fate/stay frosty

[renpy]

The HOLY GRAIL WAR Meme

Seven Masters, magi of the present day. Seven Servants, heroes of days past.One Holy Grail, granting whomever claims it a wish. Only one team of Master and Servant may claim it.
Who will it be?
For those unfamiliar with Fate/Stay Night or Fate/Zero, you can find a better explanation of the Holy Grail War here.

Instructions
1. Comment with your character. In the subject line, put that character's name, canon, and which role (Master, Servant, or either) you would like them to fulfill. Add other preferences if you would like. (NOTE: If your character can fill the role of Servant, I suggest you state which class(es) -- Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, or Berserker -- they fall into.)
2. Reply to others' comments. Pick your character's role (and the other character's if they list "Either" as their preference), then use the RNG to pick a scenario that fits the two characters' roles.
3. Enjoy! Though there might be triggers, depending on how the prompts are interpreted.


TWO MASTERS

1. Battle. Who says that Servants get to have all the fun? After all, most Masters try to kill each other, too. Whatever the circumstances, the two of you are locked in a fight. Neither of you are willing to use your Command Spells just yet, so no Servants here. Just two magi duking it out.

2. Alliance. There's a bigger threat out there. Either one Servant is exceptionally powerful, or the situation has changed and the participants need to take action aginst it. One way or another, you're teamed up with one of your rivals for the Holy Grail. How long will this last before you try to stab each other in the back? Or, will something more develop?

3. Protection. Uh-oh! One of you has lost your Servant! Unfortunately, there's no way you'd get to the church safely on your own, so the other one will help you get there! Or maybe you don't trust the priest presiding over the Holy Grail War and are giving shelter to them yourself? Given their track record, no one would blame you.

4. Death. One or both of you lay dying. It might have been by the other's hand, or by someone else's entirely. How will you spend your last moments in the presence of one of your rivals?

5. You, Too? Surprise! You may have been friends before, but you've just discovered that you're both Masters! How will you handle this revelation?

6. Wild Card. Roll again, pick one of the previous options, or make one up!


MASTER AND SERVANT

1. Are You My Master? The summoning is complete. Whether intentional or not, catalyst or not, a magus has summoned a Servant. What kind of meeting was it? Was everything totally under control, or did a hitch occur? Or maybe it happened in the middle of a life-or-death situation!

2. Identity. Either the Servant has flat out told the Master their identity, or they unleashed their Noble Phantasm. Either way, the cat is out of the bag. How will the Master react, now that they know their Servant's name and legend? Will anything change between the two?

3. Battle Aftermath. A battle has just ended. Who participated? Are either of you hurt? Did the Master have to use a Command Spell? Any number of things could have happened here.

4. Discord. Uh-oh. It looks like the Master and the Servant don't get along. Here come the arguments! Don't do something stupid, like waste a Command Spell over a triviality...

5. Love. And then, there's the opposite. Sometimes Masters and Servants fall in love with each other. How will this affect things?

6. Wild Card. Roll again, pick one of the previous options, or make one up!


TWO SERVANTS

1. Battle. This is what usually happens when two Servants meet -- they duke it out. This probably says enough as it is.

2. Alliance. There's a bigger threat out there. Either one Servant is exceptionally powerful, or the situation has changed and the participants need to take action aginst it. One way or another, you're teamed up with one of your rivals for the Holy Grail. How long will this last before you try to stab each other in the back? Or, will something more develop?

3. The Grail Dialogues. Maybe you're not interested in fighting just yet. Maybe you just want to sit down and talk with the other Servant. Find out what they want, what makes them tick. Get some wine while you're at it -- nothing like good wine to go with good talk!

4. Death. One or both of you lay dying...again. It might have been by the other's hand, or by someone else's entirely. How will you spend your last moments in this War in the presence of one of your rivals?

5. Identity. Congratulations, you've just learned each other's identities! Will this change the situation, or will you press onward?

6. Wild Card. Roll again, pick one of the previous options, or make one up!

Comments

I am actually really tickled by that username XD

[rennotrin]

"Akira. That's a seriously cute name."

