infinity mechanism

Post by Svetlana Dmitriyeva on Jul 22, 2014 5:36:09 GMT

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"No, no." Svetlana clicks her tongue at the man crawling on his hands and knees before her. He looks up at her with pleading eyes, which she easily ignores. "I didn't tell you to stop." The woman toys with the knife in her hand before gesturing for him to continue.

"What are you waiting for? I don't have all day." She flips the blade and grabs the hilt, pointing it at the man. "Continue."

There's a tremble, a terrified nod, before he uses the small blade to place another cut across his palm. The woman watches him draw the magic circle impassively. She chose an artist for this sole purpose -- it would be useless if the magic circle was distorted, after all.

He finishes a few minutes later, and the woman thanks him with a smile. She walks him to the restroom to wash his hands before escorting him outside. "Thank you for your time," she murmurs, glancing up at the top of the multi-storied apartment complex beside them. "And goodbye."

By the time the man realizes he's falling, he's already hit the ground.

Svetlana returns to the room and takes the cross nestled on her chest, placing it on the makeshift altar. She raises her left hand, the Master's cross dark against her pale skin.

"-- I announce. Your self is under me, my fate in your sword. In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer."

"I swear. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead. You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance --"

-- I ask one question."

(I have no idea what I'm doing. I rewatched the Fate/Zero summoning scene and googled the chant for this.)

Post by Georgius on Jul 22, 2014 22:08:30 GMT

He does not quite recall where he was, prior to the event, nor could he recall what he was doing. But all he remembers is that something powerful had tapped into his consciousness, and there was a woman's voice calling out to him. It began, slightly muffled, as though he were underwater, gradually growing clearer until it was a ringing in his ears.

Lancer notices a gentle thrumming sound becoming stronger as the woman's chanting nears its tail end. Suddenly, he realizes that the steady thumping was the sound of his own pulse. He stands in a circle painted in red, the smell of fresh iron in the air (blood, he reminds himself).

He sees her, clad in dark clothing, ruby lips, open jacket, averts his eyes by meeting her own. It has been hundreds of years since he had smelled blood, has been hundreds of years since the last time that he had donned his armor or felt the familiar grip of Ascalon.

For a moment, Lancer wonders if he is dreaming, but the smell of blood is too real, and the mana in the air is too thick for him to deny the presence of mages. Returning to Earth by the use of witchcraft had not necessarily been in his afterlife plans. But a part of him senses that he has not much choice, and if he is to return to the place that his heart desires to be, there is something that he must do.

And when he speaks, he asks,

" -- Are you my Master?"

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Post by Svetlana Dmitriyeva on Jul 22, 2014 22:57:04 GMT

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Svetlana doesn't miss the way his eyes move, from her body to her face, and a knowing smirk curves the corners of her dark lips upward. "That I am, Sir Lancer." She says the sir with no small amount of mockery in her tone, and the woman walks over to retrieve the cross from the altar before doing anything else.

She hangs it back on its chain, the emblem resting against her chest, and turns back to face her new Servant. "I suppose introductions are in order, so I'll start." The woman places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I am Svetlana. It's my pleasure."

Her hand raises to lift Georgius' chin, tilting his head from side-to-side and blatantly breaching his personal space without a second thought. "And you ..." She grins. "You're certainly a cute one, aren't you?" She rests a hand on her hip, offering him her other to shake.

"I look forward to fighting alongside you, Sir Lancer."

Post by Georgius on Jul 24, 2014 14:26:02 GMT

VSvetlana is friendly, Lancer thinks to himself, perhaps a little bit too friendly for comfort. But now that they were bound as Master and Servant, Lancer had little to no choice but to trust her. He gave her a small nod, responding with, "Lancer, at your service," and dropping to one knee, lance lying parallel to the ground.

He thinks it unnecessary the manner that Svetlana examines him the same way an auctioneer may evaluate a horse to put on display.

Only when she offers him a hand to shake does he rise, and while Lancer doesn't fully understand what she wants from him, he gets the hint eventually and takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. "As do I," he says. "I shall strive to serve you unwavering."

But there were other things that he would need to ask as well, namely, because Svetlana was not dressed in the standard attire of women from his own time. It was impossible to look at her without feeling as though he were seeing something that he should not have seen. In any case, there are important questions that need to be answered.

"Lady Svetlana, where is this land that you have summoned me to?"

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Post by Svetlana Dmitriyeva on Jul 30, 2014 1:10:36 GMT

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She watches him kneel to her but takes his hand firmly nonetheless. (He's not a particularly striking Servant, is he?) Svetlana watches him like one would watch an animal on display -- with a proper amount of interest and awe, but no particularly personal connection.

He's simply the means to an end, after all.

The woman waves a hand through the air. "Just Svetlana is fine, my dear Lancer. No need for such ... formalities." She laughs nonchalantly. "How are we supposed to be intimate if you're as stiff as a board?"

But he's asked her a question, so she continues and says, "It is roughly two thousand years after the birth of your Lord, Jesus Christ." Svetlana doesn't sound particularly enthusiastic about it, because -- quite frankly -- religion is bullshit; but her Servant is a Saint of the Church, so she keeps a vague amount of respect in her tone.

She smiles at him, less reassuring and more predatory. "Many things have changed since your time, darling."

Post by Georgius on Aug 5, 2014 2:46:09 GMT

Lancer is vaguely scandalized over the fact that Svetlana insists that he refer to her by just a name, but if this was his Master's wish, to be referred to without titles, then so be it. On the other hand, titles were very important to him. Perhaps they did not bear as much weight in the recent times. Time to adapt to modern times.

And intimate? Lancer wasn't sure who it was that planted that idea in his head, but that was... one of the few methods of staying corporeal. "There are other methods," he adds, perhaps, in case Svetlana had forgotten.

If two thousand years had passed since then, this meant that it had been at least a thousand and five hundred years. "... I see," he muses. "... the area certainly looks different from what I am used to."

And then, "Have the others been summoned as well?"

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Post by Svetlana Dmitriyeva on Aug 11, 2014 2:07:27 GMT

"Other, boring methods," she reminds him. "Work and play do not need to be mutually exclusive, do they?" The woman smiles again, patting his upper arm. Georgius isn't exactly an unattractive servant, but the greater part of her simply liked watching the so-called saint squirm.

Who would begrudge her a bit of fun in the midst of dull politics?

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Our opponents have summoned their own already," the woman responds. "And I haven't yet met most of our, ah, allies." Svetlana chuckles. "But I wouldn't have high hopes for them, if I were you."

The Association pays her bills and puts the clothes on her back, but the mercenary trusts them about as much as an ant weighs. (That is to say, not very much -- and she trusts their ability to gather an actual, functional team even less.)

But her misgivings do not show on her face, and the woman instead offers her arm to the knight. "Shall we go then, my dear Lancer?"

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