![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Oh, magi might pride themselves on being subtle, but there's nothing at all subtle about the battle that raged in the forests last night. They couldn't have missed it even if they hadn't had Archer's sight to draw on. But Archer's sight couldn't pierce the thick veil of snow that rose later, after Berserker tore onto the field. Is he still standing? Is Lancer? Is Caster? Zofia shakes her head, her mouth tightening. Better if they'd all killed each other and sucked their Masters dry.
Is Archer able to bring herself to look at the scorched stumps and blistered ground, the snow blackened by ash? The wind blows a few dying sparks past Zofia's cheek, and she reaches for them. If they singe holes through her gloves, she doesn't notice.
This is what magi do when they fight, she reminds herself. This is what happens when nothing checks their power. But that power's been weakened, and if she acts quickly enough, it'll never be regained in time.
She crouches on the ground, traces her finger through the dirt. Michel and Tohsaka are easiest to track, of all of them. If she finds some proof that either of them lived past their fight with that girl --
There, right by her. A set of motorcycle tracks cut through the snow, and wind away from the forest.
Well, that's one survivor. One exhausted, drained survivor, whose Servant won't yet be at full strength. And what did become of his ally?
She can't quite smile, but her mouth hardens into something almost like one.
Is Archer able to bring herself to look at the scorched stumps and blistered ground, the snow blackened by ash? The wind blows a few dying sparks past Zofia's cheek, and she reaches for them. If they singe holes through her gloves, she doesn't notice.
This is what magi do when they fight, she reminds herself. This is what happens when nothing checks their power. But that power's been weakened, and if she acts quickly enough, it'll never be regained in time.
She crouches on the ground, traces her finger through the dirt. Michel and Tohsaka are easiest to track, of all of them. If she finds some proof that either of them lived past their fight with that girl --
There, right by her. A set of motorcycle tracks cut through the snow, and wind away from the forest.
Well, that's one survivor. One exhausted, drained survivor, whose Servant won't yet be at full strength. And what did become of his ally?
She can't quite smile, but her mouth hardens into something almost like one.
From:
no subject
Chiyo Tohsaka is every snooty noblewoman Marian has had the displeasure of meeting in her life. Not the kind that are simply ignorant - those she can tolerate with a smile and a nod - but the sort that are completely aware of their surroundings and attitude and yet still strive to position themselves as high above others as they possibly can. It's all Marian can do not to set a dung trap for her to walk right under at an opportune moment, but she restrains herself. It won't do any good - that sort of person can't be cured of the ailment known as pride.
There is something in her eyes, however, that intrigues her. Some vivid, wild spark, the sort that she's seen in boys who have shot their first deer, had their first taste of action and blood and liked it. That sort of spark could go either way - either setting the enemy on fire, or burning down their own castle with them in it.
They would have to wait and see. First things first, to report back to Zofia. Hopefully her peculiar mood hadn't worsened in the few hours Archer had been gone.
From:
no subject
Right now, even simulation's impossible. She goes to sit, but taps her nails on the back of her chair instead, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The air churns, twists in on itself. No matter how deeply Zofia breathes, it doesn't stop.
It will when this is over. It will once the Grail is hers. Nothing else should trouble her.
She remembers the motorcycle tracks in the snow, and her fingers tighten, nails scratching the wood beneath them. That stupid young man. Well, there's no need for him to trouble her. At this rate, he's going to get himself killed sooner rather than later, and it's nothing on her conscience.
The air hums, and Zofia looks up sharply, her hand slipping from the chair. "Archer?"
From:
no subject
She eventually finds her tongue. "I'm back. Lady Tohsaka's an unpleasant piece of work. I'm sure you'd love her condescending attitude to everyone around her," she tries to smile at her own joke, but it falls flat. Instead, she launches into her report. "She owns a fair bit of land, but if we want to minimise civilian casualties while at the same time preventing her from using her full strength because she fears destroying her own property, we should attack her when she next visits her stables. Fortunately for us, that will be tomorrow morning."
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Like a magus. Like someone too weighted down by ritual to react as quickly as Zofia can. Like someone too enamored with their power to reveal its secrets easily. Like someone who's spent her life learning the rules to this sort of conflict. And without those rules --
"Let's let the horses loose to lure them over. It distracts them more than it distracts us, and Rider won't have an ordinary mount on hand."
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
She tries for a wry half-smile at that, but doesn't entirely manage one. This will pass, though. She hasn't misled Archer about that.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject