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[exousiate]

ah, there it is. not that it had been unexpected— the reaction was fairly common, regardless whether he can put himself in the position of someone else. Marie will claim him the more human of the two but she has not seen him question, again and again, why people are so foolish.

“Temporary, I suppose, but it is the only solution I can offer.” his tone does not reflect any turmoil. no one had ever claimed he was accustomed to being openly gentle.

⠀⠀... A moment of silence, followed by a confused sound as he takes the offered slip of paper. He gives it a quick scan from front to back, his frown refusing to ease up. Fifteen percent off an order of fifty dust or higher. ... Now he gives an irritated huff— being pitied on under the assumption that he might be either poor or a cheapskate... Neither choice is flattering.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"... That's just... a bandage for a lame-ass market. ... But, thanks— or... whatever."

[exousiate]

a non-committal hum. not a single emotion passes across his face, and only when it is all over, a hand ruminates through his purchased bag of goods. his expression remains unreadable as he checks over the paper, inspecting it, before offering it without any words.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"What the hell— sixty dust for, like... four fruits and one meat?? This is robbery— I feel like someone should get their ass kicked for this. Where are the farmers around here??"

[exousiate]

“It does not appear the situation will settle down any time soon.” and though it would, it would not come without the unnerving consequences.

"Closing the Branches is going to displace some people. My house has a few spare rooms for anyone who would like somewhere to stay, I'm confident there will be enough others with open doors to help one another until the... situation resolves".

[exousiate]

a hand massages his forehead, attempting to lower the pain but it is useless. in his experience, any suspiciously familiar sensation means his head will hurt. and he does not have the time for those, or their meaning. being accustomed to them is not pleasant, though he does not have any intention of finding why this particular one is so persistent.

[exousiate]

despite the years, he finds himself with a tenderness that has not diluted, as his fingers pass carefully through each knot to undo them. the brush has helped, but he has found a liking into spending hours with this, doing her hair. it is not a chore, rather the opposite, it brings so much peace though he is not quite good at saying so. sometimes, it is easier to say action speak louder than words but he likes to talk with Marie, as much as he enjoys the silence.

it's not that he is unaware — he is intimately acquainted with the truth, that it is far easier to never speak of the matter. Marie doesn't tell him anything, that he should look away when mourning her, but he had never been good at that. perhaps a long ago, in those bygone days, though he is unsure since it has been centuries.

being indifferent to suffering, that is. what is grief if not another wound? he carries plenty with frightening ease, but he makes the effort to not have more for her sake. his own sight has never given him respite, he can only imagine hers is heavier. humming under his breath, his hands stop for a second.

“Marie, what happened to the air fryer?” his fingers resume their braiding, before he leans against her shoulder. a mumble in his native tongue passes through, the endearment gentle like the brush of a kiss.

@animasend

[exousiate]

“Concerning? I suppose. It’s not as if I am fond of surviving, but it is a matter of perspective.” he would rather have stayed without any of the complications of existing, and that had not happened. one of the downsides of his newfound humanity was the contradiction of withstanding the worst but falling down with the mere wind.

if this was the price he had to pay for living, the mastiff knocking him over was welcomed.

“It dulls the most indifferent. I am no exception, as you have seen.” he was far more acquainted with toddler-sized kittens, though.

" It should be concerning that a dog is capable of knocking you over. It's a miracle you've survived on the surface as long as you have." she made no attempt to stop Millie, as easy as it would have been for her. no, if her mastiff wanted to run and leap at the not-so-frail looking doctor, then she would gladly let her.

besides, unless Morgan herself commanded it, Millie harmed nothing.

" Has your time here dulled your reflexes? I'd expect more from a Beast." or former, in this case.

@exousiate

[exousiate]

“If I could, I would spare Mashu from it.” what an ill-fitting joke, he finds no humor in how his sister has to experience grief, when he had never wanted her to learn it. she had gone against any of his intentions and he cannot, will not resent her for that, it does not mean he wanted her to deal with what is close to his own mourning. “That man… I only know what happened that day as you do.”

oblivion. his throat tightens painfully, but the pressure is a welcomed distraction. he doesn’t want to say what he should, what he refuses to express aloud, about the foolishness, because it has never done anything. and still, his eyes are tired from seeing too much and being aware that nothing has changed. delayed, certainly, but nothing else. perhaps all that remains is the struggle until no more choices are left, it was what had brought Chaldea far.

his mouth falls into a thin line, closing his eyes for a brief second to compose himself. “Because he believed you all would finish his work,” he offers as an answer. any display of temper will not serve any cause, and he does not like it when his teeth are bared without the full picture. it had been done once in their arrogance, and now he has to live with the regret of being blind when he should have seen the truth. “Even if that meant he would never be able to see it.”

