocket of his pants. The keys to the Aston conceal the delivery mechanism for powerful stun gas. Still, his hand pauses. Something I put my faith in. Well--I'm looking at her. I suppose... Bond gently sets the wine down, rolls up ths sleeve of his leather jacket, and unclasps his watch. He hands it to Lilian. "It's saved me plenty of times in the past. I'm sure you can imagine why it feels a little heavy." Because it's packed with hidden gadgets behind that very convincing digital facade of an analog watch. "Lighter than the ones I used to use--I like to think it's not because of alloys or advances or what have you. More like responsibility being easier to bear, when you have hope for something good. That was what you gave me--so I'm happy to give a little back." "I have something for you, too," Bond says to the honored teacher, gently retrieving the wine from the spot he'd carefully laid it flat. "Not a boon, but a gift, nonetheless," he says, opening the lacquered wooden box and presenting it. "Château Pavie," he says, opening the box to show the bottle. "A fine wine from the Bordeaux region of France. It's an honor to be your guest, and to see this final trial."
Futaba Nuki	Seeing that leap and scoop of Tamamo and Xion respectively has Futaba cheering Lilian on as she goes around, either not noticing or-no. She's choosing not to notice that shift in her expression, apparently just happy to be here and see what's going on. She nods lightly in agreement with Petra's assessment of Lilian's outfit, peering at both of them curiously and not being subtle at all about doing so. "Hundred fifty? Damn, so that's like... More than four times as old as you are! And hell yeah, you look graet." She gives Lilian another firm nod in agreement, then goes wide-eyed with wonder when she doesn't say that it isn't a sword recital or duel witnessing. "So it could be... Heh. Oh. Right, if it's gotta be a secret, then no need to tell us a thing!" Of course, there's still more to see and many more gifts that make her realize that she didn't bring anything. Cursing lightly under her breath, she makes a mental note to remember to bring something cool next time. Turning to Gebura, Futaba gives her a firm and appreciative nod as though Ceri isn't holding a tablet. "Definitely! I've heard a bit about you from other folks, too, so... Yeah! And..." She pauses. "You don't sound anything like you look. Cool..." Eventually, Futaba follows Lilian's gesture over to the sight of the waterfalls. That tongue, like many other things, is unfamiliar to Futaba, but even she realizes the gravity of speaking in such a way and holds the moment close to her chest. And then something hits the dirt out of nowhere, drawing her attention upwards towards the newest arrival that has Futaba's eyes going wide with awe all hte same. "Whoa... That's...?" She can figure this out. Lilian wouldn't come here just for a party, right? And this person, with the way they're addressing each other, the tones they use, the things they say... It's a fated battle. One that she's asking everyone to grant Lilian something to use, even if it's.. No. It can't just be well-wishes. That wouldn't be right. Not for her! That's why, when it's Futaba's turn to present Lilian with something, she holds up her right arm and pulls her sleeve back to reveal that golden bracer she's always got on. "I know you've got this in the bag, Commander Rook. Just in case, though..." Futaba slides the bangle off (mostly by shrinking her hand), then holds it out to Lilian with a confident smile and her scarf flapping dramatically behind her. "I'll take it back when you're done. Show your boss what you can do!"
Tamamo	"Were we to bring...?" Tamamo asks, curious. Of course, while it is a season known for gift-giving, she hadn't thought to bring them here. She can always give Lilian gifts, elsewhere. And then the matter is explained, though not before Lilian has lifted her up and spun her. "Oh, my!" She'd hold on, even with all these others here, but with Xion also grabbed-- --Tamamo decides that that's not an actual impediment, and includes Xion together with Lilian in her embrace, in those moments before the warrior-maid appears, the occasion is explained, and she must step back and consider. First, "Please pardon the intrusion." She's stepping into someone else's home, after all. In her estimation, Scathach isn't very hung up on exchanging pleasantries, so she doesn't take overly long with it. Then, "I have given boons ere now, lasting in ink, together with that same adventure as brought us to the Wheel of Lugh, among other favors that I give. Shall these be counted? If not, I shall grant a divine blessing anew, and let that be the token of faith." Having said so, Tamamo acts. A divine blessing isn't a type of magecraft, and there's no talisman nor sign necessary. What she does, to get the results she desires, is difficult for others to see, and while the explanation she can offer for it is enough to give a sense of understanding, it is ultimately as mysterious as explaining imaginary colors. What is far easier to see is that the bunrei wraps her arms around Lilian's right, leans forward, slightly off her heels, tall geta pressed into the ashen soil, closes her eyes, and plants a kiss on Lilian's cheek. Her favor is granted. Fate will twist in accordance with her wish.
