Kiyoiri is maybe an odd one out. She's if anything expecting to be hit at the mind, shouted at there instead.
(She's ready for it. The shouts he's cried out, it's cried out, they are all too familiar and she is ready to throw them back with as much ferocity as possible in the process of calling it out on its failings.)
One good thing about this, somehow.
Takechirou sits on her shoulder, and with three command spells again, she breathes in.
Every time her bird got blasted back into the illusion, their own dropped.
Thanks, she thinks, for the refresh.
"Takechriou- at my Command," she intones, voice low as she stares ahead. "Take the form of someone who can defend themselves and others against such madness!"
"CAW!" It might not work the whole battle- honestly as powerful as the bird is, it's one seventh of a servant. But the bird transforms- a glowing beacon for a split second, before taking the form of a child in heels and a formal suit.
Armed with, Kiyoiri notes, a paint brush.
(She doesn't know it, but there was a reason he chose Van Gogh; for the Foreigner's own madness and dedication to act as a stop-gap, a measure of protection that could, like Kiyoiri herself, simply move alongside what would strike out at them)
no subject
(She's ready for it. The shouts he's cried out, it's cried out, they are all too familiar and she is ready to throw them back with as much ferocity as possible in the process of calling it out on its failings.)
One good thing about this, somehow.
Takechirou sits on her shoulder, and with three command spells again, she breathes in.
Every time her bird got blasted back into the illusion, their own dropped.
Thanks, she thinks, for the refresh.
"Takechriou- at my Command," she intones, voice low as she stares ahead. "Take the form of someone who can defend themselves and others against such madness!"
"CAW!" It might not work the whole battle- honestly as powerful as the bird is, it's one seventh of a servant. But the bird transforms- a glowing beacon for a split second, before taking the form of a child in heels and a formal suit.
Armed with, Kiyoiri notes, a paint brush.
(She doesn't know it, but there was a reason he chose Van Gogh; for the Foreigner's own madness and dedication to act as a stop-gap, a measure of protection that could, like Kiyoiri herself, simply move alongside what would strike out at them)