Chevaleresse

"That makes sense. Faith in my world is a simple matter, one that requires little time out of one's everyday life. Some are more devoted than others, of course, but most of the gods in my world demanded -" A slight, but noticeable stumble "- only small dedications." She shook her head slightly, more at herself than anything else. She really needed to stop that habit of her mind wandering when she was in conversation with others, it was quite rude. Besides, she had questions to ask of this Spicy HG. "Pardon my intrusiveness, but you still seem uncomfortable around me." She left the statement as an implied question, one that puzzled her. She sensed a similar aura from Spicy herself, it was unusual that one possessing such would be intimidated by a god.

"Yeah." . . . And awkward silence.

N-11 hatchet Guard B

What do you mean this is just a reskinned Toshizou Hijikata WIP, obviously

"Karsten Solberg. A pleasure, ma'am." He gave a short bow and a tip of his hat in response to her curtsy. Darke, eh? Well, he was glad he was working with her. He'd heard. . . stories, about that family. They weren't nice folk, even among mages, to say the least. Something else drew his attention, though; namely, his charge apparently deciding that now was a good time to start dying. "Kid, you okay?" No readily apparent wounds. . . mana drain? He didn't detect any spells being cast, so it must be his Servant. "You might wanna call your Servant off whatever he's up to."

Upon standing, Kyou froze for a moment, like a deer caught in particularly murderous headlights. She waited until the last moment of Asuka's approach, right before Unit 02 was right on top of her. . . and dove for the red Evangenlion's legs, trying to take her mobility again. She wondered why the girl was so damn upset; they'd been battered around by her this whole time, and now she was mad that they'd gotten a decent shot in? Maybe she should see what fighting without the benefit of the massive cyborg was like, see how she liked it then.

Naomi glanced over her HUD once more. She'd already gone over her systems once, of course, but it never hurt to double-check. Abandoning the Eclipse didn't sit right with her, but she fully saw the need to do so, and thus did not raise her objections. The crew of the vessel knew what they were getting into, anyway. "Confirmed, Captain. Peregrine moving into position." She shifted the vessel slightly in formation without changing its orientation overmuch; the maneuvering thrusters were rather sluggish, all things considered, but she needed to keep her main gun pointed toward the enemy's likely approach vectors for that very reason.

"Is that so? I'd expected the Maid of Orleans to have a keener mind than that," Nobunaga quipped in return. "Unless the presence of one who's legendary for burning the pious is so unsettling to you that it's addled your mind."

"I see." It felt strange to strictly quantify something like faith to her. Then again, that Moriya goddess had likely considered things in such ways. Mitsurugi glanced down at the crystals in her hand. Solid prayers, in essence. I need only reach out and accept them. . . The crystals melted away into nothingness. "You must allow me to repay this gift someday." She couldn't, now. She was honestly not sure how Kanako had split her faith with her partnered earth goddess, though she was certain she could work it out eventually given the will and desire; as it were, though, she was barely clinging to existence as it was. A pity all of the ones she had met were devoted to such distant gods, so demanding with exclusivity. "Is faith exclusive in your world, then?"

"Yeah, that's Renee. She's. . ." A noticeable pause. "Nice. She stands up for me."

"What do you think, Sc-oh." Score, without waiting for instruction, was already moving to intercept the HeelNavi. Whatever he was doing, it couldn't be a good thing. . . even if it was difficult to tell what sort of nefarious plan would involve streetlights. "I believe it will be for your own good if you cease right now and explain your purpose here." Score's voice was even, but firm, not needing any further inflection to carry the implied threat.

Morgan watched the process with a passing interest, nodding at the instruction. They weren't sure whether to put forth the real reason for the particular combination: that the armor had simply made Morgan more secure, and the cloak was already something Morgan wore about regularly; it was a good garment for hiding within, among other more practical purposes. When Blake offered a handshake, Morgan looked at the limb somewhat dubiously before taking it; perhaps not unexpectedly, the return handshake was rather limp-wristed. "If I haven't mentioned it already, Morgan Vaughn. It's, um, good to meet you too."

"That's good to hear." Arturia squinted a bit at the shelves, after which her expression brightened slightly. She recognized quite a few of them; it wasn't her favorite series, but wasn't nearly her least favorite either. It was good that she apparently had something in common with the girl. Still, she had things to do other than chat about books, unfortunately. "You know, if you need to like. . . talk about what happened that day, you can always get a hold of me. I'm never really busy and I wouldn't mind listening." A part of her felt slightly guilty; she did genuinely want to help, but she was also trying to approach the subject without bluntly questioning her about it.

