rubycity_ooc | RC Test Drive!

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meme,
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RC Test Drive!

I don't really have a fitting picture for this.

G'day, Ruby City! It's time for a meme for both testdrivers and denizens.

Been itching to test out some CR but haven't had the posts to do it? Thinking of apping a character but not sure they'll fit in the city walls?

Have no fear, a meme for you is here.

Directions:

Post with your character with their name and canon on top!

Choose a location and prompt or wait for someone else to tag.

If you'd like, leave contact info for people to get in contact for plotting and other such shenans.

Tag around! Make friends. Don't be afraid to chat OOC while tagging.

Locations:

Train Station: New arrival, or waiting to welcome people? Either way, the train comes in, but you still can't ride it out.

Cathedral: Looking for redemption? Just doing a little sight-seeing? Or just getting a little shelter?

The Clocktower: You can see the whole city from here!

The Black Stallion Saloon: You were told the burgers were great here-- but maybe you just came for the beer.

The Library: You came to do a little research, but it looks like all of the information's just out of your reach. Though, you can always find a way to pass the time here.

The Coffee Joint: Run by Lukas, a lovely place to have a chat and a bite to eat.

Le Cafe Anglais: A Parisian-British fusion that's as charming as it sounds and serves the best tea around.

Scenarios

Just walked in: You intended to get here, and you made your way in; but now someone's caught your eye and you'd like to have a chat.

Been here all day: You've been sitting around minding the time. Maybe you didn't notice them at first or maybe you were just working up the courage to talk-- either way, they know you're here and you know it too.

Inclement weather: You're here because you've gotten rained in. This wasn't your choice, but at least it's dry-- right?

Wild card: Got something better in mind? Well screw these prompts, try it out yourself!

Have fun, guys!

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train station:

[There's a tall knight standing at the station, dressed all in black armor with no distinguishing features. There's something odd about the armor, and when one looks at it directly, it seems to blur before one's eyes, making its wearer seem like a shadow as much as a man. He remains very still for a long while, making no sound, a red glow coming from the eye-slit of his visor.

He appears to be considering something, or perhaps waiting, although as completely covered as he is, it's difficult to guess at his intent.]

around town:

[Having dismissed his armor--though he might call it up again at any moment, if he has need of it--Lancelot is dressed simply, in a black suit. He walks through the streets of this strange city, looking for any sign of the familiar, or of the reason he has been brought here. He's surprised to have been summoned once again, and so soon after he had dissolved and ended the false life he had held during the War. He's not pleased by this. What he had sought had been peace, not resurrection.

He cuts an imposing figure, and he has a grim air about him, but unlike when he was clad in armor, there's nothing overtly warlike in his bearing. When he catches sight of someone before him on the road, he speaks:]

If I may ask, what can you tell me of this place?

[Saber has been a part of the so-called 'welcoming committee' a few tmes now, so it isn't too surprising she is approaching the station when Lancelot arrives. Of course, she isn't expecting to encounter him there-- especially not in that armour.

But she remembers that armour. She recognises it the instant she approaches, just yards from the station, and the realisation roots her feet right down to the spot, permitting no further step. The hesitation stills her throat as well, and she can't seem to call out-- but she's within the knight's line of vision.]

[Lancelot himself is dealing with an unexpected situation. Having died moments before, he is startled to find himself standing in a train station, of all places. His vanished strength has returned to him, and he feels no connection to his Master. He has gathered his armor to him in defense, and For Someone's Glory cloaks him. He is not mad, but he is uneasy, and an unsettled excitement runs through him that is akin to madness, if not a true battle rage.

Where is the peace he has sought, in death? What trickery is this? He had fallen in his king's arms, slain by her, and he thought that at last, he could rest, at last with his judgment and his punishment for his sins...

When someone approaches, he turns toward them, then stills once more. He had seen Arturia mere moments before arriving, but he's nonetheless surprised to find her here, with him. They should not have gone to the same place. He regards her in some amazement, although his expression is hidden by his helm. He does not trust himself to speak--his voice catches in his throat--and so he starts toward her, in silence.]

[Arturia does not trust her own voice, either-- but Berserker is not attacking. He is not, as he was in their battles before, approaching her at all. Could it mean that he was from the time she was? She can tell-- he's not the same. It worries her, it distresses her, but she must know if he is the same.

There is only one way to find out.

Her legs feel almost like lead as she takes a few steps closer, repeating the name in her head that she can't seem to make her mouth form, let alone force her throat to speak. A few more steps and a few more repetitions, and she manages to croak--]

Sir Lancelot?

[When Arturia says his name, he stiffens.

He does not deserve to have his name spoken by her, to be called Sir, when he has fallen so far. Even though he has found his peace, his ill works cannot be undone, and he will never be that man, that knight, again.

But his name is a reminder. It clears his head. He should not approach her clad for battle as he had during the War. To have fought her in anger and in hatred had only added to his dishonor. When he dispels his armor, he stands wearing a black suit, his clothing modern. He bows low.]

Though I am not worthy of that name, there is no other who can lay claim to it, my King.

[She forgets to breathe.

When she resumes, she can do little more than bring a hand to her mouth as if trying to steady some force shaking inside of her, causing each breath a tremor of its own. Guilt fills her stomach and rises into her throat, pushing at it the same way tears do.

It is her knight that stands before her, the one she'd let fall into madness. It's guilt that has been put off a while, but guilt nonetheless. She swallows it, forces down her hand, and forces herself to speak once more. Forces some semblance of composure.]

It is I who is not worthy of such a title, Sir, not you. [Lancelot was not the one to fail her-- not in her eyes.]

[Still bowing, he continues:]

Speak not so, I beg you. You are my King, and I, your most wretched knight.

[He cannot accept that honor. If not for his treachery and his rage, the kingdom might not have fallen. He will bear that burden always. He sees nothing to censure in his king's actions. She had behaved as a monarch should. He was the selfish man, moved by passion and anger and his own desires, which had carried him down into a disorder of the mind, a derangement of the senses.]

I have had my judgment at your hands. Do not rescind it, or what will I have remaining to me?

[He had craved her anger and her justice, and he had found it on her sword.]

You have had my judgement, yes! [Even if it was not by her intent.]

But if you will have my judgement, will you not also have my forgiveness?

[It's almost hypocritical-- she can't seem to accept forgiveness herself. Lancelot had told her, and she remembered. He had been clear about his thought of her as king.

And still she could not accept it. Not when she had let Lancelot down, Guinevere down. Her entire kingdom.]

I... it is not by my will you are here, Lancelot. Do not believe I wish to take anything from you, please.

But I spoke poorly. [He had not meant to tell her what to do or what not to.] What little I have is yours to take, after all.

[If she would wish to take even that from him, then he will allow it. He should not think to tell his king what she can or cannot have. Though she was once his dearest friend, his shame is such that he can hardly bear to look at her now. He had been fortunate enough to die in her arms, but to expect her love and friendship again--how could he accept those treasures he does not deserve?]

I deserve no forgiveness for what I have done.

[It was forgiveness and mercy, without punishment, that had driven him from himself. Without any way to atone, he had floundered. He had been lost.]

I think no ill of you, and I know such a thing is not within your power. You cannot bring back the dead, and I do not think you would willingly disturb my rest. But what is this place, and why am I here? I am connected to my Master no longer, so what sustains me?

...Is forgiveness deserved?

[It's an honest but quiet question, one she's had to ponder while in the city for quite a while now. Still, she's almost sure she knows the answer-- or else, is afraid to hear it-- and thus pushes forward to answer Lancelot's question.]

I know not by which we are sustained. I would assume it is by the power of those who brought us to this place-- Ruby City. It... is a city connected to many different worlds, it would seem.

Different worlds, different times... different realities.

I will take no reward I do not merit.

[He says this stubbornly. He is a stubborn man.]

To answer your question, some deserve forgiveness more than others. It may be folly to forgive one who has betrayed you, for how can a traitor be trusted again? [He's pretty hard on himself, you know!]

I feel no shortage of power, though I have none to draw on. It is... odd. [He glances down at himself. He can tell he is not limited, sensing the full range of his abilities, not as a man, but as a Servant.] Yet preferable. I do not miss the bond. [It had been an ugly thing, the bond between him and his Master, a thing of fury and agony.]

Realities? Some fell magic, then, that can bridge worlds. [Not exactly what he was hoping to hear.] You speak of those who are responsible. You know of them? Are there sorcerers or enchantresses to blame?

[It takes quite an effort to still her tongue, to bark that perhaps she freely gives her forgiveness-- because is that not hypocritical? And is not not limiting what Lancelot wishes for?

Still, there's one thing she can't stop herself from saying.]

Then it is my folly to concern myself with, Sir Lancelot.

I know next to nothing of those who have brought us to this world. My colleague deems that it must be some variant of the... second magic, and I have heard the voice of some of our captors, but the information available to us about them is very limited.

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knightofhonor - 2013-07-15 00:43 (UTC) - Expand

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untilavalon - 2013-07-15 00:56 (UTC) - Expand

[ the person in question is.. well. tiny. the size of a child, really, at four and a half feet, with long, tangled black hair and dressed in a belted tunic and some sort of supple, leather-like leggings. not from around here, then, any more than lancelot himself. he turns as he's addressed, though, and there's something strange about him-- maybe in the too-deep dark eyes that seem to look right through a person.

for a second or two, he stares up at lancelot, mouth twitching in thought. at last, though, he offers a shake of his head. ]

Very little. I've only just arrived, myself. --Your name? [ his mannerisms are certainly abrupt, but it's apparent that he doesn't mean anything by it. it's simply the way he is. ]

[Lancelot regards the small person before him with respect as he is addressed, bowing his head in deference. Merlin's strangeness and his keen look remind him of some he has known in the past, and he feels it wisest to treat such an individual with courtesy.]

Then I am not the only one who was spirited away so unnaturally and all of a sudden? I would say this could be a realm of the fey, but it has not that look.

[He has no reason to hide his true name here, and he will not give the name Berserker as his own. His War is over. He senses other Servants nearby, as strange as that is, but let them come at him if they will. He will meet them face to face, honorably, with his head bared and nothing hidden.]

I am Lancelot, of the Lake. If there is aught I can do to aid you, stranger, you need only ask.

[He does not say of Camelot or the Round Table, for he is no longer that man.]

[ for a moment or two, merlin looks faintly surprised-- but then he seems to relax, expression softening faintly. the name is only a little familiar, from dreams of the future, and the face is unfamiliar, but the fact that he's one of the lady's is enough for merlin.

he waves the offer away with one slender, ink-stained hand. ] The offer is mutual. I know your name and your Lady. [ he offers a small, polite nod, then. ] And I expect that you may know mine, at least in some way. You may call me Merlin if you wish. Though-- [ he seems to gather something out of the air with a brush of fingers, leaving a shimmer behind that quickly fades. ] My guess is that I am not quite what you are accustomed to.

Merlin. [Yes, that is a surprise. This Merlin is absolutely nothing like the one he is familiar with. Yet he sees that shimmer in the air, and he does not doubt him. If anyone were to appear before him in a different form, as a different person, it would be Merlin.] I do know you, but you are not as I remember, no. [This Merlin seems preferable, at least at first glance, not that he would admit that fact out loud.]

An honor. For my Lady's sake, as well as by my own will, I am at your service. [He is sure the Lady of the Lake would prefer it be so.]

What I crave most is information, about this place and the reason I am here. I should not be. [He should be dead.] I must return to from whence I came. There is nothing else I seek, nor desire.

[ his mouth quirks a little tiredly, the small silver ornaments wound throughout his hair chiming softly as he shakes his head. ] No, I expect you are at Arturus' service. Even so, I shall be only too glad to borrow you for a few hours.

[ he gestures for them both to proceed, a faintly pinched look between his brows as he begins walking again. it helps that lancelot has the almost-familiar aura of one from the lake. it's-- not the same as the lady he knows, but it's enough. ]

I doubt it will be so simple as that, but we can seek our answers together, at least.

A knight may serve many masters, even if there is one above all. I serve my Lady, and the people of the kingdom, and those who owe me fealty. [He shakes his head, slowly, his look dolorous.] Yet I have left the service of my King.

[He would still do whatever Arturia asked of him, but he does not deserve to be her loyal servant, and he will not claim an honor that is not his. To die in her arms was far more than he could have hoped for, and he will be satisfied with that final reward. Without explaining his statement, he follows Merlin obediently.]

Nothing is ever so simple as one might hope. I have been summoned in such a manner before, to a time and place that were not my own, but the circumstances were not the same, and I do not believe the explanation would be similar.

[ his brows lift, curious and a little startled again. it's not easy to surprise merlin these days-- he's always had a sense for the future, even more so as he grew older and into his powers. (it's been a lonely existence; even with arthur's love, the respect of his people, merlin is essentially alone.) that, though.. that's not what he was expecting to hear. ]

.. Have you? [ a man like lancelot, beloved of the lady, would not have done so lightly. so what had happened between he and arthur?

it's not something he thinks the knight is ready to share, and to be honest, merlin isn't entirely prepared to hear it, so for the moment he lets it lie at that. instead, he shifts his focus to the taller man's other statement. ] How do you mean?

[He nods to answer Merlin's question. Yes, he has, though the fact pains him. He is pleased not to be asked about it, as it would pain him more to speak of it, though he would likely answer the question if asked directly. His treachery should not be hidden. He should not be afforded that luxury.]

I am what you might consider a copy of the man known as Lancelot, in a way. I have his memories and emotions, and I am like him in every way, but the true Lancelot is long dead, and his soul resides in the Throne of Heroes. I am a being known as a Servant, bound to a Master, or I was. That bond is gone now. My Master summoned me into a vessel as a Heroic Spirit to fight in a War between magi. It is called the Holy Grail War: a battle in which Heroes fight to the death--and the last one living wins the Holy Grail for his or her Master. The Grail, in turn, grants the winners each a wish, or so it is said. I was defeated before the War's end, and then I appeared here, as if summoned yet again, but there is no battle here that I have seen.

[She's unsure about this man, this giant of a knight. Black knights were always the bad guys in the stories, right? Sayaka's sure of that much but...he's just standing there. So she slips off to the side for a moment, transforming into her own armor--just in case--before approaching him.]

Hey you...! What are you doing there?

[Lancelot is, for the moment, too disoriented by his death and his sudden arrival here to do much more than stand and consider. He had lost, but he had won, dying in his king's arms as was only fit. Now, with everything over, he should not be here. He should not be anywhere at all. He is a dead man. What is a dead man to do? There is no madness on him now, but he feels an echo of it, and he struggles against it. He will not sink down into that haze of rage and pain again.

He turns at the sound of a voice. A young lady, and one he does not know. The sight brings him back to himself.

His courtesy returning to him, along with some of his sense, he dispels his helmet, revealing his face. He bows his head.]

Milady. [He is not sure whether she is of gentle birth, but he addresses her respectfully nonetheless.] Please forgive my discourtesy. I believed myself alone. I have just arrived, and I find myself at something of a loss. Know you the name of this place?

[All she knows herself is that this isn't the place she's supposed to be. This isn't her town, her Mitakihara. What would the city do without her? If anything, this new city needed her help, too.

This man, this black knight, at least seemed to be polite.]

I think someone called it Ruby City. I'm not sure about where it is, though.

Ruby City? That is not a name I have heard before. Before this, I was in the City of Fuyuki, in Japan.

[He leaves out mention of his death. There is no point in speaking of it.

He would ask what land this city is in, but she has said she does not know, and she seems to know little more than he does.]

You, too, are not of this place, then? Were you also brought here on the train? [He has never ridden on a train in his life, but the Grail has given him knowledge of such things, and he is grateful for it. Otherwise, this place would make far less sense to him.] If so, I am sorry, and if I can be of assistance to you in some way, you need only ask.

I am Lancelot, of the Lake, at your service.

I was in Mitakihara City. I kind of need to go back there, that's why I'm trying to see if there's a train back.

[She's not sure there is a train back. Probably not but that's a first step, right?] So, yeah, I was brought on a train, too.

[She shrugs a little, rubbing the back of her neck.]

Sayaka Miki... I don't really need any help right now but we're kind of stuck on the same problem.

[This guy didn't seem as scary as his armor, at least.]

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RC Test Drive!

Berserker | Fate/Zero

1! cooos I think it makes the most sense

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u_u welp.

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