He watches, gaze bright and glittering, as he takes in his Master's - Akira's - response, and then steps in closer. His short boots lightly tap on the floor with his movements.

"Never summoned before, huh? It's okay. I'm here and I'm real. See?"

Gently taking Akira's hands, he guides them to his cheeks. Rider's skin is warm to the touch as he lets Akira's fingers and palms lay flat against his face.

He can't get over the fact that Akira is so damned cute. He wants to just touch and touch and touch some more!

Never mind the fact that, with him leaning in so close, the collar of his shirt visibly sways from his torso, revealing a tight tank top underneath.

hehehe

[lacrimoese]

Akira flushes pink at Rider's boldness, his eyes inevitably travelling down to look under his collar. He gulps, embarassed by the contact.

"N-nice to meet you," he says timidly. "I hope we can work together?"

<3~

[rennotrin]

"Yeah. I already think we're pretty compatible."

Gently letting go of Akira's hands, he straightens up, picking up the stick again from where he'd dismissed it.

"I'm not a super powerful spirit, unfortunately. But I tend to be very lucky. And when I confirm a contract with someone, I pour my all into everything they've asked.

"You look like someone I'd willingly contract with even if I was alive. In... more ways than one."

In spite of his words and their true meaning, he smiles almost purely, unable to help but say what's exactly on his mind at the time.

"So. What does Akira-san want while I am here?"

[travailler]

So humble. You sounded like a genuine knight...but I suppose that must be normal from your perspective.

[That little speech of Saber's may have made Elphelt's heart skip, but she has to remember she is dealing with legendary heroes. Things that are amazing to her will be mundane to them. So, even if that was the most passionate thing anyone has said to her, it could very well be something Saber had once done on the regular.

...Still, it was nice. It's the exact sort of thing she would daydream a knight saying to her.]

Mmm! I'll be relying on you for all those sorts of things, Mi--Um, Saber. If a Master is like the wife, then what the Servant is should be obvious. So, things like heavy lifting, fighting, opening jars, reaching things up high--

[Her little trance is broken as she frowns and gives Saber another look-over. Okay, so if there is something on a shelf out of Elphelt's reach, well...]

Maybe not that last one. But!

[She has forgotten they are still holding each other's hands and unconsciously squeezes Saber's in excitement. Finally, she looks at Saber face-to-face again, even if she is still feeling embarrassed. ]

I'll be relying on you. I don't think cleaning or cooking would be appropriate for a hero to help with, though. Baking doesn't usually require much muscle, you know. Certainly no swords.

[If Saber were to sit around doing nothing outside of fighting, Elphelt would be more than content with that. Practically speaking, tending to a Servant's every need would keep her in prime shape for battle, right? Troubling her with mundane tasks would be a waste. Never mind that Elphelt would simply...enjoy it. It is embarrassing, summoning a Heroic Spirit in no small part in hopes of playing house.

Still, if Saber wishes to do more than be waited on, Elphelt is happy with that, too.]

Oh! Speaking of that. [A pout.] You were supposed to say "yes, please and thank you, princess!" when the lady of the house offers food and drink. That's just good manners.

[lacrimoese]

Akira takes a second to collect himself, his hands tingling from the contact with Rider's warm skin. He anxiously plays with the hem of his shirt to give himself something to do.

"I summoned you to fight in the Holy Grail War," he says. "Or... I'm supposed to fight. But I don't really want to hurt anyone."

Now his servant would definitely reject him, right? He would have only answered his summons if he wanted to fight for the Grail.

[rennotrin]

So cute so cute so cuuuute.

"...Yeah, I get that. It would be nice if everyone could just talk things out." Nodding, Ren offers a gentle smile. "If you don't want to fight, then I'll just protect you."

Brandishing the stick, he made a few practice swings with it.

"When I was alive, I actually didn't end up fighting until I got older. I lived a life of love until the end. My birth family cut me down when I was in my thirties."

It's still a bit painful to recall, knowing how much his parents hated him. Enough to send people to kill him. But love is still more important than hate, in his opinion. It's a potent force, and it meant that he didn't have many regrets.