"Hey, Lilith." The house being this dark was. . . unusual, but given who she was talking to, darkness was not exactly a shocking thing to encounter. "I just wanted to check if you were doing alright." She tried to avoid poking at her own ribs. "Well, not the only thing, but, uh. . ." By Nayru's left nipple this was awkward. "A lot of stuff happened last time we ran into each other, heh." An awkward laugh, one that wasn't exactly uncommon to hear from Arturia. "I wanted to make sure you weren't hurt or anything, first of all. Or, if you were, that you'd gotten better."

"Aw, c'mon now, I know teenagers hafta get sleep to grow or whatever, but now ain't the best time to do so. . ." Unless Cadence were to abruptly regain consciousness, Myrdwyn threw her over one shoulder, not having too much difficulty with such a thing despite Cadence's greater height. "The hell was it. . . Always go left? Damned mazes and sketchy convoy men. . ." Myrdwyn continued to grumble as she started into the corridors, keeping alert for any more attackers, undead or otherwise. . . as well a certain convoy man.

"Nope!" Myrdwyn's lance crashed down toward the straggler once more. Not going to tolerate any more spooky skeletons, not even ones that couldn't even lift a weapon in their own defense. . . not for a lack of trying.

Arturia was restless. Possibly more on edge, in general, than she'd been earlier when she was fighting for her life. Funny, that, but one was an immediate threat with a clear solution. Recovering in a hospital bed for weeks while trying to reconcile the fact that you'd been an atheist that scoffed at the idea of the gods with the fact that said gods actually existed and had probably heard you do so at least once and also worrying about some of said gods getting themselves offed or exploding or something was not exactly something that you could hit until it stopped being an issue. This being intermixed with more than one night consisting largely of mental self-abuse was not exactly the greatest time Arturia had ever had, but moving on to the present. She stared at the door for a few moments. For some reason, she felt the much more mundane stress of being rather awkward when it came to social interactions, important purposes behind them notwithstanding. The circumstances under which she'd actually met Lilith were. . . unusual, to say the least, and truth be told she wasn't entirely certain what she was doing here. Still, standing here wasn't exactly productive. She reached up to the knocker and rapped the door with it three times.

Myrdwyn kept half an eye on the unarmed skeleton, but mostly ignored it. She might be an raging alcoholic soldier who flunked every attempt to teach her magic, but she did still know how to fight, and letting yourself get distracted by. . . Well, it was a skeleton, it couldn't really make faces, but still, it was trying to piss her off and it wasn't going to work. Mostly because she was already pissed off, but also because she was still a trained fighter and knew how to prioritize threats. She charged the still-armed skeleton, hoping that this time removing bits of it wouldn't create more hostiles.

The cloak came off and was summarily pushed into Blake's hands. Morgan reached into their pack and pulled out a familiar-looking pair of jars, breathing a slight sigh of release when neither seemed to be the worse for wear despite the state their bearer had been in previously. The cause for said bearer still being up and moving was revealed in what lay below the cloak; an old set of armor, one that had clearly seen better days, and probably wasn't exactly knight grade at this point (it was difficult to tell if it had ever been.) Still, it seemed that the current owner cared for it well; the rust spots were largely carefully painted over, though there were a couple odd patterns on the armor that didn't seem consistent with either battle damage or that caused by time. Said owner was currently making soft cooing noises at their two jars; the seven-legged spider seemed slightly agitated, still, and the other jar still seemed to be empty; evidently its resident was nearly as reclusive as Morgan was.

Lucine, for her part, started to quietly shuffle away, back towards her hover bike, before the ottsel pissed off the AI that had given it to her enough that she decided to rescind the gift (which wasn't given intentionally in the first place.)

"Oh no, don't think you can pull that same shit on be, you piss poor excuse for a children's story!" Myrdwyn's immediate response was to charge the specter with her equally spooky-looking lance, feeling, among other things, frustration that she had guessed incorrectly and that this was the spooky-supernatural-murder variety of secret passage and likely not the type that lead to treasure that wasn't cursed.

"It hasn't really had time to dry at all. People were just trying to murder us." Morgan sounded. . . oddly less than upset about the whole ordeal. Not okay with it precisely, but not as alarmed as one might expect.

"I suppose we are. I suppose the old saying's true; behind every successful knight, is a healer desperately trying to stop them from getting themselves killed, hah!"

Morgan jumped upon noticing Blake's approach, though relaxed slightly upon identifying that it was, in fact, Blake and not. . . whoever else Morgan thought it might be. It was difficult to tell what went on inside Morgan's head. Morgan didn't particularly feel like explaining their aversion to the rest of the group once again, so an excuse was found. "I just wanted to check if Marcus and Hannibal were okay. And try and get some of the blood out of my cloak."