lionheart.

call me saber.

[fauxcalibur]

deepsought​:

     biting back the urge to proclaim ‘fool’ at a question so ridiculous ( especially when it appeared that the man, this lionhearted saber, was already aware of his stupidity ), gilgamesh instead shakes his head, expression exasperated.  ❝ I am aware. Consider him my more youthful counterpart, caught in dreams of the past, unable to move forward. ❞

     in a way, the caster felt pity. but only some. the archer was, after all, himself. his misgivings were the sage king’s own a lifetime ago. but to remain willingly tied to them, and to go as far as to allow himself to be corrupted by a poisoned grail, one the hero had thought little more than a dream, a trick of his mind, when he had seen it with his sight — not even his own person was free from judgement. if anything, gilgamesh would always judge himself harshest of all. any king who was unable to admit fault in himself ( however few ) was unsuited to lead. 

     ❝ Servants can be summoned from any period of their life, be it from childhood or their later years. One’s Class can subsequently be influenced by this, as well as by a number of other factors. ❞  as had been the case for that most irritating dragon girl, among others.  

     ❝ Of course, choosing a Class is child’s play for one such as I. Should I wish it, I would not even have to be restricted to a Class. This was purely a manifestation I deemed necessary. For that reason, you may call me Caster. ❞  Snowfield — yet another summoning for that Archer, one unknown to the Caster as he was now. How exhausting. Did that man truly have nothing better to do with himself than to fight pointless wars? 

There’s a comment simply waiting to be said about how little he’s changed, despite the difference classes. Perhaps if Richard leans in, he’ll spy the odd crowsfeet or stress line; the odd fixtures of nightless rest and worry that accompanies age and command. But, oh, he’s not that cruel or foolish - perhaps later, when the Caster’s attention slides downward into his champagne glass, he’ll gamble everything on a peek. For now, however, Richard holds his tongue hard.

“Hm, I see. The change to your appearance would be for purely aesthetic reasons, then? It’s quite suitable for such a summertime festival like this! Far more fitting then that slicked-back style your other counterpart seems to sport.” It gives him the air of-- normality? Yes, that seems the best way to put it. Perhaps the class change has done something for his attitude-- ah, up until he gets into the nitty gritty of it. No, still the core personality, albeit tempered by the hands of time. 

Honestly, it’s perhaps for the best; Richard can scarcely imagine what Goldie would be like without his pride. Something far worse, no doubt! Though it does raise an interesting question: if he can do it simply with the wave of his hand, could Lancer do so, too? It’s something to ask later, when this one’s out of sight and mind,

“If only the rest of us were so lucky,” so he says, gently sipping at that fruit mocktail he’d been so absorbed with until recently. “But a Caster, truly? Colour me quite impressed that the great Forebearer of the Ages would choose a class considered one of the weakest out of necessity.” It seems he has his reasons, though, and so Richard won’t pry. “By the by, have you tried the little fruits in the champagne fountain yet?”

[fauxcalibur]

antagonyaist​:

“Hey, don’t act like you know me. I don’t even know me, got it?” Catra didn’t know what she wanted. She just knew what she wanted, and she would probably keep wanting no matter what. She didn’t particularly care if her stomach would never be filled, her bottomless hunger was what had kept her alive so far. 

“Then what are you supposed to do if you’re not chosen?” Catra said, her ears flicking up. She took a step forwards him, and suddenly she felt herself flaring with emotion. “What about all of those who get left behind? What if they have no path to go forward? What if nobody wants them? What are they supposed to do?” 

It was all well and good to be chosen, but what about everybody else. Catra knew deep down, that it wasn’t the sword that didn’t choose her, it was Adora that didn’t. However, she couldn’t admit that part. It was easier to blame fate. To hate Princesses. To pretend that Adora was taken away from her rather than she walked away on her own two feet.

Catra realized she didn’t exactly look cool right now, and sighed. She crossed her arms and averted her eyes from him again, distancing herself form those feelings inside of her that were never okay. “I’m just saying… It’s whatever.” 

“Now, now, I’m not acting under anything, I assure you. If my words affect you that much, then perhaps there’s some stock to them.” He can only assume so much from what she’s said, after all, and there’s far too much that he doesn’t know. So he simply puts to word what he sees before him: someone unhappy despite their boasts; anger bottled so tight it might burst and burn everything down. The way she bears her teeth in the face of everything Saber’s done and said simply adds onto that.