Other than wanting to have lived a longer life, for one. And to not have still spent much of that life in lingering fear. Hindsight told a lot about what those feelings were and meant.

"So... I'll protect you. If it means I have to hurt someone to keep you safe, so be it. But if you don't want to fight, then you don't have to fight. It's that simple.

"My contract is with you, above all else, not some silly war."

And certainly not his own selfish desire to live again. Still, his smile is a little sad, even though it's very, very warm.

perfect!

[grail]

[ He’s so cavalier! Sakura, on the other hand, is still just a little shaken— either from how close that fight was, or the suddenness of having her servant’s identity revealed to her, or maybe a little bit of both. Her palms are sweaty, her heart is pounding.

It’s a teeny-tiny bit of a relief, though. Knowing who, exactly, she’s working with. ]

I... I see. [ A nod. She folds her hands, her fingers squeezing together as she watches him. ] I’m afraid I don’t know very much about you...

[ So, that’s probably why she didn’t pick up on it sooner. ]

But I’ll do my best to learn, Archer. [ There’s determination, or something like it, in her eyes. ] Now that I know who you are, it should be easier for us to work together, right?

master-servant 2

[warblish]

( saber is rather handsome — kurt could not help the idle thought skipping across his consciousness, hopscotching and hopeless, on warmest days when the war is, for once, softened by the summer swell, each pair of master and servant seeming to save their battles for cooler climates, as the heat drips in wet afternoon bouts of rain, the semisweet odor of cloying molasses and barley, withering corn husks and ripened garden vegetables, wafting in the stifling atmosphere.

as half-grown as a vine of emerald and ruby tomatoes, blotting at the tender undersides of his arms with tissues to wipe the dots of sweat, he watches — golden threads of hair pinned tidily back, the soft line of firm jaw, the parting of white cotton as one button is unfastened at the throat: he can't glimpse an adam apple, there. kurt is swarmed in perfumed thoughts of how firm saber's fingers might feel, when helping in the domestic chores of carrying laundry baskets or grocery shopping, if their hands were to brush.

and upon offering two popsicles, one for each of them, to suckle at, if a thumb happens to incidentally brush an index finger upon handing over the treat, his shiver is entirely from the iced drip of artificial watermelon and candy seeds down the cuff of one sleeve. ) so, ( he enquires, girlish and gay, between a mouthful of sugared fruit slush: ) what did you want to tell me? ( he swallows.

the title of king carries with it an implication, one he had so wishingly and foolishly believed. ) — arthur? king arthur? but — you're not — ( kurt is but a beginner, mana-dysfunctional with a pin-prickled, pacifist heart; whereas saber is royalty, ermine-furred and crowned and deserving of a master of prestige. for them to meet each other, circumstances as they are, could have been nothing short of an extraordinary turn of fate. ) you're not a boy? ( with wobbling words and a phlegm-dripping nose and damp lashes, it comes out as heart-fractured. ) ——— oh. well, um. ( he wipes his spilling gaze on his sleeve. and all the previous details from before, confront him: the slight swell of her chest, narrow shoulders, the battle gown. the bunches of wildflowers and patches of thorned berries and pollen just beyond the porch, lit with the bulbs of fireflies, give an excuse for his tears. ) then you won't want to share a room with me, anymore.

[arturiarex]

[ Her new Master is an interesting one; he's young, younger than her (although you would not know it by looking; she is eternally youthful, trapped like a fly in amber), soft around the edges and classically handsome (she notices in a detached way) that reminds her of one of the knights who used to ride out with her. Different, though. Not concerned with feats of arms or ruling or mastering the world. No, he has different goals and his feet take him down a different path.

She doesn't mind that at all. In fact, she secretly enjoys it, hiding her own thoughts and emotions behind the stoic mask she tends to arrange her face into. It isn't always easy - she is a Servant, yes, but the heat still affects her and the slow, long summer days seem to melt into one another, with little sign of action and instead she has been content to help him simply live, half-hoping that the domestic idyll can last a little longer.

