“What do you mean you don’t like dogs?!” Your Lancer Servant was far from a dog, but he took that personally. Arms folded across his chest, he huffed, watching with irritation as you gently stroked a stray cat on the side of the road.

“Master.” Cú’s tone was sharper than usual, but you didn’t respond, too focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears as it purred contentedly. He huffed again, louder this time, then leaned down over your shoulder, red eyes narrowing at the feline interloper. “Master!” Still no reaction.

With a frustrated groan, he crouched beside you, resting his chin on his palm. “Tch, I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “You’ll ignore me for a scraggly little stray, huh?” Cú let out an exaggerated sigh, fingers drumming against his knee as he watched the cat bask in your attention.

“Bet that thing’s just crawling with fleas…” he grumbled. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He knew full well you could hear every word. Good. You should hear.

The cat glanced at him, and he could swear it had the smuggest little look on its face. He scowled. “It’s not even that cute,” he complained, gaze flicking between you and the feline. His voice softened slightly, the irritation giving way to something that almost sounded like sulking. “You know I’m your Servant, right? I’d follow you anywhere. Fight for you. Die for you. But nooo, one pair of whiskers and a pitiful meow, and suddenly I’m yesterday’s news…”

When you finally looked at him, he straightened up quickly, schooling his expression into a toothy grin, a little fang peeking out from behind his lips. “Finally tired of that furball?” He stood and dusted off the clothes you’d provided for him, then extended a hand toward you. “Good. I’m starving. You’re s’posed to be responsible for me, not that stray.”

“You know,” he started, rambling as he walked beside you and took in the unfamiliar scenery, “you kinda remind me of Scáthach.” He seemed to enjoy slowly getting used to this new place—especially with you there. When you glanced back at him, he just laughed. Typical of you to only tune in when it suited you. “Oh, nothing,” he said with a shrug, brushing off the comment. “Just talking to myself.” Then, facing forward again, he added, “So, where are we headed? It’d better be someplace nice.”