CATHARSIS is a non-canon OC fate/series site, loosely based off of fate/apocrypha. Knowledge of the fate/series canon is helpful, but knowledge of fate/apocrypha isn't needed!
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 4, 2014 3:46:17 GMT
In retrospect, she probably should have tried getting some sleep that night. It wasn’t usually something she did – she was firmly nocturnal – but seeing as she doubted that her comrades could plan around her schedule, she’d come into this knowing that a lifestyle change was likely in order. Still, she’d been starving, and the hunger combined with the nerves was enough to keep anybody up. So she’d grabbed a bite to eat and taken a quick ride around the city before returning to this little warehouse that she’d located and slipping inside just as the sun came up.
Padma herself was barely visible underneath all of the protective gear she’d taken along for the ride back. In her opinion it wasn’t all that cool or sunny out, but here she was in a jacket and sunglasses and a pair of thick winter gloves. It wasn’t that she couldn’t endure the sun – she could – but the sun on her skin was as uncomfortable a sensation for her as wearing wet clothing was for some of her peers. She avoided it when she could. Now, safely back in the darkness of the warehouse, she removed all of those extra layers and held her black duffel bag close to her chest, breathing slowly to calm herself.
Slowly and carefully, Padma reached into the duffel back and retrieved a long, carefully wrapped sword. It was all but mummified underneath layers of bandages and bubble wrap – you simply don’t take chances with something this old. Unwrapping it took a good ten minutes, and when she was finished, she just sat back for a moment and stared at that finely crafted Indian blade. It really was so beautiful. She’d never in a million years figure out where her employers had managed to get their hands on something like this. Even more baffling was their decision to give it to her.
She reached out and carefully touched the blade, running her fingers along it so that she could admire every little detail of its design.
“Ain’t you a beauty…” She muttered. “To tell you the truth, I was thinkin’ I might accidentally break you or somethin’ on the way here. Just cause’ you’re so old and all.”
Part of her wondered what was going to happen to it once the summoning was finished. It was clearly her Servant’s – whoever they were – but she wasn’t sure whether they’d simply reclaim it, or leave it be, or perhaps the ritual might ruin it. She hoped not. Once upon a time she’d seen an American movie in which the main character wound up stranded on an island with a football – or was it a volleyball? She couldn’t remember. Either way, he’d wound up naming the thing and bonding with it the same way she bonded with her motorcycle and the various little treasures – like this one – that she would pick up on her travels. As pathetic as it was, these were some of the only friends that she could safely allow herself.
“I guess that’s kinda sad, huh? Talkin’ to a sword…” She continued with a light smile. “Actually the sadder thing’s that you ain’t actually the weirdest thing I’ve talked to today.”
That deer carcass was tough competition. Anyway…
Padma carefully picked up the sword and approached the summoning circle that she’d drawn earlier that evening. At first she’d planned to summon her Servant then, but then she remembered that the rest of this strange little team of hers had already decided on this morning for the first of their rituals. That would have been embarrassing. This worked out better anyway. She had hoped that she’d be able to avoid summoning while inverted.
“You just gotta help me through this, okay?” She said as she placed the sword in the center of the circle. “I ain’t gonna lie. I’m kinda freakin’ out a little. I figure I’ll just get it outta my system now before you actually get here so you don’t have to listen to me bein’ all weird.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. She took a deep breath. At the very least, the nerves meant that she knew the gravity of what she was getting into. Padma had no desire to be the sort of person who could enter a war like this and feel no sense of dread or sorrow or desperation. This was a last resort. This was serious.
“Anyway, uh…” She said softly. “….here we go, Saber.”
Another pause. The incantation, which had been so firmly imprinted on her mind just a moment ago, refused to come to her now. A moment later it returned to her, and she began it the way that she’d practiced it in the days leading up to the ceremony.
“Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time.
Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let my great master be the ancestor. Raise a wall, against the wind that shall fall. Close the four cardinal gates. Come out from the crown. Rotate the three-branched road reaching the Kingdom.