There is shopping and laundry and occasional gardening (although she has never claimed to have a green thumb) and a dozen other things to keep her Master's house in order. She is a King, true, but she began life ignorant of the fact and it brings tom ind her happier days in her youth, when all she had to worry about was her "family" and little else.

But he deserves to know.

So she accepts the popsicle, feels the brush of his finger and attributes to nothing more than chance. His shiver to nothing more than the ice-cold. She does have a love for the food of this era and popsicles are almost a miracle to her - cool and sweet and frozen. ]

Yes.

[ This conversation feels like it should be more formal than it is. Despite the heat, she wears a shirt, buttoned to the collar and wrist, neat slacks. It keeps her focused. Presentable. Easier than wearing her armor at all times. ]

You may have guessed already, but I feel as if I should tell you - my true identity. [ A pause and she licks the popsicle, feeling a bit silly. ] I am Arturia Pendragon; King Arthur, of legend.

[ His reaction makes her less sure and her hand lowers, popsicle forgotten for the moment so she can focus on him. There is a flicker of confusion in her eyes. She is not used to affection, to love, to romance, and so it takes her long moments to figure out what's gone wrong and why his eyes start to well with tears and why his voice seems to crack slightly. He is not an experienced mage or one with a killer instinct, but she thinks she cares for him all the more for that.

Why does he start to cry?

You're not a boy.

Things start to fall into place or she thinks they do. Her popsicle melts, spattering stickiness against the porch. ]

Why not? [ She sounds surprised, slightly confused. ]

Master, that doesn't matter to me. [ Perhaps he thinks it inappropriate for them to share a room, now that he understands her sex. ]

I don't believe you would do anything inappropriate. [ Or maybe - but Saber has never been good with love or romance. She misunderstands completely. ] Besides, its for your protection.

[giacoso]

Ack--!

[ W-was that the proper etiquette? This might be one of the tougher parts of the war, at this rate-- ]

I'll, uh, keep that in mind! I just didn't want to put you out, is all. Like, I figured it'd be more proper if you didn't trouble yourself for my sake... Oh, and I can reach high places, don't give me that look!

[ She'll just...need to make some kind of a platform, that's all! All of her bravado from earlier is crumbling by the second as she stammers out a rebuttal, as though she's been caught off guard. She doesn't know for sure, but she senses that Elphelt might be a little scary, when it comes to this sort of thing. Call it a hunch-- ]

And besides, you didn't tell me that sweets would factor in. [ She did say "baking," didn't she? That's a pretty easy way to Saber's heart, if nothing else. She can't remember the last time she's gotten to enjoy a warm slice of cake...being a Heroic Spirit doesn't exactly give you many chances to stuff your face. ] If you had started off with that, I would've been crazy to say no...

[lacrimoese]

"Your family... killed you?" Akira's eyes brim with tears, upset, but also touched at that declaration he would protect him. He rubs at his eyes, moving to sit.

They're in the ruins of an abandoned church, a faint, dusty light filtering through the windows, evidently so Akira could summon in secret. He sits on a dusty pew, looking tearfully at Rider.

"Will you tell me your real name sometime?"

[scions]

( i can't believe that thanks to rng we have noble mage!madsen and shitass saber!nero. let the disaster begin. also whichever version you wanna use, you know i'm already well in hand on dmc5 spoilers. )

[ At this point, she really shouldn't be surprised that while she was able to summon a Saber servant, he would of course be, well. Not exactly the type that she was envisioning after the summoning. Still, she can't exactly complain too much. Never mind that she's sure he is grateful that she can handle herself if worst comes to worst. Something about dead weight, which got him a solid elbow in the ribs afterward.

Madsen's currently pouring over a map of the city, playing with a few sparks in her hand while she tries to figure out just what to do next when she hears him return. ]

Anything interesting?

[revelare]

[That voice...? Holmes wonders why it's so familiar to him. He goes through his mental library, pulling up what he can find. Women... women with a bossy attitude in uniform... ah, he actually knows a lot of people like that. He doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

The best course of action would be to remain hidden. This is a Servant he's dealing with, a force unrestrained by humanity's values and rules. If he openly challenged her, he may be opening himself up to an early death.

