[Marcus] The Plaza Hotel

[Bootman]

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Opposite Central Park, this century-old luxury hotel features a castle-like exterior.  The elegant, French-style rooms have bathrooms with gold-plated fixtures and separate tubs and showers, plus Italian linens, a sitting area, flat-screen TVs, and WiFi; some rooms have private terraces. Suites offer city views, powder rooms and butler's pantries; a few are duplexes. Among the hotel's amenities are butler service, a spa. a business center and a fitness center. It was a true symbol of decadence of status to stay here for any prolonged period of time.

[Bootman]

"Thank you, Mr. Toulsen. Room service will be up shortly with dinner. You wanted the three course, correct?" A young woman serving as the bellhop at the Plaza inquired.

"Yeah, that'll be great." Mr. Toulsen said, avoiding eye contact with the lady. The man stuck out like a sore thumb in elaborate French-themed hallways of the hotel . His dark brown coat hung heavy with rain, leaving a trail of wet marks from the elevator a few steps back and the door to room 1417. The same rain left his usually luxurious brown hair plastered to his head like a barely recognizable piece of roadkill atop his skull.

He began removing his finger-less gloves, the leather material clinging to his chilled hands, refusing to let go until a few violent tugs dragged them lose. Toulsen reached into his pants pocked, fiddling around for long enough to get a look from the Bellhop but not long enough for her to say anything, before removing his key-card. He swiped once. It didn't clear. Swiped again. The red dot lit up. He looked over at the bellhop carrying his copious amounts of luggage with a face of resignation and pure defeat. She cleared her throat.

"Um. Other way. And nice tattoo." Was all she managed to say in that syrupy sweet, polite tone.

Toulsen blushed lightly and looked away, almost hiding the red marks on his right hand before quickly flipping the card over and sliding it through. Green light. Thank god. He let her in first as she started unloading his baggage and quietly made her way out. He just quietly stared out the window, the droplets of rain interrupting his otherwise perfect view of Central Park. He'd finally made it to the site of his greatest heist to date. He reached into his other pocket, taking out a wallet. Inside was Mr. Toulsen's credit card, ID and drivers license. He threw these on the linen sheets of his perfectly made queen bed, leaving the other Queen bed empty. Also inside where his actual identification cards. Marcus Fetch.

Marcus mused at how alien the name sounded at this point. He'd been so used to using other names. Most of them stolen or lies. One was the actual nickname any Mage would know him by. The Page. Infamous magic thief who left his victims alive so that they would live in shame of being defeated by such an crude man. Or so the rumors went. He cared about rumors as much as he cared about his friends, but he didn't have friends to care about. He imagined that he would care about them quite a bit if he had a few. Maybe he wouldn't be in New York about to engage in a battle to the death. Maybe one of his friends would suddenly grab his, tell him it'd all be alright, lean in and... knock knock knock

"Room Service!" He heard, muffled from beyond the door. He sighed and moved to answer it.

---

It was late at night, about 15 minutes before the official quiet hours of the hotel. A full moon. It was to be now or never. Marcus froze over the complex magical glyph drawn in Mercury.  His grip tightened around the spear tip, drawing a bit of blood in the palm of his right hand.


"Aw shit..." He groaned as his hand bled on the symbol. Well, a blood offering was needed eventually. He was taking steps but still. "Now or never" he thought to himself. It wasn't too late to back out. He could go to the overseer, resign and be under her protection. Screw his greatest heist and lose his chance forever. But... there wouldn't be this huge risk of dying. This was sounding worse and worse the more he picked getting skewered on Saint George's spear or shot in the face by Pizarro.

The thoughts came forth in a specified sequence, each one leading to another and all worse then the last. He followed the trail from death to mutilation to living on as a total failure. He paced around the room, curtains closed as he through himself into the rest room. With a quick motion Marcus turned on the water in the sink and splashed it on his still damp face, rainwater mixing with pure, perfect hotel water. God it looked crystal clear. The water calmed him down enough for him to remember to check his phone. As he took it out, he habitually  checked his notes.

Spoiler

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"Ugh... I really... really specified this didn't I?" He groaned, totally defeated by his own compulsive need to finish stuff he had written on his phone. Its not like he could... not do it anymore. It was already there, clear in pure black 16 Point Arial font. And it was already one in the morning? How long had he been fantasizing about his defeat? As if being forced to do a chore his Mother set for him, Marcus placed one foot in front of the other back to his summoning circle. He used a pillow to wipe off his face and hair more thoroughly before reading off the chant he had previously written down to memorize, spear head in hand.

Heed my words.
My will creates your body
and your spear creates my destiny.
if you answer the Grail's call
and obey my mind and reason
the answer my summoning!
I hereby swear that the world will be your field to ride, plunder, drink and war in once more
take it with your own two hands and claim the Grail!

[Oath]

He materialized out of thin air, his hair and loose ends of his garments danced through the air as the magicked glow bringing him into this world began to fade. His spear was held firmly, and he was at attention with a grin on his face. The boy's stature was small, but his heart was large. He examined the man in front of him briefly, he didn't seem to be in the best of shape currently, but he would do. The area also seemed safe, there was not a trace of any sort of combat so he relaxed his stance.

"I am Lancer, and I assume that you're the one that has summoned me to participate in this war, Master?" His face sort of soured upon saying the word master. He was not used to considering any person in control of him, but that was the lot he had drawn to participate in this war. His face lit up as he continued to speak. "I'll gladly participate!"

[Bootman]

Marcus put his hands in his pockets and looked his new Servant up and down. A look of clear satisfaction crossed with apprehension dashed on his face, the latter coming out more when combined with his overall disheveled appearance. He strode up to the hero after a moment, adjusting the watch on his right hand before extending it out to Jangar, offering it. Marcus tried to maintain eye-contact for as long as he could, but it was clearly difficult for him.

"I totally get that hiding identity is important, but for just the two of us, I'd like to be able to call you Jangar." There was a brief smile before he finally looked away. "Just call me Marcus... feels weird being called Master. Around other people you can just call me The Page. Its what most people... um... yeah." He leaned over and eyed the spear, with a look of curiosity. "I had you pegged as a Rider though."

[Oath]

Jangar was slightly surprised that his true identity was already known. Though, since the Aram itself was used to summon him, it was not too far-fetched to assume it was a guess. As for his master's request, he was confused, though he was never one for formalities, it seemed to go against what he had expected which was unsettling. Jangar shrugged, and then spoke. "If that's what you want, Marcus."

He then thought a few seconds about his classification. He was indeed a Lancer. He had a mighty horse, so it is understandable that he could be predicted to be a Rider. "Just how it worked out. I'm most confident with my spear by my side anyway." At this point he laughed, before continuing with a couple questions. "So, what shall I do? What are our plans?"

[Bootman]

Marcus chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand he had offered for a shake and grunting with disappointment. Jangar seemed a bit more tense then he was hoping for a younger hero. The thief sighed and thought for a moment. "Well, I didn't really want to be called Master. Plus, I mean, look at you." He gestured with both hands at Jangar. "You're like, a legendary hero. I'm only your Master by technicality."

He toyed with the question for a few moments as he walked back towards the fully stocked mini-fridge. He fiddled through there for a bit, deciding between offering Jangar the wine or some water. He went with the former, tossing a very expensive looking bottle back towards his new partner in crime. Marcus grabbed one for himself and grinned proudly. With a quick search and use of a cork, both of their bottles were ready to drink. There was some rustling in the man's pocket, before he found and took out his phone, showing the list of objectives to Jangar.

"Well, like it says here. Our big plan is to steal the grail... but I suppose we'll need some smaller objectives... how about we just try to familiarize ourselves with the city?" His eyes lit up. "We could totally tour New York! Lets do that in the morning." Marcus had already started writing it down in his notes.

[Oath]

Jangar looked over to Marcus. "It may be just a technicality, but it's a part of the war." As he spoke, Marcus dug through a fridge and tossed him a bottle. He caught it, and opened it. Jangar promptly began chugging the contents of the bottle, becoming flushed in the cheeks.

"The BIG plan is to steal the Grail? WE COULD SET OUR SIGHTS EVEN HIGHER. WE COULD STEAL THE WORLD!" Jangar let out a hearty laugh as he mentioned conquest. "I'm destined to control everything in this Earth." Thinking about the suggestion to 'tour' the city, Jangar smirked. "I wouldn't call it a tour, but any warrior knows that it is important to know the battlefield you are fighting on. So I find this plan agreeable."

After he was done speaking, he tipped the bottle back, emptying it and tossing it aside.

[Bootman]

Marcus shrugged. "If you want I could call you servant. Whatever makes you happier." He said haphazardly as he chugged through a few gulps from the bottle.

Then he pointed at his servant. "The world is very big, and probably won't fit in my pocket..." the thief started gesturing with his hands to show the size of it, then shrunk it down. "...Maybe we steal something smaller?" He offered before taking another drink. Noticing Jangar was fresh out of wine, he reached into the fridge and carefully handed it to him, not bothering to throw it this time since he was already feeling the effects.

"I would call it a tour." He commented. "Because its going to be great! I haven't gotten to see the Statue of Liberty up close yet."