I shall declare here. Your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you will submit to this will and this reason…… then answer!
An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! – From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!”
Never had those words been quite so literal until Nakula had been plunging face first toward the ground, deep in the mountains. It was ironic, that the thing he valued most was what did him in. Not on it's own, but simply the fact he valued it was what led to his quite literal downfall. Although Nakula was not around for the later explanation, he didn't need one. Even right before his body struck the ground and he shattered like vase across the ground, he knew that it was his vanity that stopped him from entering Heaven with his body intact. Pride was the ultimate sin, and he was extremely proud of how fantastic he looked, even as his body smashed into the earth and his soul ascended to the Heavens.
And to the Grail.
Which is how he ended up here.
It would not be an understatement to equate the light show that erupted out of the summoning to an explosion. It was loud, it was bright, it was obnoxious, and it was fantastical. Just how Nakula liked it. His own figure wouldn't become visible through the vivid display of color and noise until several moments after, as faint whisps of energy scattered through the air like golden smoke, both illuminating the area with light and obscuring what lay within on account of being too god damn bright to be sane.
When Nakula finally appeared, he was dressed in rags.
Not what you usually expect when summoning a Heroic Spirit, but it always summoned the Spirit in peak condition: And for Nakula, his ascent towards Heaven had represented the pinnacle of his life, only a short time before his death. His armor from the Kurukshetra war was available to him, yes, but it seemed the Grail had decided for some more homely casual wear for the Saber. It made sense to him: To Nakule, he had only reached reached the peak of his being when he had discarded his worldly belongings and set himself purely to the adherence of dharma with his brothers. So here he stood, dressed in cloth rags and beggars clothes: And Nakula thought he rocked them. I mean, he could rock -anything-, from glorious ornate jewelry, ballin' war armor, to beggars robes, so it all worked out in his mind.
Still, a change into something a bit nicer, and more modern, might be nice. But first things first.
Posture straight and upright, with a regal bearing unbefitting the clothes he wore, he stared his Master straight in the eye, a small, thin smile decorating his face.
"I am summoned as Saber-- I ask of you, are you my Master?"
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 4, 2014 20:15:40 GMT
Maybe she should have kept her sunglasses on. Padma cringed at the brightness of the lights that accompanied the summoning. It was glorious, sure, but it was too much for her this early in the morning. At the very least it gave her hope that this Servant she’d been given the opportunity to summon was as capable as the spectacle suggested. When the light finally faded, she found herself staring at a formidable-looking man who she assumed had to be Saber.
She wasn’t as well versed in Indian mythology as she probably should have been just given what she was, but she did know a Pandava when she saw one. That would make sense. A sword like that wouldn’t have looked out of place next to one of them. The question was which one. It didn’t take too long to figure out – with a face like that and a sword for a catalyst, he really couldn’t have been anybody but Nakula.
Padma nodded. “Yeah. Sup.”
She looked him over, taking note of the rags. That probably wouldn’t go over well in public. Had he been anybody else, he’d have just looked homeless. Unfortunately whole supermodel face thing made him just about the least convincing homeless person since Robin Williams in August Rush – and that’s even with the medieval peasant ensemble.
“Can’t have you goin’ out like that…” She muttered. Remembering her discarded sun layers, she turned away from the circle for a moment and went to them. It was probably disgustingly sunny out there by now, but while she cringed at the thought of walking out into it, his need was greater than hers. The jacket at least had a chance at fitting. It was huge on Padma, but most things were. She was, much to her dismay, a very tiny woman. “My name’s Damayanti Padmanabhan. You can call me Padma, or Damayanti, or whatever – you can pretty much call me whatever you want so long as it’s not skankbag or somethin’.” She said as she examined the sunglasses. Did he need sunglasses? Maybe? Probably not. It would just make him look stranger.
Eventually she scooped up the jacket and a few sweatshirts that she’d stuffed into that duffel bag underneath the sword to help keep it safe. She walked them over to Saber and held them out to him. That would have to do until it got to be a reasonable hour. Normal folks sure slept a long time.