He stands solemn and unflinching at her outburst. For, truly, he has no real answer to give for once - those heart-turning words of his all but deserting him at that very moment. He’d spent so long chasing fairytales to the point of becoming one, only to realise the price far too late. “Are you sure no one wants them? Do they not even want themselves anymore? Fate may a glorious thing, yes, but as it guides so too does it cage.”

Perhaps it’s better not to be chosen, is what he should say. But he has no right to those words anymore, and so they remain just that: unsaid, hanging over his head like ghosts. Instead Saber has this to offer in its place: “If you’re unchosen by fate, by anything, then you simply choose yourself. For better guide is there but the heart?”

[fauxcalibur]

deepsought​:

     ❝ To speak with me so familiarly… what a brave soul. How fortunate for you that the season at hand does wonders for my mood. ❞

     to brand the king of heroes with such a nickname — this servant appeared to be lacking in basic manners. that gilgamesh had not decided to be rid of him solely for that insult alone, the man truly did have luck on his side ( and it would be most unfortunate to stain the summer clothing that he had deigned to wear to this party with the blood, the servant quickly decides ).  ❝ For all our physical similarities, I am not the same as that Archer you are acquainted with. It would be wise not to forget that. ❞

    gilgamesh takes a sip from freshly obtained champagne, crimson gaze looking the man up and down. an unfamiliar face, one that had not been summoned by their master nor one that they had faced in the pursuit of fujimaru’s cause. for him to know of a gilgamesh who wore his hair up  — another holy grail war, was it? it seemed that his younger self was wont to get caught up in pointless affairs regularly.  ❝ That fool is in this city as well, or so I have heard. I imagine he would deem a gathering such as this below him, as you said. ❞  so long as it didn’t impact the caster’s personal affairs, he cared little for what his other self got up to. avoiding him, as always, saved another reason to suffer through a pointless migraine. 

Perhaps it’s fate that smiles on him this day - for it’s certainly not his luck or anything akin to divine intervention that sees Richard alive and whole, neither flayed nor pin-cushioned. Or perhaps it’s the mystery hand of their captors seeking balance in those that stay here, limiting them in such ways. No, no, it’s definitely fate, for why else would they meet here? Even if it’s not the same dour Archer he once knew - semantics, honestly.

“Brave?” He waves his hand as if dispelling the notion. “One or two may have considered me lionhearted back in the day, but I’d say I’m more foolish than anything. Maybe the seasons are kind on me today.” It seems even his golden companion - same class or not - can feel the gentle brush of spring in the air.

“Truly? Does the simple act of changing one’s hairstyle allow for the change of one’s class?” If he follows suit, does that mean he’ll be a Rider? A Lancer? Colour Richard equal parts concerned and curious. “Well, regardless, you’re far more equitable then your Archer-counterpart, at least. Were I to approach in the same manner, no doubt I’d be skewed from ear to toe. For allowing me so much, I offer my heartfelt thanks. And should duly introduce myself, it seems! Saber, of the Snowfield War.”

[fauxcalibur]

douzeepees​:

“There’s no need for a wager to reveal that information.” Because naturally, he’s already careless enough to say it without being asked. The entire neighbourhood will probably know it in time. Which may or may not be a good thing in future, depending on whether the Saber finds himself in a spot of trouble.

And just as he’s about to ask the other about the mentioned Riding skill, the gentleman in question has already gone. “Hey! Wait for me!” Between the talk and excitement, he hadn’t even given a thought to his own. This could end horribly. But he’s off anyway, racing after his fellow Saber, trying his best to catch up.

Honestly the wager of information was the first thing out of Saber’s mouth. Had he time to actually consider, no doubt he’d come up with something far more eccentric ( read: stupid, beyond belief, but totally cool for the two of them ). It’s perhaps for the best he doesn’t get an answer - speeding mach speed down the spiral, no idea about breaks or gears. Ah yes, let the winds of destiny decide for him ( here is where his luck stat would come into play, if he had it ).

“Apologies! You were saying something before we began but it seems my steed had other ideas!” It’s a bike: it doesn’t think anything. “Well, no matter. First to the bottom is the winner, and we’ll see what happens on the way down.” And on that note, he hits a direct spike in the road, sending his valiant riding careening wildly.

[fauxcalibur]

antagonyaist​:

“I conquered Mermista’s sea kingdom, and now I control the waterways for all of etheria.” Catra was trying to brag, but her heart just wasn’t in it. According to her, she didn’t even have one. Her brows knit, her face fell, and she groaned like a dying cat. “But, the whole thing was kind of MEH you know. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Catra remembered the taste of sea salt, and the stinging in her eyes as the blind blew right in her face, and sitting hugging her knees at the top of a war machine. She conquered a whole city, but she didn’t feel any stronger. She just wanted to dissolve into a salt and disappear. 

Catra was beginning to wonder if every blonde she knew was an idiot, or something. Telling him she was evil to his face did nothing to scare him off. He was so frustratingly, good, like he was rubbing it in her face. She had folded her arms without even realizing it to cut him off, and her claws dug into her upper arm. 

“Fate?” Catra cocked her head as she looked at him. When she did, her eyes - no her entire self looked tilted and off balanced. “Fate is just a made up word, so people can feel like they’re such special little babies.” 

Catra suddenly made a face like she was in tremendous pain, but rather than express any of that she broke out of pain. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be one of the chosen magical special fakey fake fate people, oh em gee you are such a tool my guy.” 

It’s not a kingdom he knows of, for starters. Neither from the land of Britain or those of his most beloved fairy-tales. But something else catches his eye before even that: the face she wore as she spoke of such deeds. “For someone who boasts about their evil and kingdom-conquering ways, you don’t seem all that thrilled about it. One must wonder if the ways of evil are as fulfilling as they seem.” 

He can only imagine - and truly, he has something of a wild imagination - but whatever he could come up with would pale, no doubt. There’s a story to each and every one of them here, and she’s of no exception.

“Fate is a word that gives people strength. It’s magic in its own right, whether you put stock in it or not.” Not even the unsubtle mockery is enough to rock Saber’s foundations.  “People do not fall into forests and upon magical swords simply by chance. And by no means does evil get away, so long as fate sees it through.” Of that, at least, he’s certain,

Still, he does pause for a moment. “‘Chosen?’” You’re a hero, aren’t you? Then laugh. Yes, those were the words his brother had said, bitter and broken. Rather then follow it up, he elects to ignore it entirely. “My, you certainly have something against fate. Or perhaps the girl you had mentioned with the sword? Well, the idea is nice, isn’t it? To be wanted by something bigger then yourself?”

[fauxcalibur]

vermilinyan​:

Perhaps it’s the festival’s already abundant atmosphere or even the absurdity of the scenario already working it’s magic, but she can’t help but find the man’s clear enthusiasm infectious. Her tail swayed placidly to and fro in response to his gentle rocking of the raft, a natural counterbalance while she considered his terms. Simple enough by far, an honourable duel between two who enjoyed their craft… well, as honourable as squeaking foam could be.

The thought teased an easy laugh out of her, setting one hand on her hip, “If you manage to take my arm off with one of these, I will be duly impressed– if not a little dismayed.” Placing one finger at the tip of her blade, it easily bends in an arc before she allows it to spring back into place.

“But aye, those are amenable to me– just a good, clean bout,” Her head tilts slightly in consideration of the counter offer, perhaps the faintest twinkle visible in her eye as she returns easily, “And not so much a term but something to sweeten the victor’s pot. There’s plenty of interesting vendors back on land, and I’m sure most are best enjoyed out of another’s pocket.” Trying to get free lunch out of a fight was perhaps not the most sportsman-like, but Faris had just enough grace not to offer any sort of bargain she wasn’t willing to uphold. Mostly.

Grinning, she settled into stance, sword arm levelled at the other, “But it’s far from a necessity, victory tends to be sweet enough on it’s own. On your mark, good Ser!”

Regardless of the weapon, theirs would be a glorious duel. A wet and horrifically foamy one at that, but it’s nothing if not exciting in its own right. It would end in the wet and salty depths of the shallows then with blood, a much preferred closure then the usual way. Who would have though such a thing would come to fruition? Certainly not Richard. 

A bubble of laugh escapes him, fingers tight around the foam handle. “I think we’re both safe from that for the time being. There shall be no loss of limbs on this day.” Of this, at least, he’s sure. No doubt if they were both at full strength even the softest of items would become weaponry. But, perhaps there’s a silver lining to these handicaps. 