That's why he remains where he is. Thinking. Analyzing. Slowly, he starts to slink to another hiding place--]

[rennotrin]

Ah.. he didn't mean to make him cry, but he's touched that someone he's only just met feels so strongly about it. He moves to sit with him, gently reaching out to pull his Master into an easy, one-armed hug.

"Yeah. It's Nagai Ren." Born Nagai Rin. Age of death: 31. A folk hero of sorts, on a journey for self-discovery and unabashedly offering his love as far as he could reach, even to strangers. For a long time, a lot of people had tales about him and his bottomless kindness. His death (after about 14 years of freedom) by the firearm his father held led to the uprooting and eradication of the cult he'd hailed from, including prison time for the leaders involved.

But most well-known, as well, for riding anyone he found attractive.

"You deserve to know my name, after all. You're welcome to call me by my first name when we're alone. But so I can protect you, it has to be "Rider" in public for now."

[warblish]

( as if pastel cherry blossoms, battered from the branch, he trembles dumbly, sniffling as he tries to articulate a reason, mopping up the thick pearls of fast-falling tears with the palm of his hand, the hem of his cardigan: sailor-esque attire of powder blue and pales, the translucent wrapper of his popsicle rattling as he crumples it up, half a triangle wedge bitten off entirely, falling to join its splattered sibling in a melting puddle of red dye.

above, hordes of opaque clouds drift, as if ships in seas, darkening the boiling sun as they cross, as if viewed through sheets pinned to a clothesline. it gives him a few moments to gather himself, refraining from all but bursting into sobs, gulping gasps and choked breaths and candy-scented cries. breathing thinly through twin nostrils, his chin cants upwards, diamond-sparkling gaze puffed powder-pink from weeping, chocolate lashes clumped and matted, studying, truly, for the first time: just how lovely she is, in her androgyny, the mingling of the masculine. how he still admires the rose-pale curl of her ear, unadorned by jewelry, or the sharp cut of boyish slacks on her figure, or the gloss-less matte of her mouth.

his own mouth trembles, parting and wet and salt-flavored, the cupid bow of his upper lip strung taut, the bottom one puckering slightly, before — he presses a hand against it, muffling his words, bony knuckles against hard teeth. )

you're very special to me, saber. how — other boys — just boys — are special to me.

( not quite a confession; rather, an explanation. as she had been honest with him, even as it swiftly scissors his heart in two. as much as, one day, he aims to be an adult capable of protecting himself, to stand upon his own buckling knees, he is simply just an adolescent, and the protection she affords him is a warm comfort, a guilt-ribboned pleasure, as if he is cherished and treasured. following behind her, until autumn comes, and winter glooms, and spring blooms. ) i wouldn't, i won't, i — ( he nods in assurance, fumbling and stumbling. )

i — i wish — my wish for the grail is love. ( pure and true love, granted by magic or mythos: gestures of chaste affections, from infatuation sprouting the first growth of a spring adoration, romance flourishing with golden rings and wedding bells. not to ever push his feelings onto another, but if the grail can give just one gift, as childish as it is, he has chosen. kurt watches saber, if she would decipher his definiton. )

[lacrimoese]

Akira gratefully accepts the hug, and suddenly, on hearing that name, things seem to make sense. His willingness to protect Akira over participating in the war, certainly.

Had Ryo intended for him to summon this particular hero? Somehow he doubts it. He wipes his eyes again and sniffs.

"I understand, Rider. And I'll protect you, too, so you don't have to hurt like that again."

[arturiarex]

[ Saber can feel her heart wrenching in her chest and she tries to clamp down on it; to maintain that stoic demeanor she's built for herself and maintained through her time as king, through her time here, but Kurt - Kurt is different and although he's her master, he's also a friend by this point, as young as he is and as strange as he sometimes seems to her. She likes him, wants him to be happy, beyond that banal role of master and servant. So seeing him close to simply and openly weeping disturbs her and she tosses her popsicle aside and scoots down the porch step until she's still alongside him, gaze fixated out over the yard.