Kale Hearthward	> "I'm inclined to believe at the moment that I will far outlive you, won't I?" "Hey! I'm doing better on the survival front. I'm not getting injured every other mission anymore, aren't I?" It's more like every two out of five missions, now. > "It's not quite Roman wine from conquest overseas, but I suppose the gesture is well-researched." "... If that's the measure, I do have a coffee blend sourced from lands that were taken during the resonance surge..." Kale can't help but mention. Kale holds his tongue as it looks to him at first as if Lilian is regifting his coffee, holding it up as an offering. If she wants to offer it up instead of drinking it, then... that's her choice. Then a minute later, as the form of their assistance becomes clear, he does a double take. "Oh..." He almost used up a gift slot in the form of a thermos of coffee. I mean, it is really good coffee, though. Kale pauses as he considers. His swords. Kale has some pretty good swords. Periactus and Gobo, both of which enable some special attacks - a powerful drill and a mirrored blade trail, respectively. Lilian has her own sword, though. Tabtrack. The best combat flight amongst today's extant elites. Kale can power them remotely with his own magical reserves now, too, so it'd improve Lilian's flight while simultaneously freeing up her own magic for whatever else she needs. Or, of course, his magic itself. He can move his usual failsafe shield from himself onto her, which should block a few projectiles... it'd be one of the weaker options, but it'd be one that they could set and forget while she's juggling her other boons and abilities... "..." No. None of these seem right. When it's Kale's turn, he steps up to her, and takes a breath. "Lilian." "Seventh code. When God bestows his gifts, a man shall accept and bestow them upon no other. When a man's ancestors bestow their gifts, a man shall accept and bestow them upon none outside his line. When a man's enlightenment bestows its gifts, a man shall accept and bestow them upon no unenlightened man." "That disqualifies everything I could give you. It's all things that my old faction gave me, or gear that my - that someone else built for me, or magic that I learned from my family or teachers." "Only that which is wrought by a man is man's to give. And that... I do have something wrought." "Wrought over the many years I've gotten to know you. And that is..." He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. "My faith in you." "You don't need anything I can give you. You're entirely capable in outfighting Scáthach up one side of the arena and down the other all on your own, even with every 'gift' she's holding in reserve." "So. No boon from me but my well wishes. Go prove that you don't need it, will you?"
Xion	Eased into the interaction - one that, in the unknowing, created an on-edge hesitance - Xion moved with relief to Tamamo's side. The black-coated noirette had often fallen into line besides and in step with the fox-tailed woman, and now was no unnatural occurrence. "We've come a long way from me borrowing sunbeams." Xion murmurs, and then Lilian is bounding up. The kind of hoisted-into-the-air greeting in arms is utterly unexpected. Not just that Xion can't sense it from Lilian's heart, but that she simply does not expect it at all. She asks her question like prompted dialogue, called to stand and watch and ready to voyeur from directly adjacent. A ready accessory to things going-on. She is, thus, available (but not ready) to be grabbed and squeezed. Joined in embrace, and certainly passive in the engagement, she's light and wobbly and easy to guide at any rate. First confused, Xion's distress is shortcut away by the who and the what, spun into a dazed and pleased glow that mentally short-circuits her for long seconds after she's placed down. She doesn't notice the sword held carefully around her. She doesn't know anything, just fizzing in her cheeks and glazed-eyed staring ahead, blinking on Scathach's entry back to startled attention. She hadn't ever been held like that before, and it was a reeling whiplash of her prior held-ready mental preparations. The Lady of Shadows has that particular spine-straightening presence to snap Xion back to greyscale 'reality', heart-whelmed daze clearing with a fluttering blink and a light shake of the head to clear her senses. And then she 'gets' it, all at once. Everyone's here, but not Hibiki, from her Paladins friends to the one that came before to the new ones she made. Everyone's here, but, they're not going to be fighting for Lilian. The aching-hot feeling that touched the tips of her fingers from inside her chest that she felt just moments ago turned inward, a cold contraction. Having a heart was so much terrible work and pain. Xion didn't know how anyone really tolerated it. Wavering-bright blue eyes take in Scathach and Lilian in turn as they trade explanations. Stiff, cold, Xion tries to thaw in breaths, relying a little on Tamamo's ambient sun-bright heat and pleasant feeling to steady out. Eyes drooping, narrowing, wavering-flicking in thought, Xion mutters. She's considering, repeating back Scathach and Lilian's words all through Trudy giving a truly thoughtful - and very interesting and potentially useful gift. A bar was set, but the echo of 'trust her only with your well-wishes' held Xion back. Xion was ready to come here and bleed black on the grey dirt for Lilian. She didn't want to limit it to a gift, and that realization of 'a sword recital' where any showing would be matched in difficulty soured the feeling of any gift she'd give. And yet, now, she didn't want Lilian to go without, either. "If we're just..." Xion begins, a little tight. Catching herself and exhaling again, the Nobody slides the gloved hand of her sleeved arm into her coat pocket, and rummages in her pocket for a half second - only long enough to close her hand around one specific object she already knew the location of, she continues more conversationally. Deeper in the chest, almost casual and also past it. "If it's just a fight that you've prepared for, and you called everyone here to watch you, Lilian, then... I know it's impossible for you to lose. If a coat or an early birthday present are going to change that because your master decided to go harder on you to... prove a point, then she always would have proven that point, I think."
Xion	Eyes falling closed, Xion's fist tightens in her pocket, and lifts out an item dangling a thin chain that fits into the palm of her hand. "If I gave you back the little bit of you that I borrowed, maybe in the closest of close fights, that little bit might make the difference. But it won't be close." Her lips curl into a tiny smile. "But I'm greedy. I still want to give you something." Stepping up as Kale retreats, whispering a 'Nice one' to the proud bird with genuine tone, she holds out her right hand to Lilian. In her palm is a medallion - bearing a photo-slide picture of a certain Knight's ghost - which falls and rises to the length of a simple warrior's spear in bleak and pale ghostflame. It has become tangled in faint chains and plantstems since Xion's taken hold of it, tiny links of paled silver wet with a deep purple-black ink. "And I think if I'm not going to participate, you should hold onto it." She explains, of her medallion linked to Knight Aoibheil. Turning her hand, from holding the spear vertical to palm down, the bar of the weapon collapses back into the medallion and it hangs in offering from Xion's fingers like a pendant or pocketwatch on chain, and tumbles free from her grip for Lilian's receipt.
Petra Soroka	First Tamamo is hugged, then Xion is hugged, then Petra is threatened with an automatic debilitating blow to her chest. This would be fine on its own, because it's about what Petra expects and more than what she deserves, and it'd only take her a little bit to calm herself down from the huffy indignance she starts to feel rising in her, but she doesn't even get that far before getting a hand on her head and a (second) showy twirl from Lilian. Instead, her mood immediately skyrockets again, and she stammers, blushing again. That, and Petra's awkward, breathy giggle at the twirl, is the obvious agreement with the latter statement that she's unable to properly vocalize. "Eh, eheh, mhm. Okay." And that's the agreement with the former part, on her being given permission to be impressed. Lilian actually smiling at everyone here, and being treated with kindness and care in return, fills Petra with a surprisingly intense feeling of contentment, for how understated it all is. Hugging, and being given gifts-- Petra does squint a little at that, but her gift for Lilian hasn't been finished yet, so she'll have to wait-- and all the other gestures of support, makes for a scene that Petra is both happy to be a part of, and secure in being a part of, which strikes her suddenly as being really, really unusual for her. Petra straightens up at attention when Scáthach drops down, instantly inheriting all the respect Lilian has for her mentor the moment she sees her. As Scáthach speaks, Petra side-eyes Bond offering her the wine, and vows to herself that she'll ask Tamamo or Lilian for etiquette lessons or something at some point, a thought that promises to be terrifying in the future. Terrifying or not, though, the teaching is necessary, as Petra fumbles around with nothing to say at first when faced with the warrior maid's presence and demeanor. Petra presses her lips together at the prompt. "A boon..." It's always been somewhat of an insecurity, that Petra's offerings towards Lilian could never really measure up to what Lilian herself can do, for herself or for Petra. To make up for her emphatically-inferior place, Petra always helps Lilian through service and devotion, doing things so she doesn't have to, and entrusting everything she has and is to Lilian. Which, of course, isn't any good here. Petra starts gnawing on her knuckle, deep in thought, while everyone else takes their turns offering Lilian things. She'd be much more capble of accepting that she doesn't have anything that could help Lilian in this fight, if Scáthach hadn't gone on about companions being gathered and becoming part of the heroine's story by supporting her-- it's very important to Petra that she be a companion. The best way she could imagine reconciling her insecurity with her image is promptly taken by the only other person who ever quotes Lilian's code, much to her dismay.
Petra Soroka	Petra slides her stare down from Scáthach to Lilian, then further down to the sword that's always by her side, and something clicks in her brain. Wait, we're here to support her in a duel. And she's a knight. So obviously, I should be thinking about favors. Petra reaches up to her hair, sliding her EGO gift hairpin free. The two hearts of the pin, one green and one orange, are separated by gently tugging them apart, and Petra holds out the green one for Lilian to take. "Um. In any fight you want me, I'll always fight along with you, no matter what. I think that's-- that's the, boon, I usually want to give you. But for, um, commencement..." Petra taps on her spear with her free hand, poking the side of the black-glass haft, shot through with gold, green, and orange. "It's my EGO. So... um..." She wavers for a second, then blurts out, "So you basically get that from me either way."
Lilian Rook	'Oh, stop,' "I don't take orders from you~" Lilian laughs. "And that's true. Tamamo certainly does!" 'Hey! I'm doing better on the survival front. I'm not getting injured every other mission anymore, aren't I?' "I suppose you are. And congratulations for that. But I'd meant natural lifespan, you know. That's the start of what people mean when they say 'mortal', isn't it?" 'Hundred fifty? Damn, so that's like... More than four times as old as you are!' "More than five." Lilian says, a little bit defensively. '...Wonder what it's like having had a master...' "I wouldn't be the one to ask." says Lilian. "All my life I've been the originator of everything I've done. I've had to craft each step on my own, without a guide, without help, sometimes without the words for it, relying on no one else. Having someone-- someone worthy of respect, especially-- suddenly show interest . . ." She laughs uneasily. "It practically feels like cheating, getting what everyone else does. But it's difficult, too, to find where 'my own way' can bend to include someone else, after it's been hardened and tempered for all this time." Even with Scáthach preset, Lilian can't stop from brimming with nervous warmth. The imposing address is something she's more used to than anyone else by virtue of simply knowing the woman well. The explanation of rules she already knows, and wasn't at liberty to explain, is something she can squeeze Xion's hand through and hold Tamamo's arm. The idea itself is scary, but . . . "Don't worry. I've already planned twelve different contingencies for the entire extent of Master's arsenal." Lilian declares, in her usual style. It's hardly as smoothly and casually sure as usual; Lilian has nothing if not a healthy respect for the legendary warrior's abilities by now. But planning for every eventuality has always been her way, and she is always calmest and most confident approaching something with that much control already established in her mind. "So don't think my life is in your hands or anything, okay?" A touch prideful, but a reassurance nonetheless. 'It's saved me plenty of times in the past. I'm sure you can imagine why it feels a little heavy.' Lilian's gaze connects with Bond's in a moment of ignited Knowing. "My my, that's quite an article to give up." she says, showing strangely reverent care for a timepiece in the process of buckling it snugly around one wrist. "I've heard a man's worth is reflected in his watch." she says. "I'll keep it safe for you." 'I was always meaning to give these to you. I have given them the mission to keep you safe and to serve as reminders that I'll always support you.' Lilian evidently wasn't sure what to expect, but her eyes light up with a spark of recognition at the meaning of what Trudy does, too. She takes the beads on their cords carefully in hand, and nodding silently, she braids the two together, and knots them around the watch strap. "You have such fine taste when you show it, you know." she says. 'I'll take it back when you're done. Show your boss what you can do!' "Of course." Lilian smiles. Taking the bracer between her spread fingers, she holds it up to the monochrome sky, and turns it this way and that against the faint gradient of illumination. "My my, I'm not even entirely certain what this does. But . . ." She definitely finds space to fix it to her opposite forearm. The left, lead, lower on the hilt; the arm she will be presenting outwardly plenty.