“Ah, a grail at the end of our quest?” Now there’s a twinkle in Richard’s eye. It does sweeten things considerably, though he’d have enjoyed himself regardless. Still, a what is a game without a gamble? “I see no reason to decline. In fact, I’ve been eyeing off some of those melons for a time now. It’d do well to have another pay for it then fish it from my own coin.” Now he’s just teasing, but there’s just no helping it. If she were against it, then she’d not have offered up the idea in the first place! And, truthfully, he has been eyeing off those melons since his arrival at the festival’s gate.

“Truly, the only thing sweeter than those melons would be victory.” He relaxes, sword arm poised but lax in equal measure. A cat preparing itself before the pounce - or perhaps a lion, ready for the hunt, it mattered not. “On your mark, milday! Set, and go!” The raft sways with Richard’s movement as he launches forward with a pinpoint thrust. 

[fauxcalibur]

“How does one go about misplacing a pig?” It’s an excellent question. One the man beside him has yet to solve, from the obvious empty hands and lack of piglet in sight. “Truly, the forest is something of a maze and these fellows are rather small, but still. I do wonder how you’ve managed to lose yours.” 

Deep within the thicket, with only the fairy lights to guide their way, it seems almost commonplace to miss something so small and quick. Richard’s own is jauntily dancing around his legs, showing off the little red leash he’d gone and fashion for it - just in case something like this were to happen.

“Whilst I’d be more than happy to lend you my own, I doubt the fae would consider this fair. Neither of us want to spend the rest of our day as foxes, certainly.” He waves a hand, nonplussed. “Well, no matter. Two eyes are better then one, as they say. Surely we’ll be able to locate them without trouble.”

@archivisted​

[fauxcalibur]

A constellation floats just overheard, suspended by its own gravity; a sparkling sea of dust and light. To the left, Pluto is spinning backwards, but no one seems to care for the oddity. And hanging low is Earth, a blue dot to outdo them all. Truly, the little garden amongst the stars is something to behold. The air to the garden is quite, but hardly melancholic - there’s laughter and smiles and the gentle chime of cups pressing against each other.

Save a table of one, just beneath the moonlight. But it’s a problem with an easy solution insofar as Richard’s concerned. “May I?” He gestures to the extra seat opposite, smile as broad and glittering as the stars themselves. “Seeing the moon this close is a rare chance indeed. But it would be remiss to spend it by oneself. That said, I hope you don’t mind an extra stargazer setting up camp.”

@melomani​

[fauxcalibur]

“So, I’ve established that a good portion of these pillows, a chair, and two bars of soap are edible.” Candy camouflage has proven quite the surprise in the amount of eatable items ( and the inedible, which were plentiful and equally hard ). It’s become something of a challenge between those wandering around the store to bite any and everything, all to see what was lurking underneath. Besides, who in their right mind would turn down the chance at free sweets? Certainly not him. 

“These forks,” adds Richard rather quickly as he lifts the bent cutlery, “are sadly not. Alas! How goes things on your end? Chewed through the walls yet? If we’re lucky, perhaps the timber will be made of cinnamon.”

@casualtheft​ 

[fauxcalibur]

Of all the grand many things that appeared during the festival, the ‘cruise’ ship docked in the bay was perhaps the most alluring. So different from the ships of old that Richard knew, but it made it all the more exciting. Each room lay dedicated to some puzzle or activity, and deep below deck was something called a ‘nightclub’ he’d yet to fully explore. 

But, oh, Richard’s far too entranced by the sight of everything from up top for the time being. Least of all that all too familiar face amongst the crowd, a far cry from their last encounter. 

“Goldie! My, I hadn’t expected to see you down below with the rest of us. If you’re to ask me for judgement once more, then it shall have to wait. I’m quite enjoying this fruit cocktail.” A pause, before a little gasp escapes him, filled with childish glee. “Ooh, you let your hair down.”

@deepsought​

[fauxcalibur]

antagonyaist​:

“I’m evil. You know, like conquer-the-world type evil.” 

Catra said, glaring at the guy who didn’t seem to be getting the message. Her mane puffed out as he spoke. It looked somewhat like a lion’s mane. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Where did this guy get all his energy from? 

