M
MechanicalHorse
Guest
She rolled her shoulders as more and more of her meager energy returned to her. Oblivious to her Servant's enjoyment of her scents, she turned her body to let her legs rest over the side of the body. "To the average person what we're all a part of could be seen as fantastical as those movies, you know. We may even be the villains of the movie now after what we did, but we'll see how that shakes out," she said with a wry smile, some humor coloring her voice and at least showing she wasn't as shaken as she had been the previous night, at least. "I'm certainly no Peter Parker though," she said, pondering for a time if any of the names from those movies resonated with her in any way. Nothing came to her. American comics were always in short supply in her country, and she was already far from any of the shoujo heroines of her childhood. She had ordered a ghost warrior to murder someone, now thrown a moon tiara at some goofy monster and won the day.
With some difficulty and the hint of a limp she rose from the bed and hobbled over a few steps to the chair the Servant had provided, crashing into it with a grunt and a sigh of relief following soon thereafter. She could see the papers to the side but she ignored them, not needing or wanting to know how the civilian world would mask the opening salvo of a magical war. Still, they had moved fast, which meant the Church was ontop of the situation, as much as they could be after one of their own were brutally killed.
That warrior...
Again she pondered it, its appearance. Wondering who it could be. Where it could be from. Any time a kabuto helm or a katana came to a Japanese person's memory, the history of the Sengoku era hit them like a punch to the gut, but she didn't feel as if she had been in the presence of something as great as the warlords of old, like Date or Nobunaga.
"Kinishinai," she muttered to herself. The spirit didn't matter now.
She rested her face into her palm for a time, a yawn escaping her chest. Finally, she leaned away from her hand.
"Lots of both," she finally replied to her Servant, raising her head to offer him a weak smile. "And explain to me again your plain moving forward if you wouldn't mind, now that I'm not so terrified I can barely think."
With some difficulty and the hint of a limp she rose from the bed and hobbled over a few steps to the chair the Servant had provided, crashing into it with a grunt and a sigh of relief following soon thereafter. She could see the papers to the side but she ignored them, not needing or wanting to know how the civilian world would mask the opening salvo of a magical war. Still, they had moved fast, which meant the Church was ontop of the situation, as much as they could be after one of their own were brutally killed.
That warrior...
Again she pondered it, its appearance. Wondering who it could be. Where it could be from. Any time a kabuto helm or a katana came to a Japanese person's memory, the history of the Sengoku era hit them like a punch to the gut, but she didn't feel as if she had been in the presence of something as great as the warlords of old, like Date or Nobunaga.
"Kinishinai," she muttered to herself. The spirit didn't matter now.
She rested her face into her palm for a time, a yawn escaping her chest. Finally, she leaned away from her hand.
"Lots of both," she finally replied to her Servant, raising her head to offer him a weak smile. "And explain to me again your plain moving forward if you wouldn't mind, now that I'm not so terrified I can barely think."