Lilian Rook	'Um. In any fight you want me, I'll always fight along with you, no matter what. I think that's-- that's the, boon, I usually want to give you.' Lilian sighs in a chilling way that is nevertheless warm enough to fog the winter air. "For all your many, many flaws, Petra . . ." she says, lingering as she takes the hairpin in her palm. "That's not something many people say. And fewer of them really mean it." Carefully, she fastens it in her sidelocks adjacent to her bangs, opposite of the lily ornament she always wears. "For that much, I'll always thank you. Even if I never forgive you for the rest of my life, that will always be worth something." 'Since I didn't prep nothing, I'll just give you what I was gonna give for your birthday, since we've gotten to know each other.' Lilian can't help but gasp a little bit. Not just at the whole article, itself enough to make her eyes widen and her fingers raise to her lips. At the fact that it's hers. A gift, nonetheless. That's . . . "Oh that's perfect~" Lilian says, mostly concealing a hard swallow and a deep breath. "You know, this sort of thing prohibits bringing in armour otherwise. The two of us were going to be fighting topless otherwise, hahaha~" She has it folded over her arms one moment, and the next, her léine has swapped places, leaving the coat skirt swinging out when she turns her hips separate from her upper body to examine herself. Despite her threat, her legs are actually more or less covered without the dress, having billowy split-thigh garments wrapped tightly into suitably rock-ready boots. "I really wasn't looking forward to getting seriously banged up again. You have my gratitude." Notably, it conceals the watch well. 'I shall grant a divine blessing anew, and let that be the token of faith.' Feeling spirited by the sheer quantity of genuinely thoughtful help she has somehow summoned, Lilian overflows with anxious hopefulness-- hope itself a rare emotion for her-- to giggle despite herself at Tamamo's kiss on the cheek. Of course the glance they share indicates that Lilian understands. A look is enough for Lilian to know, by now. A stubborn smile lingers like the ready coals, gently radiant with its own warmth. "I'll put it to good use. At exactly the right time, and not a moment before." 'So. No boon from me but my well wishes. Go prove that you don't need it, will you?' Lilian blinks back a measure of surprise at Kale. A moment of frightening ambiguity holds for nearly too long, and then the calm breaks with a bubbly sort of sigh-laugh unlike herself. "No, I should be firm about what I said earlier. You really are starting to change, Hearthward." she says. "Ordinarily you'd sweat about staying included, keeping up, standing out, and try to show everyone else up. This is . . . mature, in its own way." Looking just a little to the side, she says "That confidence, without any of your own ego tied up in it . . . Thank you. That does mean something." 'But I'm greedy. I still want to give you something."' "Be greedy." says Lilian, with wilfulness that surprises herself. "You should be. We should be." The medallion surprises her. No, more than just surprise, it clearly enamours her. It takes charged moments for her stormy thoughts to catch up with the reality of it. Her mouth opens, and holds empty. She closes as she does her fingers around the gift, exhaling with just a hint of a shudder. "That's . . . Haha . . . You're right; how could I possibly lose with her by my side?" Lilian says. Her hands brush aside her head to fix the silver and violet to the black chain about her throat, where she can reach it in the same place and motion as Night Mist.