Distant, but close, because she has never been good at this sort of thing. However much she'd like to be. To comfort has not been in her nature. It's awkward, different, something apart from the icy coolness of being the unfeeling king. Her hands seem to want to do something, raising half an inch before they settle on her knees again, back straight, strands of that golden hair falling across her face from where they've come loose from her ponytail.

His words finally make her understand.

Maybe it really is her lot in life to be doomed by love. ]

I... think I understand.

[ She says the words slowly, forming them, as if trying them out before reluctantly setting them free into the world. He is a lover of men. Of boys. And for a time he thought she was one, which - well. It's not entirely inaccurate. She was a king. But now he knows and perhaps his love cannot be anymore; maybe it changes.

Her heart twists again. Doesn't she care about him? Is that love? She always pushed the thought of it away. Her gaze slides to him, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she tries to formulate a response that won't feel stilted and awkward. Kurt isn't androgynous; perhaps more feminine, but undeniably male in his form and the school uniform reinforces that, even if he looks younger than he really is. Boyish. Charming.

Well, would be, if he weren't close to completely weeping. ]

That... is a good wish, I think. [ Her voice is soft, grasping onto something she feels she can actually discuss. ]

Although I don't know if the Grail can control others hearts.

[ Another pause, a realization that that may not be what he wants to hear. She draws a breath, the coolness in her eyes warming as she glances sidelong at him, still unsure of how to approach this. It is not in her nature. ]

Romance was beyond me, I admit, as king. I thought I did not have time for it; that I could not... express it and still love my people. [ Her fingers curl against the cloth of her slacks, old memories dredged up. Bad memories. ]

...I have never known love like that. Not in the way I think you mean.

[ Which is an indirect, almost awkward way of saying she, perhaps, wouldn't mind finding it. But that isn't what she's here for, is it? It's to fight, to die, to win the Grail for him. But isn't that love, in a way? Especially with him, young and full of potential and hope and a wish for something so utterly romantic and heroic. She envies him that youthful, wide-eyed belief. ]

I am sorry that I'm not who you believed me to be. [ That, said softer, apologetic. Not wretched, but sincere. ] That I cannot be that person for you.

[disinfection]

[The scent of smoke, the faint signs of an addict. Nightingale couldn't see his hiding place but her sense for 'illness' was useful here. She wasn't as fast as some other Servants but she is quick. She catches him between hiding places. She stops. The aggression that had been in her voice fades to annoyance.]

Dear Lord... I don't know if I should praise or curse my luck. [The words are muttered to herself but she's not at all quiet. She knows she should attack but this was where her interests and that of her Master differed.] Mister Sherlock Holmes. It's been a while, sir, but I believe you can help. After all--there have been no death announcements for a certain woman with a lamp, correct?

[Nightingale hates the nickname but it was an easy enough name to say that other Servants might not recognize yet.]

[pawper]

[A vague snarl in reply, more animal than human for all that it's uttered in a young woman's voice — cracked and hoarse, rough from alternating spells of disuse and primal howling. There had been violence in her muddy eyes when first summoned into this world, spirit filling the prepared vessel only to find a master that was hardly a master at all. Just a boy dressed up in a role too big for him, weak and delicate, tender like a newborn lamb. It's a wonder she hadn't simply eaten him and gone looking for someone stronger.

Speaking of:]

I'm hungry.

[Always, always hungry, never quite sated even after gorging her fill. (On fast food, stray animals, the occasional homeless.) That it's said more like an idle complaint this time, without the usual threatening urgency, is simply out of the begrudged awareness of their shared plight; even feral beasts had some measure of cunning.

She pokes at the command seals on his hand with a dirty claw, looming over him like a monolith.]

How long?

[pawper]

Eh?

[Looking up from pulling a chair back to sit across from Inaba — not that she needs to eat, or plans to go through the motion of pretending that she did. (It'd just be rude to waste food like that, one of the few things she seemed to lack much patience for.) Sticking close to her master is simply another one of this Saber's quirks, along with the propensity for housework and not killing her enemies.]

