oblitusidealis

     Several weeks had passed since the incident that washed over the city in the peculiar chaos that ensued, leaving naught but the slightest confusion within the holy maiden at her questionable actions. Even so, she could not help but ponder the reasoning for why such a predicament did not feel unwanted, instead natural in comparison to what it was she wished to believe. Perchance it was once more her stubborn nature that made her selectively blind to why such a thing was than anything, having thought it impossible for such an outcome due to her forsaking them in favour of the divine mission she was tasked to complete.

     Avoiding this instance could only be prolonged for so long before anything too obvious became amiss, something she knew well despite her inner debates on what was the best course of action. Thus, it was best to confess sooner rather than later. At least that is what the Eirei convinced herself of upon stepping forward into the room she shared with the other, uncertain if she should be relieved or anxious that she had located him as she planned. Already the tightening of her chest became known to her as she kept her silence, cheeks pooling with a light pink before making her presence known with a gentle click of the shutting door.

     ❝ Emiya… ❞ the name she had grown to enjoy speaking rolls from her tongue as if to gain his attention further, soles planted firmly upon the floor as if unable to move quite yet. ❝ Do you have a moment? I have something I must speak with you about. ❞

heart of glass and ice { archer

White was never her colour. Witches never wore white; something befitting of someone who embodied the traits of purity and innocence, far from sorceresses of old. Small frame was often hidden beneath violent robes, clothes made to erase whatever feminine traits Caster outwardly held. Yet, here she stood, clad in slimming white fabric and silver sequins; far from her comfort zone of black and violet.

Gloved hand pressed against her chest, heartbeat reverberating beneath, shaky and uncertain. She felt awkward, naked, stripped of everything that made her who she was. A side glance to the mirror revealed a stranger staring back – though their eyes were the same, everything else was not. If she had not exhaled a sigh before, now was the time to do so.

For all her worries and raw nerves, the Eirei’s senses were hardly dulled. A presence looked near, crossing across the boundaries set up months prior till now, sending lightning down her spine. Abandoning her position near the mirror with refined grace, Caster straightened up, drew breath, the opened the door.

“Five minutes, Archer.” A finger pointed over her shoulder to the clock hanging in the background. Embarrassed as she felt, not even such a moment could stop her from throwing snark at the Eirei. “A gentlemen knows to be on time.”

—quorum {archer&jehanne.

Eventide engulfed the city which scintillated below. A single ray of orange peered over the horizon, an attempt to resist the darkness that fended it into slumber until the next day hailed. Dangerous for those whom lurked within the avenues while the rest of the vicinity tucked themselves away. Magus and Servants alike – the war was indeed waging and innocent bystanders may view this night to be their last if not careful of what their gaze may set upon.

Structures that towered above the populace were a pleasant safeguard for any, away from unwarranted glance of those condemned to death. And it was here a materialization would take place, metal soles silent upon the edge which the youthful saint appeared within a moments notice. To observe with unmerciful eyes, hopeful to lay sight on the one which she must trail to the source of their disregard of the regulations set to guide each participant.

Vestige drove the maid to continue, she leapt with elegance to the next.

Bothered by the lack of a lead, it was then that she sensed another like herself.

Gauntlet digits wrapped around the handle of a blade which formed in a burst of silver orbs. A forewarning, yet not intended for a strike if this other may appear with warrant of peace. Armour clinked gently as she landed with ease, golden tufts settled before a zephyr passed over the tops of each building. Tip of her sword pressed into the cemented roof, intent on coercing this entity out.

In the name of Jeanne d'Arc, I command thee to reveal thyself, o Spirit.

A sound order, one she expected to be followed with little resistance.

♔. days gone by ; { closed }

    Sparse is it that company trickles unto the steps belonging to the youthful saint, the quaint household brimming with quietude in comparison to the boisterous establishments that litter the multitude of streets. For, if it is companionship she seeks, it is taken upon herself to travel to their own location rather than inquire their time. This day is different, howsoever, in the essence of her invitation to those who reside beside her own living arrangements. A man clad in crimson, someone she once housed with before being blessed with her very own roof.