Lilian Rook	"You say you can't see my heart, but the way you think of me is so radiant it nearly stings. Carrying that weight, those expectations, all that history, and all those thousands of hours I spent with the only one who'd see me, back then, out here is . . . it's a heavy thing to carry, but it's worth so much I don't have the words." "Carrying something this precious to you . . . this memory; this . . . part of you is . . ." Lilian stops to swallow. "I'll be careful with it. But I'll be bringing out your heart as much as I can, too." A hesitant beat, then, "Even our wishes for each other should scar sometimes. And scars are more bladeproof than armour." Scáthach watches from on high. Her gaze is unmistakable. Unignorable. The intensity in it is humbling, but the tone and timbre that is carried in just a look is outstanding. For all the truth in the fact that she is watching a foe gear up for battle against her, the feeling that comes from the woman on the cliff is a sense of reserved, yet strangely familial pride; nearly detached, but not quite fully set aside. "I have given my word to you before." she says to Tamamo. "Holding fast the Claíomh Blátha to the wheel of destiny that requires her yet a little longer is a gift to all of us. Bringing my Senén back to me is a gift for myself alone. How could I weigh those against you in the balance?" Xion feels that gaze land on her, and knows the words "Lift your head." are for her. "Your companion respects the feats of those who blazed this trail before her, and she does not for tradition, but for knowing how few trails exist in this world for her. I have no need to strain and test and break her, and, before we must be commit, I will even say I do not know if I can. I wish you to be here, for I as well, wish you to have hand in this tale." Scáthach reaches under the mantle about her shoulders, and from her back, removes something familiar-- a shield-- and with a flick of her wrist, casts it down from the cliff and into Lilian's arms, caught with a brace of her entire body. Lilian holds it out before her, and her eyes fall immediately on the puncture in its surface, and the once familiar crest. "You are young, but you are neither fool nor blind, Senén. She comes not to worry for you. There will be time for you and her and I and us and our tale of swords and spears and those born with them when you have stepped from this last door and put your first foot upon the long trail." Lilian breathes in, and holds to the count of ten. 'If it's just a fight that you've prepared for, and you called everyone here to watch you, Lilian, then... I know it's impossible for you to lose.' "Yeah. Maybe that's it, really. So . . ." Lilian plucks Night Mist from the stones beside her, balanced by its point, and steps towards the lagoon. "I'm so happy you're all here to see my new finest moment. Let's all have a party after this, okay?" She casts one look back over her shoulder. "Haha! Sorry, no! A 'feast'. That's how it should be. Right~?"
Angela	Gebura says, "...How the fuck do I look?" to Futaba. "Hate to spoil it, but I don't look any different from the other Sephirah. Outside of the armored shell having a different color scheme and some scratches on the shell, I look just like the rest." Gebura, notably on the viewscreen, looks flesh and blood as usual but it's not exactly hidden knowledge that the viewscreens don't match up with their actual appearance. Her tone trends towards gruff but not particularly aggressive. She isn't someone who needs to be aggressive that often--Kukuru being an exception to the rule. Lilian explains she hasn't had a 'master'. Gebura's eyes look towards the woman Lilian is here to challenge for a moment. She can only really think of one woman in particular while looking at her even though it's too soon to be presumptive--but she doesn't comment on it as it's irrelevent. "Guess not." She agrees. "Offering you advice is counterproductive and ... I'm not worried, I just figured this is the best way to get intel on how you fight at your best." This is partly a lie, she did want to root for her in her own way after all--but really showing up to someone's duel because you want to study the match is basically the highest compliment Gebura can really pay someone. ''The two of us were going to be fighting topless otherwise'' "Sounds like a good way to catch a cold." Gebura says boringly. "Glad I could do my part in warding that off."