What're you talking about? [It takes longer than it should for realization to hit; she touches a still-fresh cut on her cheek, a glancing blow that otherwise could have taken her head off, and frowns a little.] ...oh, this? It's just a scratch, Master!

[Saber tilts her head, looking honestly puzzled by the apology.]

I didn't want to waste your energy for no reason, that's all. You don't have anything to be sorry for.

[warblish]

( she was. just minutes before, she had been the very seed of an apple only he beheld, the armor of his cushion-plump heart, midas hues of finery, bronze, and butter, sun-petals and june mornings, the one to rouse him in the dawn, to greet him home in the afternoon, to bid him a good slumber in the evening. and, in his secret imaginings, even more than dear friend and domestic companion: saber as the brisk husband, and kurt, flour-powdered and apron-tied as he cares for the home. but never an expectation, nor a reality. she is sapphire-blooded and valiant and carries her crumbling kingdom with her still, upon a crown of thistles and thorns. in her reign, he would have scraped and bowed before her as a peasant, and in his era, she is still a glorious after-image of her tale, compared to his common lineage.

he loved — loves — loved her. )

don't be. ( he mumbles, beginning to settle, sniffing hard and a stain of pink across his mouth, the flavor of wood and sugar, distilled childhood. a glimpse of a pink petal, blotting away the residue with his tongue, his faltering fingers. from her hands, taut against the material of her trousers, the shared subject is a sharp twig, to prod and pester at their individual bruises. he begins to protest, that his wish is not to infringe against the wills of others, but she must be correct, that there could be no other method: no male has loved him, wholly, and no one will. unless the grail conceives of a new man, borne from earth. )

romance can be expressed in — other ways, i find: a love letter in a notebook, ( how he has written names in curling petite lettering, jejune oaths and miniature artworks of hearts and arrows. ) or serenading someone, ( ballads still written upon his tongue. ) or telling them, even when they say no, after. ( but he has never had a lover, never been taken to bed, nor loved so thoroughly in methods rather not thought of, so it is all just his fanciful, fruitless, futile thoughts. whether in exhaustion or surrender, kurt leans inwards, as if birch bones and paper limbs folding, drawing paired knees to his chest, a frown curling his lips downwards.

his smallest finger, laid across the wood floorboards, is centimeters from hers. how he blushes at the hint of contact, how his jumbled feelings cannot simply end, how-ever they may be: platonic, romantic, intimatish. to linger on a matter other than his own shattered-ornament heart, a valentine-bright bauble gathering dust, he says: ) i'll die without you. ( uttered with absolute finality; he cannot bear to raise a hand against even his enemies. moreover, his dribbling mana cannot infinitely supply her. how does he replenish it?

a treasure trove of iced sticky sweets in plastic molds shimmers in a nearby bucket of ice. he takes a lemonade-yellow one, citrus-sharp and fragrant, and extends it to her, trembling fingers held around its stick. ) i'll share it with you. i'll share all my mana with you, too.

[arturiarex]

[ Lineage means very little to her anymore; what matters is to be a good ruler rather than a foolish one. Blood brings with it burdens and responsibilities, but she is not sure she believes any longer in the idea that blood can give one that inherent capability to rule. The right. Her bloodline was strong; she was the heir to Uther, to all of England, and yet she failed in the end. Her kingdom cast down in wreckage and ruin, her knights (her friends) dead and dying around her and her own child mortally wounding her in their last confrontation.

No; she would be king again, if she could be, if only to fix what she has broken.

That is no longer her path, though. Her path is to seek the Grail; to fight for another and to die if necessary. Over and over again. ]

Even those ways- [ There is an ache in her words, in her bones, even thought she sits as straight and rigid as ever, still strong, still bearing the weight of the world (of her failures) and refusing to flinch. ]

-I was not good at them. I did not use them. And that is partially why my kingdom crumbled apart.

