Farim Abdullah Akbaharim & Servant Rider
"Ugh... yesss... pleasure me, Rider."
The Servant looked in absolute disgust at his master, the magus in a hazy dream, smoking a large, exquisitely crafted cigar that let off a sweet-smelling smoke. Of all the times that he could have ever been summoned – and truth be told, he had not though it was possible for him to be summoned – that it would have to be for this disgustingly unscrupulous man made his skin crawl.
The Servant paused.
He was going to have to get used to the feeling of having a concrete form. Certain things, well, how long had it been? Long enough that his true name had faded from the conscious mind, long enough that he wasn't quite sure how the Middle Eastern magus had actually managed to summon him in the first place. Still, he didn't put it past the young man. For all his... many faults, Farim could be remarkably clever for a human when he was not drowning himself in pleasure.
He looked across the roof of the building, red hair blowing in the wind, lifted off of his unnaturally tall body to where their opponents resided. His steed was waiting to be summoned, but – he could not bear to release his full power under this man. Not without freeing himself, first.
Just as the tension began to build, Farim bent over and vomited last night's blended curry, the alcohol in his stomach finally becoming too much to bear. Bleary eyes looked across the stage to mortal combat, his Command Seals glowing faintly, only for the magus to cordially greet his opponents.
"There! You, there, how much would you go for? I need a new bedwarmer as of," He drew a puff on the cigar, and something white and sticky slowly dribbled down his leg as the man moaned. Rider covered his eyes. If he was a weaker man - well, that was a misleading statement - he would be close to tears.
Farim finished weakly.
"...As of late."
Wise up!
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