She had no idea why he thought he was everyone’s best friend. She especially didn’t like the way he looked at her, like he understood her. Her fur stood up on ends, it was her equivalent of goosebumps. She was more afraid of kindness than anything else. 

“So what? Do you want me to give you a reason to hate me, because I’ve got plenty.” 

Weird brag, but okay. 

“It’s like you know…a person who’s obsessed with something because they’ve got nothing better to do. Like, I know this girl who thinks she’s so great because she pretends all day to be a hero, when she’s really just a wannabe.” 

Catra crossed her arms. 

“Just because she found a magic sword in the woods she thinks she’s soooo special.”

“Evil? Really?” A brow arches in response. Oh, he’s very curious now. Not everyone goes around claiming they’re evil ( but then no one everyone chases after King Arthur’s legend, but here they both are ). “What kingdoms have you conquered? Perhaps I’ve heard tales of your exploits. I considered myself quite well read in that area.” If she’s done such great and unspeakable evil, then it’s almost certain he’s heard a fantastical story about it.

Still, he shrugs, hardly perturbed by this confession. “I’m sure you could give me a long and intricately detailed list, but again, you’ve as of yet to offend as such. I could do the same and list all the things I’ve done. Perhaps we’re to make a competition of it?” It’s half a joke, and half not. If she’s bad, then so is he; it’s really that simple. It would, however, be the world’s saddest competition.

Obsession? Funny that he should hear such a thing from someone else. But magic swords in the middle of a random woodland area? That sounds almost fantastical. Downright amazing, even! Something so like the romantic stories of Arthur he’s long enjoyed. So he’d proclaim, too, if Catra didn’t seem so frustrated over the whole thing.

“Those that find such magic swords are often destined for something great,” Saber offers, managing to keep his tone even. “It’s why they’re able to use such swords in the first place. Theirs is a path carved long before their time. Fate deems it so.”

[fauxcalibur]

Care for some summer fun? Perhaps some SpiraleFes fun? Excellent. Here’s a call for some (small) festival fun starters - which I’ll leave uncapped for now. I’ll go for random for activities and locations unless you’ve got something listed. 

[fauxcalibur]

vermilinyan​:

closed to @fauxcalibur​

The raft really wasn’t the most stable of battlegrounds, she’d decided, testing the (lack of) weight of the foam sword in her hand as the two situated themselves on the arena.

It had been simple curiosity at first, the sudden festivities reminding her too much of the Moonfire Faire not to at least take a look. She’d only meant to examine the novel foam weapons lined on the sand before the other blonde had appeared, seeming just as intrigued. The vendor had been quicker than she’d had time to really pause to think in setting up a match, though Faris certainly wouldn’t have begrudged the rather exuberant man a friendly bout.

When was the last time she’d had a simple spar, anyway? The miqo'te certainly didn’t count Ala Mhigo, nor the man who insisted on calling her friend (actively fighting down a shudder at the thought)– no, a light contest of strength and technique with nought on the line but getting wet would probably do her some good. Blowing out a long breath, she tossed her opponent a grin.

“Any terms to set, Ser?”

It’s been a good, oh, several centuries since Richard’s last festival. The Grail War may be considered a bloody contest by many, but it’s yet to make it onto his list, anyway. This one, though - with its lights and colour and activities - is perhaps the most exciting one he’s experienced yet! With the level of energy and excitement coursing through the island ( and Richard’s body ) it’s only a matter of time before he ends up in some sort of predicament. 

See, for example, the raft he’s standing aboard: foam-sword clutched firmly in hand. It’s certainly different from his past duels, but that only makes it all the more wonderful. “Terms? Hm.” He ponders this for but a moment. “Naturally the first to be pushed into the water is thus declared the loser of this bout. No tricks, no underhand tactics, no slippery business. We let our swords speak for us.” Even if they’re of the bubble-spewing variety. “Doubtful we’ll do irreversible damage to one another using these things, though!”

Richard’s laughter rocks the raft gently, and it takes a good portion of his will not to go further. “That should be all. Unless milady also has a term or two to lay down? I see no reason to deny any request you may add. It may makes things interesting.” Of course he says this during a foam duel in the middle of the ocean.

[fauxcalibur]

aid-lombard​:

She supposed that made sense, really–her mother hadn’t had “enemies,” per se, but there were people who hated her, despite her kind nature, despite her gentle words…on second thought, the girl wasn’t too sure she wanted to think about that. Luckily, she’s entertained enough by this man’s theatrics as he goes on and on, and while she’s obviously got no way to scope out someone’s combat ability at this age, she does think that if there were any bad guys, this strange knight could give them a run for their money.

“Oh, no–it’s okay. I don’t expect people to know. It’s not like there was…a big funeral, or anything.” Such things would never be afforded to slaves like her or her mother, after all. “But, without her…” She doesn’t get to finish that thought, though–perhaps for the better–because suddenly, this knight in shining armor is offering something she’d never expect someone to give.

“Oh! Um–you don’t need to worry about that! Um…I’m pretty good, at being on my own. And…I don’t want my…” Not her father. What can she call him? She furrows her brow. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, or anything. I don’t think he’s in the city, but if he is, he’s a nobleman, and…” It would be really, really sad if this cheerful knight was put in any serious danger because of someone so insignificant as her. “Thank you for offering something like that to me.”

A knight he may be, but Richard’s anything but shining ( or so he thinks, anyway ). What he offers to her is what anyone else would offer. Well, not quite, but any sane person would try to offer her shelter and the peace she seems to be deprived of - Richard just takes it to the extreme, as he always does. Still, he’s not quite surprised to see her turn down the offer. 

A small shake off the head is all he offers in turn. “Oh, you needn’t worry about me, little miss. I would surely get myself into his bad graces one way or another eventually, regardless if he were here or not.” There’s a part of him, small and secret, that does wish such a man was here, purely so he could see for himself the extent of the damage. Doubtless he’d bring trouble down upon his head if they ever did cross paths. But for this young girl’s sake, he’s glad such a man is far from them entirely.

“Hum! Very well!” So it goes; Richard rolls with the punches. Several more petals fall slowly around them, pink and vibrant in colour. “If not a guardian, then perhaps I may act as an escort? It would go against the codes of chivalry to allow someone so young to wander about without one. And I give pretty good piggybacks, or so I like to think, anyway.”

[nero-draco]

[fauxcalibur]

genesismaiden​:

”Glad you understand.

Surely you couldn’t have been that reckless when there were so many children around. But if you’d like, I can fill in for him”. Ignore that ‘if you’d like’ part, she’s very eager regardless.

“No thank you! While I assume your airy and barbed wit are as quick as his own, I have need of one Loxley.” Something something wait until he hits a higher rank and he shows up.

“You don’t know me that well, it seems, for surely I could be. But you’re in luck! Here is your ‘gun’,” which he holds but makes no move to return. Yeah, it’s not gonna be that easy.

[fauxcalibur]

sanctummilitis​:

A disturbance had interjected, ripping away the environment associated with Fuyuki City and replacing it with another. One altogether foreign, which not could she recognize in all her experience within the former’s territory. Worse still, when her senses came to her, she was alone. Though their time together thus far had been brief, Shirou’s tendency to attract peril had demonstrated itself far more frequently and effectively than she would have liked. Which meant certainly, he was in equally a dire situation. And with one Seal remained binding them, he could hardly call upon her in the same manner as the most recent stage of the War. a click of her tongue, Saber would have to track him down herself, before someone else could. Traversing the strange land seemed no different than any other, but far sooner than any regular battlefield did she sense the presence of another spirit, bringing her down upon the street of a suburb, blade poised to strike.

“I shall ask you, and expect the truth in return. Shirou Emiya — where is he?”

Ah, what a spectacular evening it’s been: the sun just edges above the horizon, casting a warm glow, and the songbirds still continue with their glorious melody. And, oh would you look at that, there’s a sword mere meters before his throat; sharp and ready. Yes, it’s just an average Monday for him these days. Well, not really, but there’s a nice little nostalgia to it. He was getting itchy from the lack of threats and traps everywhere.

“My, and not a single hello? I had thought we’d established a better rapport than this.” Did their day beneath the eyes of the bamboo grove mean nothing? So it seems from the look in sir knight’s eyes. Careful, with ever-so-deliberate movements, Richard raises his hands upward, displaying not a single weapon. Empty hands, but a smile still, as if the blade beneath his chin is but child’s play. 

“Shirou Emiya, was it? He’s not someone I’ve met here, nor one from my own time and place. And I assure you, I would not move my hand against an innocent in such a manner. On that, you have my word.”