“These prolly won’t fit. Once the shops open up I can take you to get some better stuff.” She explained.
"Pleasure to make make your acquaintance, Damayanti Padmanabhan. We'll go with Padma for now, if that's what you prefer-- I'll refrain from "skankbag" unless you've done something to deserve it. "
His gaze shifted to the offered clothes impassively, a single eyebrow raised. "Thoroughly unimpressed" would best describe his feelings on the offered garments. While the grail had covered modern fashion in the obscene info dump it had poured into his skull, that only made him slightly offended by the garments. Okay yes, admittedly, they were better than the shit-tastic rags he was wearing, but not by that much. They were clearly too large for his rather tiny Master, but were a size or two too small for him, at least.
Still, -not- taking them would be obscenely ungrateful, and that wouldn't do. Saber was in quite the pickle.
Meh, fuck it.
He received the offered garments, placing them to the side briefly as he discarded the rags he wore. He kept on enough to remain decent (The Grail had also informed him that stripping naked was still considered insanely inappropriate) and then swapped into the offered clothes-- After a decent amount of wrangling with the damn things. If you thought putting on clothes that were too small sucked in life, try doing it when you could accidentally rip the damn things apart by flexing incorrectly. (#SupermanProblems.)
He took a moment to examine himself, after settling into them.
"They'll do-- For now. They'll need to be replaced sooner rather than later, but I thank you for them regardless."
The Indian hero finally took his eyes off himself and looked to examine his rather small master. She was clearly also of Indian descent, so with any luck she had already guessed his identity. I mean, the Pandava's had received a -lot- of promises from Krishna and assorted Gods that they're names would be remembered forever, so Duryodhana be damned, she best know who he was, or he'd feel more than a little ripped off. He'd been promised some damn eternal glory and by all the Gods in the heavens, he best have gotten it.
Enough about him, let's get back to Teeny Mcshortstuff, er, Padma.
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 5, 2014 1:40:46 GMT
That honestly wasn’t much better. The things that Padma wore for sun protection weren’t exactly women’s clothes, but they weren’t anywhere near the size they would have needed to be in order to be of any use to Saber. The poor guy looked like a yoga instructor. Ah well. They’d fix it. In the meantime she’d do her damndest not to laugh. That’d just be mean.
She nodded somewhat awkwardly. “Yeah we’ll…we’ll do somethin’ about that. Scout’s honor.”
Does that mean anything if you’ve never been any sort of scout? Probably not. Anyway, she was happy for the subject change. She wasn’t normally all that forthcoming with personal information, but it wouldn’t make any sense to keep things from him. It wouldn’t exactly be the best way to begin their relationship.
“I’m, uh…” She began. “Well, I think fugitive’s the wrong word."
That wasn’t a promising start. She sighed heavily.
“The Mage’s Association doesn’t like me all that much.” She continued. “It’s not cause’ of anything I did, though. Don’t worry. Anyway I’m lookin’ to fix that. If I win, I’m going home. I haven’t been to India since I was a kid.”
And, to be honest, she didn’t remember it. The only reason Padma felt somewhat justified in calling it “home” was because it was the only place she’d ever lived for more than a year…even if it had been some time ago. She had a feeling that if she ever did manage to get back to India, she’d be quite disappointed in what she saw there. Nothing at this point could compare to the idealized picture she’d made of it in her mind.
She turned back to Saber. “I figure you must have something you want too, huh?”
Maybe it was just him looking for common ground with his Master by force of habit, but he could relate to her plight. After all, the Kurukshetra War had been, at heart, the Pandavas trying to get back a home they had been exiled from. Also there was the whole kicking their adharma-promoting douchebag of a Cousin's teeth in, but honestly it had always been about trying to return to Indraprastha. Murdering all of their scumbag cousins had only been kind of a bonus-- One not worth all the others they had to kill to do so. Bhisma and Drona did not deserve their fates, not to mention the millions that died. And even Karna, that raging doucher whom he still had mixed feelings about, didn't deserve to die how he did.