Her brow smoothed from word of his explanation. It made sense, she supposed — a situation with some degree of similarity to Pseudo-Servants, although she wouldn't voice it aloud in case that suggestion was further from the mark than aimed. He hadn't chosen to take on the guise of a desperately missed man who sacrificed everything, even his own existence, for humanity to have a tomorrow. Maybe that's what Merlin saw when she stood before Caliburn, erasing any dream of a perfectly human Arturia Pendragon for her country's sake.

"Do you know what happened to him?" she asked, a tad meek considering how accusatory her tone had been just a moment prior. "There has always been a hole in Chaldea since he took action. As best as they try to put on a smile, anyone can see how it always hurts Master and Mashu".

she hesitated, knowing well what a foolish thing it was to ask, knowing full-well what the answer would be. and yet, a dream never hurt. Doctor Roman couldn't have known everything, otherwise he'd have never left it all on Ritsuka's shoulders to bear. But... the notion he couldn't know, and that his one true decision might not only be futile, but playing into his former Master's hands... it was a saddening one. "They need him. Humanity... still needs him. If King Arthur will return from Avalon, why can't King Solomon from...?"

[exousiate]

his cowlick perks up, though his expression remains still. a pause follows, before he raises an eyebrow to the small kitten climbing his shoulders. it does not bother him — the other kittens had done the same when they had grown bigger, much bigger. he supposed that Peaches took more after Marie than himself in temper. “Your mother is away. Do you want some salami before she returns?”

[exousiate]

a deliberate pause. he glances to the side, thinking for a few seconds. the nod is subtle. “I have not had anything that will have your experience.” although, that did not mean he was against the occassion. “I believe I am not displeased with it.”

" Oh, for sure. It's been a helluva good time. My scene's usually a bit more wilder than this. But I can always appreciate a classy event. " he says with a laugh. " What about you? Enjoying the night so far? "

[exousiate]

“Hm.” his eyes narrow, before a hand massages his forehead. not a headache but it feels quite close — more than it should — and his experience tells him that it could be something like unfortunate news. his mouth falls into a thin line before shaking away the discomfort and picks once more the watering can. the plants need his attention more than any possible pain.

[exousiate]

promises are not for him to fulfill. duty is, however, different. and it is far more exhausting than he’ll ever confess, but it is that same sentiment that has allowed to ignore the scream that grates his throat when he remembers too much, because only the living are who can carry what they must. the dead have no say in the matter, even when they are aware of what awaits before they leave. (“then, this is goodbye. if we meet again, at that time—”)

his mouth had opened before that swordswoman had finished: no. we will not meet again. he thinks of the laughter that followed, a promise he was not obligated to see fulfilled but did, and the ocean as the only witness for that separation. he rarely speaks of his grief, his nature is pessimistic, but his tired eyes and bloodied hands are enough to say more than he will.

all of it still comes undone at the sight of her pain.

how cruel. how human in her inhumanity. the marks on his flesh will not leave — even if her grip fades, even if the smell of flesh blood fills the air, even if she apologizes with bitterly mustered tears. he will simply ask her to leave them again. and again. as many times necessary if she needs proof that he has never been able to deny her anything, the few things he possessed were always for hers to keep.

this is the price for his selfishness. if he were a kinder creature, he would turn away and refuse. he would not utter excuses. he would say in an even voice that it is impossible for him to offer what is falsehoods, especially when it will bring her nothing but more pain. he is not that creature. even after everything has been said and done, he wonders if he could have ever made that man proud with his choices. perhaps not the king, but the man that smiled like a fool would have.