    Syringa swathed hues flick to the entrance, alerted by the several knocks upon the door itself to signal the arrival of this guest. There is no reluctance in stepping forward, lissome digits grasping the chilled handle to unfasten the lock. Thus, with a gentle turn, she tugs upon the entry to reveal the guardian who stands before her.

    “Emiya,” the uttered name weighing peculiar on her tongue, though there is a fond tone laced into lowly vocables. Coral lips lift into a benign smile in welcome, the free hand unconsciously straightening the azure tie which hangs loosely from her neckline. “Saber is elsewhere at this moment… but Mithos is currently within the confines of his room.

    I pray you mind not his presence.”

!always return to me: [closed]

    Leisurely, the hours trickling onward from the closure of such chaotic moments amidst the unplanned circumstance. Multitudes of happenings had gone astray in earlier endeavours. One, specific loss that had surfaced the concealed worries buried within… the extinguished presence of the carmine clad Guardian whom she assists. Atypical, this metropolis instilled with a system that is to relinquish all apprehension of permanent quietus for the inhabitants, oddly safeguarded by the tyrannical sovereigns which imprison them so. Here, there is no escape lest it is their return of you back to whence you were extracted from, and yet she cannot come to believe it was dismissed for any means.

    Miraculous, still, are the silvern strands that sprawl before two, violaceous hues, ever vigilant to those of her kin that linger about. One existence which had flourished brilliantly in the recesses of her mind that had become lost in the events before, compelling her to enter this very dwelling beside the one she claims her own. Soles tap gently upon the hardened flooring, eyes scanning for the physique belonging to who she seeks.

    “Emiya,” vocables inquired, hopeful to receive a swift response.

    Quietude greets her whilst trekking further in, brows furrowing in analyzation of what it is this scan relays to her. It is only the swift turn of a corner that she catches sigh of a familiar, tanned countenance. Relief floods instantaneous through her, the abrupt palpitations of her chest accompanied with the fluttering of her stomach present. Ah, yet ire paints itself across porcelain features so despite such mild consolation, moisture welling at each corner of her eye, akin to an upset child toward another for predicaments neither participant could control.

    No hesitance is given with these next – forceful – steps forward, many perchance believing her to burst out in anger at him with such an infamous temper, were they present. One moment passes before limbs lift, howsoever, slipping around both sides of him to bury her face into his chest in a taut embrace. Elfin digits grip tight the loose cloth of his shirt, refusing to let him wrench himself to freedom for even a moment of time.

    “… thank God…”

oblitusidealis

     Instinctive how toned fingers grip the wooden shaft to pluck it from atop her back. Without delay does the faux weaponry soar through the air, aimed precise so it does not lay harm to any of the few pedestrians whom trek along the sidewalks. There is but a single target it is intended for, an inanimate object which soon becomes pinned to the softened crevice of a wall so that the torn bag does not clatter to the ground with what fragile insides might be at stake. Noting it now secured, only a few steps are taken to approach the item and the wielder which it had broken away from.

     ❝ Cut that one a little close, I’m afraid, ❞ she observes, seeing how near to the ground it had come to collision as an arm scoops beneath it, lifting it whilst yanking the makeshift spear out. Inspecting the more breakable groceries in the bag, lips curl into a smile before looking toward the tanned male. ❝ Looks like the contents received no damage, though! ❞

!right here all along: [closed]

    Mere hours, it seems, that she has been away from tangible reach. Soles stand themselves firm upon the ground, minimizing any movement that might provoke the dull throb which seeps into her core. Eyes narrow ever so slightly in wonderment, lithe fingers moving to rest tenderly over her heart where the pain presides. Whether it is due to the inflicted wound, or that of an instilled, missing ache due to being apart from one she has so foolishly become attached, is not something she can yet discern. That does not hinder her gaze from drilling itself to where a door blockades her entrance to this deemed home, limb lifting only to open it so she might gain entry to locate the Archer she knows dwell inside.