An eyebrow raised as she queried as to what he wanted out of the war.
"Not in the slightest."
A nonchalant shrug.
"What could I ask for? I lived a complete life, filled with love and glory. I have no desire to change a thing from my life, and this world is not mine to change."
Another brief pause, before he continued.
"It will not effect my commitment. I swear by my honor as a Kshatriya, that I shall serve you and fulfill your wish."
And with that, he was committed. He would not, could not, break such a promise without severe spiritual consequences. It would besmirch his honor and violate everything he held dear. That said, this was more just him making the Master Servant bond established by the grail a little more final, rather than any particular attachment or trust in his new master. Slightly to the contrary, his mouth tugged into a small frown as he was brought back to her wish itself-- More specifically the explanation of it. There was nothing wrong with wishing to return home, but she had failed to mention why exactly she could not. She claimed it was through no fault of her own, but people weren't just hunted down for no reason-- Well, alright. Maybe that's not entirely true.
Still, he had an inkling as to why she specifically might not be in the good graces of the Mages Association.
"Does your status as a fugitive have anything to do with the fact you're part Rakshasa?"
Nakula had seen enough Rakshasa to recognize their traits when he saw one. Specifically, his tiny master reminded him in an odd way of Ghatotkacha, his nephew. The son of his elder brother Bhima, Ghatotkacha had been half Rakshasa himself and one of their greatest allies in the Kurukshetra War-- Until he, like so many other of their comrades, had been killed by Karna the dickbag-who-had-turned-out-to-be-their-elder-brother-so-that-was-awkward. While she clearly was not nearly as heavy in demonic heritage as he had been, he was confident enough in his assessment to query her about it.
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 5, 2014 6:26:18 GMT
No wish? Well. That was very Hindu of him. She had to wonder why he bothered with the war, in that case. Did the heroes really have a choice, though? That was something she’d never been all that clear on. This war was yet another thing she probably should have known more about than she actually did. To her credit, though, she had not expected that she’d ever end up becoming involved in it. Funny how life goes.
Now, Padma didn’t think she was a terribly sentimental person. She was just as emotional as the next guy and she certainly had little things that just tended to get to her, but the things that she deemed to be “too storybook” to take seriously very rarely got past her defenses. He was a Pandava. They were the good and noble sort, and that was worthy of respect even if she couldn’t personally relate to them on a lot of levels. While she had not come into this expecting a Pandava per say, she had realized that if she was to have an Indian Saber she was very likely to end up with someone loyal and gallant and all of that business. And she would be thankful despite finding the whole thing a bit cheesy. That was it.
But for some reason, his promise hit her extremely hard. Maybe it was the way he said it or maybe it was because she understood the significance of it. Either way, that promise had helped it all really sink in for her. She felt, for the first time in a very long time, like she really was in the company of someone that she could trust. There were not words to describe how much she’d missed that feeling.
And so you’d think she’d have something profound to say in response to his pledge, but she didn’t. She didn’t even have the good sense in that moment to say thank you the way that she ought to have. Instead she smiled all lightly and nervously and nodded her head as if she were eight years old and her elementary school teacher had just complimented her haircut or something mundane like that.
She really needed to get out more.
Padma was about to give that a do-over when he surprised her and brought up the whole demon heritage thing. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d caught it. She was well aware that she versions of these stories that she’d grown up with had been a bit skewed, but if they were at all correct then he had known many a Rakshasa in life. He didn’t seem especially thrown off by his discovery, which was comforting, but it wasn’t something she was used to discussing.
“Yeah.” She said after a moment. “The Association cracked down on us a few years back. I mean we’re kinda…easy to spot. If you know what you’re lookin’ for, at least. They tell me there’s none of us left in India. Don’t know if I believe that, but if they’re around, they’re pretty damn good at hide n’ seek.”
Padma paused, watching him carefully again as if she expected a nasty reaction. Perhaps she’d been silly to find that promise of his so stirring. At the end of the day this was a business relationship, and this was a potential game changer as far as that relationship went. Possibly.