[ She sounds matter-of-fact about it, even though she hates the memory, regrets the hurt she inflicted on her wife. She cannot change that, though. Unless the Grail grants her redemption and another chance, but that is a dream.

The scrape of wood, the closeness of his hand, is noticeable and she debates with herself for a long moment, unsure if she should push him away; discourage him now that his heart has already been broken, or if he would prefer something from her. There is so much that she cannot give him, but she is still his Servant and he is still her Master. As weak a mage as he is, she will not turn away from him. It is not in her nature.

So she watches him for a moment, watches the way he folds in on himself, hurting and wretched, and her finger moves a fraction of an inch, allowing their hands to rest side by side, the barest touch of skin. A warmth, the beating pulse of mana that keeps her alive, fuels her. She takes from the world and from him, even though what he gives is the barest trickle of it. He says he will die, though, and that makes her glance at him (fully, for the first time since this awkward conversation began), eyes wide in alarm. ]

Kurt-

[ She's starting to object. He cannot die. She has pledged herself to him. She won't let that happen. Better for her to perish. ]

Kurt, I won't allow that. I won't let you- [ For the first time, her voice seems to waver, to choke slightly with emotion. He is offering to... what? Give her every scrap of his life-force, as much as he can tear out of himself and pour into her? For what? For himself? For her? ]

I can't let you destroy yourself for my sake. [ She continues, slow and sad, and worried. She reaches out her other hand - the other remains, fingers brushing his in a touch that feels too intimate and yet too casual - and takes the sweet from him. Their fingers touch and she pauses like that, frozen in the moment, the two of them sharing that hold. ]

I can't let you die. I won't. [ his offer lingers though. It hangs in the air and she wonders - if she had more mana, would she stand a better chance of winning? Her voice has gone soft again. ]

You deserve to live.

[ He could order her, of course. He still has the command seals. She doesn't want to think about that, though. ]

[summonthee]

[ "Absolute commands", huh. Judging from the slightest furrow in her brow, she's not sure if she really likes the idea of having that kind of power over someone else. Maybe in the sense of an order like having him move a certain distance in a certain direction if it looks like he's about to be hit by something, but...

Well. Chances are she probably won't be using them if she can help it. Nobody should be forced into anything, regardless of the whole spirit vs human argument.

That teeny tiny smile of his is met with one of her own, charmed by something as simple as Rider's careful enunciation of her name. They're equals in this, after all; Sheena can't hope to survive without Rider's presence, and Rider can't survive without Sheena's mana to keep him going. It just makes sense to set a precedent of equality right from the get-go, right?

Plus in her experience trying to get uppity with a powerful spirit is just asking for things to go pear-shaped later on. She likes Rider, for all the fact they've just met, and would really rather keep things on a positive basis if she can help it. He's really the only friendly face she's got out here in unknown territory. ]

If you want to be called anything other than "Rider", you only need to say. [ It just seems like confining him to a title is a little unfair. But if he prefers it that way, who is she to judge?
She's just about to ask about his name when a sudden epiphany has her straightening up abruptly (and wincing from jostling her ribs). ]

Ah, that reminds me... I have some theories on how we can take Berserker out of the picture.

[ She pauses for a moment to bundle up some ice cubes in the little towel, pressing the cold compress against her side with only the tiniest hiss as she exhales through her teeth. Definitely going to pick up some bandages and numbing salve tomorrow if she can find any. ]

I think it... he? Whatever. Berserker relies mostly on seeing his targets. Did you see how we kept gaining distance whenever we broke direct line of sight? [ And the fact she'd stayed hidden despite all the noise of tumbling into the warehouse, yet Berserker pinpointed her exact location the moment her seal started to light up... ] I don't know for sure, but it's a start. What do you think?

[lonelylies]

[ Would you be interested in a werewolf Berserker or Lancer to Otome's Master? ]

[dereban]

[ "Just a scratch," she says, in a way that seems practically nonchalant to the point where it almost visibly bothers her. Placing the cup back down onto the table, she just idly stares into her drink as if it would give her any of the answers to the questions that stir in the back of her mind. ] No... even so, if I were a better Master, we might have won this War by now.