    Wooden flooring creaks beneath her minuscule weight, metal clicking whilst the door shuts behind her and she peruses the structure for any sign of life. Within these walls was the one she sought, albeit uncertain if he had awaited her arrival since her untimely departure. Briefly, there is an apprehension that nestles itself taut into her chest, that perhaps he was no longer amongst the inhabitants of this city; that he had left her behind to return on her lonesome as she to him.

    “Emiya–?”

    Vocables call this familiar name, accompanied only by the sound of her footsteps as she walks toward the hallway. It is only here that muscles tense, physique freezing upon hearing a door open itself down the dimly lit corridor. Before long, the Guardian whom she hailed for reveals himself from one of the rooms, doubtful if she should approach or await his own.

!dearly beloved: [closed]
oblitusidealis

     Lithe fingers trail along beneath the cushions in search of an item believed lost, features earnest whilst doing so with every fiber of her being. Concern washes over her porcelain countenance, as if that which she seeks is of utmost importance… and, within the recesses of her mind, albeit altered unwillingly, one could only agree that such a trinket was of this caliber. Only when the click of the door which alerts her to another entering this quaint home do violaceous hues shift from where they peer, glancing over her shoulder in minuscule curiosity.

     ❝ Emiya? ❞

     Of those whom reside within the adobe, she can merely presume that it is him. Lifting herself from her knees, she is leisurely in rounding to where the entrance is. Before long, familiar onyx lock with her own gaze, coral lips soon sprawling upward in order to conceal what worry one littered her visage prior. One step forward is all it takes before her hand extends forward, taking his into her own despite how naked one of her fingers felt, whilst giving it a gentle squeeze of welcome.

     ❝ Welcome home, ma moitié… ❞

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” Naught but a whisper escaped Caster’s lips, face turned bitter at the predicament she found herself in. With the ball in a week’s time, couples flourished throughout Hive with the aroma of love strong on the breeze. Yet, here she stood – all powerful sorcerer, witch from the age of Gods – dateless and alone. Again. Not one to take her current situation without resistance, she steeled her will and bite back her pride. 

Dejected and with only one option, Caster found herself before the only one she could ask. “A-archer.” Gods, someone shoot her now. “W-would you accompany me to the Ball?”

♔ a ruler in archer's clothing.

Blonde tufts trailed down her back as the young saint sat up in the bed, eyes drooping tiredly as she covered her mouth in a yawn. Initially the surrounding felt unhomely, the different environment still strange to her as her view came into focus. Whatever the case was, she had found no reason to be upset with this move that they conferred upon her. The results between the change, however, not so much.

An over sized shirt sat upon her shoulders, belonging to the other inhabitant of this room. Along the way her clothing had found themselves attracted to mishaps, a few tears and dust – hardly suitable to keep on. To ask permission for use of the attire that had been left out would have been ideal if not for the fact he was nowhere to be found. Concluding it was best to be clean than dirty, she had slid the garment on as if it were a temporary chemise.

Her plan had been to wait for the other Servant (or perhaps the roommates) to appear to ask for help in cleaning her outfits had resulted in her drifting to sleep. Machinery was not the issue, but the quantity of the items she needed to apply was beyond her. Unsure of how much time had passed while napping, she slid out from under the sheets to see if anyone was around. As the door had opened for her to wander out, there was another obstacle in her way. Eyes fluttered quickly as she stepped back, looking up to see who or what it was she had made contact with.

A quick moment was all it took before realizing who it was. Emiya?

One arm lifted to rub away the daze from her sight, the black sleeve that belonged to his shirt hanging loosely from her slender limb. And, as if forgetting the current outfit that she had on, she gave a bewildered look at his own lack of apparel.

… why is it that you are wandering the apartment with only trousers?

He’d been longing to swim since his first day here. Haruka had felt too beleaguered after arriving in the city to want to deal with the implications of his situation head-on; he would rather avoid the fuss and focus on the water. It was something he’d been used to finding consolation in in the past.

Unfortunately, there was currently no water to be found.

It seemed unlikely that there’d be a place to swim in this city, but at the very least it was worth some effort to find out. Maybe if he just asked around–

“Do you know where the pool is?”