We could scrap but my magical resistance is pretty high.
I’m not into the fight club life. If you got pass my shield I may break a nail and scream loudly. Wait until I get reinforcement back, then I’ll call you.
Do you really think she’d care Caster? Really?
This is the only entertainment I have left! Let me have my fun.
This was a situation that normally he would be found far from. It was strange enough to take in the fact that he had to live alongside countless heroic spirits. Now the fates had decreed that, on an almost daily basis, he had to hang around them as well. This complaint wasn’t to all though, no. There was one particular one that he rather enjoyed living with though would never openly admit.
Now here was the servant he least expected to appear. It was also the one he caught the most despite their mutual distaste for the others presence."The… ball?" He’d heard news of the event but hadn’t any plans to attend. The last dance off had been quite a hassle for both him and his companion. Though it did leave a memorable moment on the roof….
Naturally he would refuse. Normally he would refuse. Tears, he couldn’t stand the sight of the things just daring to fall from her eyes. "My my…" The bowman sighed, bowing his head in defeat. "I suppose I don’t have a choice."
For the amount of control Caster usually displayed, could display in such dire times, now was her weakest moment. Mask of calm faltered, anxiety and embarrassment plain across her features, colored a subtle shade of pink. Though never one to admit her feelings in such a straightforward manner — let alone to Archer, of all people — her hand had been forced. Thus a series of unfortunate events had lead Caster to where she was now, much against her own pride, let alone self respect.
Initial fears came from ideas involving rejection, forcing her to once more hide in the shadows with her loneliness. Now, with his answer aired, head lowered in defeat, her fear became of being undesirable as a date. "D-don’t say that. You make it sound like I’m forcing you to do this, Archer." A nervous twitch of the ears followed. “O-or am I inadequate for such a ball?”
Such had been the case last time, along with dying in a pool of her own blood. But this, right now, was seemingly far worse then that. “Trust me, if I had another way of doing this, I would have taken it. But considering what’s happened lately, I just want to go somewhere nice with an acquaintance.”
The girls, the cozy house that surrounded him—it all shook Jack to his very core. Was it real? He wanted it to be real, wanted it more than anything else at that very moment. He wanted to walk into the kitchen and find out that the girls had stolen the latest batch of cookies that Jack was saving for their packed lunches, or to take them all on a Sunday drive to eat burgers and apple pie at the diner downtown. He wanted all those things he’d lost—the things he had lost and had kept from his mind in his time here in Hive City.
The memories were returning, unbidden, and he was not sure what he would do. Or could do, even.
As much as he wanted things to be otherwise, it still didn’t feel right. His gut told him it was a trap, and that was a feelin he knew too well. Again and again and again the little voice in the back of his head told him to grab Medea’s hand again and bug out. But he stayed. This was the first time he’d seen the girls and even if it was fake… he was too selfish to let an opportunity like this pass. Even if it would bring him harm in the end.
He exhaled deeply, then smiled. Anyone could see the pained expression on his features—everyone, that is, except for himself. The cozy home around him did not feel real.
"We should go sit down. I bet you’re all hungry. Me and my friend’ll be in the kitchen." Jack was answered by a chorus of ‘Yes, Papa’s. As the girls flocked away from Jack, he straightened up.
"M-Medea… could you come with me, please?" He began to move to what he remembered was the kitchen, till he stood in front of the door. "I’m…" He wanted to say scared but he couldn’t even manage the word.
Despite how real the home she stood in felt, or how warm the children’s hands were, Caster continued to doubt her surroundings. The timber underfoot, soft cloth of the couch and touch of human skin may have felt real, but the senses were easy to fool, as was the mind. Still, such level of detail impressed even the witch, a mental applause to the scientists for their work. Insufferable lot they may be, but they didn’t skip on things when it came to their experiments.
Expression calm, blue eyes glanced across her surroundings; mentally taking note. Thus far nothing had deviated from the norm, or so Caster understood. It was all perfect, just as Jack had left it when taken. No metaphorical crack in reality to be found, she began to doubt her initial impressions. It may not have been real — a simple trick of the mind, taken from the memories they held dear — but was that so bad? For now, Caster could not say.
Gears turned within her mind, with her eyes wandered to Jack himself for verification. Instead of a smile in return for his reunion, she found a pained looked of anxiety and fear once more, one that destroyed her doubts. A man like Jack didn’t show such emotion unless the moment was dire. Even his voice — strong as it was — held a quiver of uncertainty. With that in mind, Caster followed him quietly into the kitchen, face falling when no one besides him was looking.
"Jack." Concerned as she was, there was little Caster could offer at the moment. Instead of words of encouragement — lies or otherwise — she reached out and gently held his hand, curling delicate fingers around his own. "We can leave if you want. There’s no point in staying if it’s going to hurt you."
I was beaten by a nine year old homunculis and man with peck’s the size of a mountain. Bye.
Lancer’s three measurements:
Saber’s three measurements:
Weak! Both of you, weak!