Dunno why, but I've got this mental image of Perseus as a bit of a brat in manner for some reason. Maybe because I've always been kinda sympathetic towards Medusa, at least in certain iterations of the myth. More since I've seen Her Leather Majesty, of course, but ... *shrugs*
... and now for a little more senseless violence ... or the bitching afterwards, at least.
Honestly, it was getting more than a little annoying.
No.
It had gone past being a little anything around the time the need to drag one's waterlogged self out of a canal occurred.
Right then, that meant little more than a pressing need to find a change of clothes, be restricted to being immaterial - which, for some reason, was seriously disconcerting for him - or settle for the imitation plugsuit he seemed to instinctively summon when under attack.
And yes, he now had enough evidence to be able to say that it was a fully instinctive reaction, sort of like trying to use his Field to deflect oncoming blows ... which for some reason didn't seem to fully work on these Servant types.
As the fact that the better part of his recently acquired - read stolen - turtleneck had been burned off from the impact of a ...
... normally, he would have said 'piece of wood', but damn if he'd ever seen a bokken cause this sort of damage. Hells, he'd still be sporting trendy second to third degree burns if it weren't for the fact that whatever means had been used to bring him and his Core here had also brought along his abilities to use most of said Core.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be some sort of limit ... which he'd discovered, quite unfortunately, during that last clash. Using his Field shouldn't have been taxing, at least not to that extent. It was like his soul was running off some sort of energy pool, and while said pool was recovering on its own, it did so much slower than what he was normally used to.
The concept was disturbing.
It also put into perspective some of the things Irish had talked about regarding this whole Servant issue.
Not the least of which being the _why_ of several issues.
Like why he knew he could snatch a random person from the street and gobble up their very being ... alright, so he'd likely been able to do that before, what with the Field and all, but he'd never as much as tried outside of ripping the minds out of a few poor excuses for human beings. Now? There was a certain ... certainty about how exactly to get the most out of doing just that.
Also, he'd never really gotten anywhere past 'you hit the other guy with that end' where melee weapons were concerned, and here he was, suddenly waving around a polearm like there was no tomorrow.
Well, maybe not quite that well, but it was the general idea that counted.
Then there was that feeling of an empty spot in the back of his mind, which he figured had to be wherever the Master/Servant bond went ... it nagged at him. Not too badly, just ... insistently. Sort of like a bad rash in a hard to reach spot.
Adding to that the irritation of going to sleep in one place and waking up in unfamiliar circumstances with somebody starting to demand he call them Master a few days ago ...
... his mood, somewhat fortified by sharing drinks and stories with Irish, was pretty much shot again.
Well, at least the lunatic with the bokken had assumed he was dead and left. That, he supposed, had been Berserker. Seemed familiar for some reason. Tattered kimono wearing guy waving around a couple of wooden swords?
Eh. It'd come to him in time, he supposed.
More immediate concerns had to be addressed first. Like where to get a ... well, no. He'd ended up around the shopping district, or what he figured for such, again so the where of getting clothes wasn't as much of a problem as the how.
There was always the option of just going immaterial and snatching another set, like he'd done with this one, but that'd require him to wait a few hours until the shops closed.
He wasn't really in a very patient mood right then.
It could therefore be forgiven that he failed to notice the two asian gentlemen in bad suits when he stalked past them as they were having a conversation in an alley that ran along the back of ... well, it was either a brothel, a strip club, or a combination of both.
Apparently, they didn't take being interrupted well.
The feeling was altogether mutual, though, and one of them was close enough to being his size of 'runt' to make the process of letting off some excess anger be not only therapeutic, but also somewhat productive.
So you could say that the day ended on a bit of a high note.
I have this mental image of him running across Taigaa in a few days and her recognizing him from her grandfather's description of the 'runt' who put him and most of his 'employees' into the hospital.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm
... and now for a little more senseless violence ... or the bitching afterwards, at least.
Honestly, it was getting more than a little annoying.
No.
It had gone past being a little anything around the time the need to drag one's waterlogged self out of a canal occurred.
Right then, that meant little more than a pressing need to find a change of clothes, be restricted to being immaterial - which, for some reason, was seriously disconcerting for him - or settle for the imitation plugsuit he seemed to instinctively summon when under attack.
And yes, he now had enough evidence to be able to say that it was a fully instinctive reaction, sort of like trying to use his Field to deflect oncoming blows ... which for some reason didn't seem to fully work on these Servant types.
As the fact that the better part of his recently acquired - read stolen - turtleneck had been burned off from the impact of a ...
... normally, he would have said 'piece of wood', but damn if he'd ever seen a bokken cause this sort of damage. Hells, he'd still be sporting trendy second to third degree burns if it weren't for the fact that whatever means had been used to bring him and his Core here had also brought along his abilities to use most of said Core.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be some sort of limit ... which he'd discovered, quite unfortunately, during that last clash. Using his Field shouldn't have been taxing, at least not to that extent. It was like his soul was running off some sort of energy pool, and while said pool was recovering on its own, it did so much slower than what he was normally used to.
The concept was disturbing.
It also put into perspective some of the things Irish had talked about regarding this whole Servant issue.
Not the least of which being the _why_ of several issues.
Like why he knew he could snatch a random person from the street and gobble up their very being ... alright, so he'd likely been able to do that before, what with the Field and all, but he'd never as much as tried outside of ripping the minds out of a few poor excuses for human beings. Now? There was a certain ... certainty about how exactly to get the most out of doing just that.
Also, he'd never really gotten anywhere past 'you hit the other guy with that end' where melee weapons were concerned, and here he was, suddenly waving around a polearm like there was no tomorrow.
Well, maybe not quite that well, but it was the general idea that counted.
Then there was that feeling of an empty spot in the back of his mind, which he figured had to be wherever the Master/Servant bond went ... it nagged at him. Not too badly, just ... insistently. Sort of like a bad rash in a hard to reach spot.
Adding to that the irritation of going to sleep in one place and waking up in unfamiliar circumstances with somebody starting to demand he call them Master a few days ago ...
... his mood, somewhat fortified by sharing drinks and stories with Irish, was pretty much shot again.
Well, at least the lunatic with the bokken had assumed he was dead and left. That, he supposed, had been Berserker. Seemed familiar for some reason. Tattered kimono wearing guy waving around a couple of wooden swords?
Eh. It'd come to him in time, he supposed.
More immediate concerns had to be addressed first. Like where to get a ... well, no. He'd ended up around the shopping district, or what he figured for such, again so the where of getting clothes wasn't as much of a problem as the how.
There was always the option of just going immaterial and snatching another set, like he'd done with this one, but that'd require him to wait a few hours until the shops closed.
He wasn't really in a very patient mood right then.
It could therefore be forgiven that he failed to notice the two asian gentlemen in bad suits when he stalked past them as they were having a conversation in an alley that ran along the back of ... well, it was either a brothel, a strip club, or a combination of both.
Apparently, they didn't take being interrupted well.
The feeling was altogether mutual, though, and one of them was close enough to being his size of 'runt' to make the process of letting off some excess anger be not only therapeutic, but also somewhat productive.
So you could say that the day ended on a bit of a high note.
I have this mental image of him running across Taigaa in a few days and her recognizing him from her grandfather's description of the 'runt' who put him and most of his 'employees' into the hospital.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm