The man's face was unwavering, not relenting or showing any signs of irritation at some of the kids' insults and eccentric quips. Lord Death had told him not to stand-out, but Hawaiian shirts were the only thing he could really wear, being stationed in Honolulu due to a recent report of men who had gone mad. Eyes shot with blood and an aura of malevolence decorating their souls - This only seemed to manifest within people with many insecurities; stressed CEOs on vacations or people who slept in the lap of poverty. One thing for certain was that humans with average soul wavelengths should not be exhibiting so much strength. Granted, he was sent to England to help tour around some students, but the looming threat seemed to be on his mind the whole while.
Hearty laughter that sounded more akin to howling than anything, he replied with even higher spirits than before the unneeded comments. "HAH, Geralt likes you all, we all will get along fine! He smiled before bending over and slapping his right knee. Baring peculiar looking fangs before covering his own mouth as busy passer-by’s made their way to their own destinations.
Their guide really was something special. It was too much of an act, which was so obvious, but nonetheless, the weapons fell for the bait rather quickly. Every word could be used to embellish the mission briefing sent back to Lord Death or warp them, including comments about how these damn kids couldn't keep their mouth shut. Cyrille scratched his head, in a far worse mood than usual due to their cruel trip. If Lord Death thought Cyrille did his part during the mission, he would surely reward him by breaking apart the team, right?
The man could really compose himself through that mustache. Maybe Cyrille could take a few notes when trying to quell his quiet and calculating temper? As everyone spoke in different wavelengths, Cleo said something that really should've been kept under wraps now that they are here, the potential den of their enemies.
Patting Cleo's shoulder before bumping past her, he overtook the conversation after turning to Cleo and placing a finger perpendicular to his lips. A very Cyrille way of telling her "I'm the captain now" and "don't run your mouth", all vocalized with the single motion. They shouldn't even be stating their status as a meister so they didn't cause any trouble while they are there. The Government has restricted the control of Meister and Weapon pairs due to the amount of unwanted carnage that certain rambunctious and foolhardy pairs have unintentionally been the cause of. Plus, while the titles aren't taboo, it certainly did not bode well for him to have their presence and plan broadcasted by a bubbly turquoise-head to any enemy spy who happens to have stumbled upon them.
"Hey Gerain! Any good pubs you recommend? Most of us are old enough!" Cyrille wrapped his arm around the tanned skin shoulders of their unique tour guide, imitating his demeanor and posture. "The name's Cyrille, mere tourist. That goes for all of us."
"Aha, now we are talking! The local ones are the best, I pay for all of you!" The man smiled, grinning from fang to fang. "Afterall, you all are friends to me, no need for fancy title haha.." Despite Gerain using the DWMA logo to beckon the group over, he quickly put it away before they spoke. The man was well aware of how careful they must be in foreign territory.
September 12 | 2018
9:12 PM
"The Gerain Mobile" | Stonehenge Road
45°F
His head ached thanks to his 3rd favorite thing about flying, which was the jetlag. He wanted to doze off, but every bump in the road threw him awake. The van was at least in good quality. It must've been recently rented since he didn't really trust this Gerain guy to keep anything in good condition. While he felt a bit worn out from the sightseeing - more-so looking at souvenir shops and little tidbits of quaint nature/houses around their inn - he did feel a certain burst of energy from the sheer prospect of finishing this mission and going home. Though, it was good that they got all the sightseeing done now as the fog made even seeing a few inches outward a squinting struggle. He wondered how this guy could even drive on the twisting road. Cyrille tapped on the window of the van, getting the attention of his team.
"Alright… We go through the plan as discussed. We look around, see that nothing is out of the ordinary, and then we go home." Cyrille coughed and cleared his throat as his raspy voice was ever so prevalent.
After the group discussed and socialized a bit, Gerain stopped the car. An abrupt halt that seemed just as spontaneous as a sudden inkling.
SHINK
Suddenly, a large silver bolt flung out from the fog breaking the glass of the front window. It would've hit whoever was sitting in the middle dead between the eyes if not for Gerain grabbing the harpoon out of the air. He held it by the hilt before yelling back at his passengers.
"Everyone OUT!" He bent the bolt with overwhelming strength, a searing steam rising into the air from where the material and Gerain's palm connected before he caught another one, this time aimed at his own head.
In the looming fog, a figure could be made out in the distance. His arm taking the shape of a castle ballista and eyes that glowed of iron-scented blood.