“I don’t eat people or anythin' like that.” She added quickly.
That was what they always asked about when they figured it out. It was likely at the front of his mind too.
Ah. Fear. That's why she hadn't mentioned her nature. Fear of his reaction maybe? He wasn't sure whether she feared what he would think because she was used to scorn or because of his history of slaying demons. [Por que no los dos?] Either way, she had little to worry about from him: While Rakshasa were predisposed to adharma, that was not to say they could not change themselves and adhere to Dharma: Ghatotkacha had been one of the most honorable and loyal people Nakula had known. Besides, she was mostly human anyway, so there was no reason to judge her harshly for her nature unless she acted foully.
Speaking of, she assured him she did nothing of the sort.
"No, I don't suppose you do."
Maybe he was complimenting her character. Maybe he severely doubted a five foot nothing woman could manage to overpower and eat anyone, Rakshasi or not. The world may never know. He certainly wasn't going to elaborate past that. She was what she was, he couldn't change that, she couldn't change that, and there was nothing to be done about it. He would not scorn her for being even less of a demon than a close relative of his-- That would be hypocritical to the extreme. Besides, he'd already pledged himself, so even if she was batshit evil, he'd already made his choice.
She didn't have that evil cackling Rakshasi "I'm an evil bitch" vibe though, so they were probably all good in that regard. Hopefully.
"You have nothing to fear from me, Padmanabhan. I have no qualms with your nature."
He spoke softly, trying to assuage her fears. Skepticism decorated her features, and she looked at him as if she expected him to rear away in disgust. Clearly she was not used to discussing the subject: At least not outside of a "Oh shit my cover is blown" sort of way. It wasn't terribly hard to speculate she was used to prejudice because of her nature. It was no surprise really, Rakshasa were notoriously enemies of both deva and mankind. He, at least, could trust her at her word that she was not one of those Rakshasi. If he could not do that as a Servant, did he even deserve to be called as one? A calm smile decorated his face, as he took a step forward-- Before wincing in visible discomfort.
Vishnu damn these absurd clothes. He could hardly move without feeling constricted in these ridiculously small garments. Why oh why could he not have taken some decent clothes on the final pilgrimage? At least then maybe the grail would have deigned to summon him in a decent outfit and he wouldn't be stuck wearing his masters spare apparel.
"...I do however have a few with this attire. When exactly do the shops open...?"
He could just enter spirit form, but he imagined his master had an easier time talking to a physical figure than just yapping to the empty air like a mad woman.
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 5, 2014 20:25:50 GMT
Well, that was reassuring. She breathed a sigh of relief – at least, mentally. She didn’t want to make too big a deal of it outwardly. The way she saw it, the less it was talked about, the better. She wasn’t ashamed of her heritage, per say, but if the last thirty or so years had been any indication, she was better off not drawing attention to it until she absolutely needed to. At the very least she was thankful that he’d definitely seen a Rakshasa inversion before, and the ones he’d seen had definitely been twenty times more terrifying than hers. She couldn’t surprise him, and that was comforting.
…So she really felt that she ought to repay him for his open mindedness with some proper clothes.
She smiled awkwardly. “Eh, you know what, we’d better just ride around till’ we find somethin’.” She suggested.
They were in China. Everybody’s busy in China, right? Something had to be open. He’d be better off in an electric pink Batman costume than one of her sweatsuits. It was times like this that she wished that she was as good at picking out clothing as she was at doing her nails. Until clothing was also weaponry it wouldn’t get as much attention as her manicures did. But he was all pretty-ish, so he probably knew what he was looking for what and what fit him and all of that…right?
“It’s early yet, so we shouldn’t attract too much attention.” She said. She was beginning to doubt that “tall (to her at least) attractive Indian guy in a tiny sweatsuit in the middle of China” was any better than “tall attractive Indian rag-clad hobo in the middle of China”. They’d make it work, though. She was alright at making things work. “I mean that’s kinda the style anyhow. Like the whole blood clot pants thing. S’all good.”
Padma approached the entrance to their hideaway and pushed open the door. All at once the sun streamed in, and she reacted much like a vampire in an old black and white movie. Promptly slamming the door shut again, she swore under her breath and retrieved her sunglasses before trying the door a second time. This time she was ready. It didn’t stun her like it had before, but she really did hate the feeling she got on “nice” days like this.
Parked in front of the warehouse was a yellow and green motorcycle. It was sturdy looking, but there were a few things off about it – chipped paint, a seat that clearly didn’t match the rest of the bike, things like that. Padma beamed.
“Welcome to my chariot.” She said proudly, patting the bike affectionately. “His name’s Vishnu.”
She paused, thinking better of that the second she said it. Perhaps she should have considered who she was talking to.
Nakula couldn't help but pity his Master, as vulnerable to sunlight as she was. If anything, that might be the cruelest part of being a Rakshasa, unable to live comfortably in the light with the rest of mankind. It saddened him that someone could be injured by the sun so, but then, Surya had always been kind of a dick. No, he caught himself, what was he thinking, that's blasphemy. Karna had always been a dick, and he was part of Surya now, so maybe he'd just blame it on his influence. Was it let blasphemous to blame your elder brother for something instead of a God? He sure hoped it was.
Speaking of Blasphemies.
Vishnu.
The bike was named Vishnu.
Nakula wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or appalled. Being a rakshasa was one thing, but naming her vessel after the Supreme Soul? It was heinous at best, blasphemous at worst. Krishna probably rolled in his grave at the very thought of a bike being named such. Half of him wanted to smash the damned thing right here and now, but that would not be courteous or respectful to his Master. She clearly treasured the thing, as odd and mismatched as it was-- But then, he couldn't really judge it for being mismatched given his current condition. She quickly amended her statement, and he decided to let the matter drop-- Although not without a severe amount of side eye to be shot her way first.
The distance between Nakula and the bike closed as he strode forward, laying a single hand on it appraisingly. It would do. It wasn't a horse, but as far as modern vehicles went it was suitable. Nakula would forever be irked by the fact that horses, and even animals in general, had fallen out of favor as the mounts of choice in exchange for machines. He would never quite feel the same commanding a lifeless machine as he did to riding a horse, or even a drawn chariot. It just wasn't the same.
"Hello... Vivi."
He gave it a single, awkward pat, before turning to look at his master.
"Will you be driving, or shall I?"
Without waiting for a response, he pressed his palm flat against the vehicle and closed his eyes for a moment, as Jayasena activated. Subtle changes would appear on the bike, as the mismatched components seemed to meld together and become leaner, more suitable to one another. The scraped paint melded together as a clean coat, and the parts within molded against one another to the peak of their efficiency. Satisfied with the effect, Nakula removed his hand and let the effects of his noble phantasm subside.
"If you are, please keep note that the vehicle is much faster now. It should be much easier to handle to compensate, but the change might be somewhat jarring."
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 6, 2014 2:32:30 GMT
Padma was sensitive about two things – her heritage and her bike. They’d already gotten past the whole Rakshasi thing. Not for the bike. She was perfectly prepared to toss herself in front of Vivi should Nakula decide that he ought to be dismantled in order to protect Vishnu’s good name, but he thankfully managed to swallow his anger – or at least funnel it into some side eye. That was fine. She could live with side eye. Just don’t touch the bike.
And then he touched the bike.
There were some things even the Pandavas weren’t allowed to do. She was fine with him just patting it, but she watched him like a hawk all the same. And then, without warning, the bike began to change. She gasped. Rather than falling apart, though, the bike began to repair itself. In a moment, it looked brand new. Padma froze. She carefully extended a hand toward her beloved motorcycle and touched the seat as if to check and see whether or not it was real. She’d crashed this bike so many times since she’d bought it that she’d actually lost count. Once or twice she’d succeeded in shattering it to pieces. Each time it happened she’d taken whatever pieces she could salvage and resurrected Vivi using those remnants. As a result, the thing had been riddled with scrapes and dents and things like that. You’d never know looking at it now.
“Awww, Vivi…” She said, incredulous. She looked up at Nakula. “He hasn’t looked this good since ‘86.”
It was enough to make her forget that awful sun for a moment. For a good long time she was absolutely entranced by the bike.
“That’s a nice trick…” She said. “I’m givin’ you a big mental hug right now, hon.”
In this moment of weakness she hadn’t stopped to think about how strange it was to be calling a Heroic Spirit “hon”.
“But yeah, you do gotta let me ride him. 'Specially if he's faster now.” She continued. “You’re gonna figure this out real quick – I’m very touchy about the bike.”
At this point in her life, Padma was far beyond giving a shit about the giggles she was inevitably going to get every time she mentioning wanting to “ride” her decidedly male bike. She got into the seat and waved for Saber to get on with her.
“Hop on. We can go lookin’ for a Wendy’s or somethin’ once we get done buyin’ you some clothes.” She said.
Perhaps he needed to rethink his opinion on modern vehicles. While he certainly couldn't imagine bonding with a lifeless technological marvel the same way he could a living, breathing mount, Padma seemed quite enamored with the bike-- Enough to name it Vishnu. Nakula wasn't sure he was ever going to get over her poor choice in name. Still, she seemed extremely fond of the mount, more so than most men had ever been of their horses. Hell the way she stared in awe at the newly improved bike spoke of more affection than most men had born their families.
Affectionate enough to make a point of how careful she was with it.
"I'm glad you approve. I'll ask before touching it in the future."
His head bowed slightly as he spoke, assenting to her wish to drive. Her bike, her rules. He did however give her a speculative look as she waved him to get on as well. Technically it would be more efficient for him to simply assume spirit form and travel alongside the bike, and it probably draw less attention. On the other hand, communicating in spirit form was much more difficult and finding a place to materialize in a crowded store might be difficult. Not to mention if he assumed spirit form, how would anyone see his fabulous face?
That settled it. The world would not be denied his beauty!
Check yourself before you wreck yourself Nakula. That's exactly what your dumb-ass thought when you tripped over your invisible shoelaces and plummeted to your death.
While the unwelcome thought brought up a good a point, he wasn't going to let it stop him.
With a quick shrug, he moved to seat himself on the bike as well.
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 6, 2014 18:12:14 GMT
Padma paused. She slowly turned her head to face him, her expression almost fearful. This poor, poor soul. How does one begin to explain fast food to a Pandava? She knew she certainly didn’t have enough big words in her vocabulary to communicate just how glorious a pretzel bacon cheeseburger could taste after a long day of enduring the sun. Finally she just reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. “You know, I think I’m just gonna show you.” She promised. “It’s gonna make all your wildest dreams come true.”
But first, clothes.
She turned forward again and gripped the handlebars. She was expecting a kick when she started the engine, but not one as powerful as the one she got. For a moment she was startled, but then she laughed. Oh, this was gonna be fun. She just hoped for his sake that Nakula had a strong stomach.
She may or may not have gone a little bit too fast as they moved through the city. The streets weren’t all that crowded this early in the morning, though, and Nakula famously spent his free time breaking monster necks, so she didn’t feel all that guilty. He was the one who fixed up the bike. Surely he could handle a little extra speed.
Finally they pulled up to what her minimal knowledge of Chinese told her was a thrift shop. Padma handed Saber her wallet. “S’all yours. You don’t need my help, do ya?” She asked. “I honestly don’t know crap about guy’s clothes. You’d be better off just goin’ in yourself.”
Truth be told, Nakula had spent the majority of their venture observing the city around them. The speed of their travel hardly bothered him, so he had plenty of time to mull in his own thoughts about the city as they passed. I won't bore you with his thoughts on every little detail, but overall fascination was the prevailing emotion. The grail had provided knowledge of the modern world, but there was something to be said for simply admiring it for the first time. It was the difference between having art described to you and then seeing a painting for the first time: No amount of blank information could truly compensate for experiencing the world.
