Diarmuid laughs then, though not unkindly. "Foolish? Confused with good reason, perhaps, but not foolish.

"Under these circumstances, it is in our best interests to be as inconspicuous as possible. As I recall, you were dressed in what appeared to be this century's attire when we first met. If we are to draw as little attention as possible, I imagine a change in raiment would be in order here."

Prana gathers in the air around them, and there is a flash of blinding light as Lancer speaks. When it fades, the embroidered brown and teal leather of his previous attire is replaced with a simple, urban cut dark shirt and slacks over polished leather shoes, the only things he could recall from his brief glimpses at the fashion in this era. Both spears dematerialize from his grip, and the dark-haired man fidgets a little with the collar, slightly uncomfortable in his modern wear. He was never given the opportunity to do this, nor did he require it; Lancer was usually summoned within the walls of his Master's strongholds, and on the few occasions he was not, the level of seclusion was such that there was little need to blend in.

"Now you, King of Knights."