With a casual "wait here" motion, Nakula dismounted the bike and made his way inside.
Luckily, there weren't many people inside, due to the early hours of the morning. A sordid shopper or two and a rather tired looking cashier were all that occupied the building. The shoppers seemed entirely too enthralled in their own search to even notice the saber, while the Cashier gave him a quick glance and then looked back at whatever she was doing behind the counter. And then she did a double take and kind of gaped at him for a few more seconds. As soon as he met her gaze she broke away in that kind of "move your eyes so it totally looks like you weren't looking at something and just happened to be glancing over it" way.
Whatevs.
It didn't take long for Nakula to find some suitable clothes on the shelves. They weren't anything particularly fancy-- One couldn't expect to find royal garments in a thrift store. But they fit, which is more than could be said for his current clothes. A simple button down shirt, slacks, a vest, and an overcoat would do for now. He'd have to see about getting a suit at some point or another, but he clearly wasn't going to find anything of the sort here. He moved off into one of the poor excuses for a dressing room the shop had, but didn't even bother locking the door as he got in. If anyone had been paying attention, they might have found it peculiar that the time spent inside the dressing room numbered in the seconds rather than minutes as he simply swapped the clothes materialized on him and those he was touching around. He walked back out quickly, and nobody was the wiser.
He approached the counter, Padma's clothes held under a single arm, as he reached for the wallet Padma had given him. The cashier still refused to look him in the eye.
"How much do I owe you for what I'm wearing--"
"Just take it."
Nakula gave her an inquisitive look.
She pointed at the clothes bundled up beneath his arm.
"You clearly need them. Need a bag for those?"
She stifled a laugh under her breath. Nakula thanked her for her generosity, before moving to exit the store. The same time he did, the clerk went into the back to make sure she saved the security footage of the absolutely ridiculous looking foreign hobo who had wandered into the shop today. After the Saber was outside, he handed Padma back her wallet, no lighter than when she had given it to him. He also handed her the bag that her clothes now filled, unsure of what she wanted to do with them.
"Better?"
A moot question. Anything was better than wearing his masters spare overclothes, except maybe hobo robes. And considering that the literal progression of his apparel today, he'd take what he could get. At least these didn't constrict his movement. Much. Putting his armor on was definitely going to be a thing once the fighting went down, but parading around in it seemed so pointless, if not stupid.
"Now, I am very curious as to what makes this Wendy's so great."
Post by Damayanti Padmanabhan on Aug 7, 2014 6:17:03 GMT
Padma clapped once she saw him emerge from the thrift shop. “Hey, lookin’ good.” She said.
It really was a rather dramatic change. He might have even passed for a productive member of society now – a pretty productive member of society. She supposed she had low standards, though. The thing about Rakshasa was that the ladies tended to be quite beautiful while the men were…not. Nakula’s competition was her various cousins, and it was hardly a fair competition.
Padma opened up her wallet and raised an eyebrow. “…You didn’t spend any…” She muttered. “Crap, Saber, you didn’t rob em’, didja?”
That didn’t sound right. He definitely wasn’t the sort to rob anyone. And besides, if the quiet was any indication, the cashiers had yet to alert authorities. But then what was it? A moment later, it clicked. “…Aw wait. Yeah. Okay, I get it.” She said.
It had to be the pretty thing. Even if he told her otherwise, that was the only thing that made sense. She knew firsthand that nobody cared about ugly homeless people. He’d looked…a little bit worse than homeless just a moment ago. And speaking of that, she reached into the bag that contained her discarded sweatsuit and promptly threw it on over her clothes. That wasn’t weird, right? She really did hate the sun. And besides, he’d stretched it out for her. It was pleasantly baggy now.
Back to Wendy’s.
“Okay, so, do you eat meat, or…?” Padma asked. “I don’t know what exactly the deal is as far as food rules. Ya’ll used to drink, yeah?”