he sighs softly against her hair, calloused hands passing through her curls and then, his mouth opens. the hebrew is more than enough for him to say what he does not know how to express. he asks softly how much she has endured, and then commends her for it. he talks about the details he has noticed about her crying face. he muses aloud about her eyes, the color and the shape. and then, he stays quiet, pondering but never letting her go, before his voice is calm when he speaks. “I promise.”

because even now, she had never ceased to make him believe that there was hope when he had thought discarding his heart would have been easier.

stupid, insufferable, egotistical, pig-headed–

insults fly quietly within her mind, all born from what she's come to call endeared annoyance. he smiles. through it all, he smiles, and she knows it isn't meant to mock her. he keeps most hidden behind a careful facade constructed out of necessity. and yet, around her, there was hardly a need for it. she remembers glimpses of it: a lingering curiosity in his gaze, the ghost of a smile before he was aware of it, the lasting tenderness of his hand wrapped around hers. they weren't just fragments of a long forgotten dream but reality. moments engraved into her skin, her very soul.

that is what it made it all the more difficult.

days turned into weeks and she had no choice but to figure out a life after him. those months where he was gone when she was still human was different– he was still there, present. the small glimpses she saw of him in the crowd were enough. and now? no matter where she had looked, she saw him. his mark was everywhere every second of the day. it was as if that assassin had tore her heart out all over again, leaving her to die without a second thought. in truth.....she would have preferred that. ( anything you want can ever only be a dream.)

and then he had the audacity to show up. just when she had finally learned how to breathe without him, to be able to feel as if jagged glass wasn't being forced down her throat, he looks at her as if nothing had happened.

it's infuriating. it's insulting. it isn't his fault and for the first time in this new existence, she wishes she was human once more. because then, at the very least, she would know how to feel.

her grip is unrelenting, a force in its own right. hands cling to his shoulder tight enough to leave marks in delicate flesh and later she would apologize, but right now, words are impossible. she lets him console her and bites her tongue, swallowing the taste of copper because it is a reminder that this was real.

" Don't–" it's only a whisper she can muster, choking back any sound that tries to escape. gone is the fire of her anger, leaving behind what existed beneath the god so wanted her to be. it is her devotion that cuts her open, letting her bleed in his arms, but it doesn't waver. hands slide down, remembering his shape (just in case, a voice whispers) before coming to settle against his waist as her forehead rests against the center of his chest. " Don't do that again. I wouldn't be able to survive it."

[exousiate]

he tilts his head slightly, before nodding. “She wanted to come.” and then, she had prepared them before he had even picked up the eyeliner. the brush would have to rest for a few hours until they returned or the ink would go to waste. “Have you been enjoying the celebrations?”

" Hey, yo! Fancy runnin' into you here. I take it Miss Olga convinced you to come? Hahahaha! Gotta say, bro; you're lookin' sharp as hell tonight. Might give the ol' count a run for his money. "

@exousiate

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like a deer perking up at the crack of a branch, his eyes lift up with mute curiosity. he had not been expecting the sudden intrusion from his own browsing, but it is not unwelcome. Re:Core has an affinity that he has seldomly found anywhere else, or at least, in the matter of searching for something familiar. he has no particular interest into any media, but his fingers move around, the slight crease in his eyebrows barely unnoticeable when listening from start to finish. it is an inkling. but the truth is not unpredictable in this matter, especially when he suspects why a part of himself is searching for a sound that he doesn't believe he will find.

his first reaction is intrigue, and then his eyes narrow in contemplation. the answers are not any difficult to ponder, but he has not thought in these terms for so long. he has grown more used to what is shared with him— whether it is a cooking show, or a movie night, and it is peaceful. so he muses, tapping the disk he had picked up with his fingers, before giving a noncommittal hum.

“Mozart. Unless you are searching for someone much older.”

⠀⠀⠀SHE ⠀would have loved a place like this.

⠀⠀⠀The thought intrudes before she can stop it, when Dorothy's only just made her way inside. Of course, it was to be expected; that was the whole reason she sought out Re:Core. It didn't seem possible for her to yearn for 'home' the way it was, and yet it took little time at all for Dorothy to grow melancholy. Especially with how she left things... It's only natural she'd seek closeness with what's been left behind. She's sure she can find alcohol here that would make Scarlet flushed just to look at; she's positive the churches of Archimedes would give Rapunzel solace. Snow White is here in the flesh, and she'll continue doing what she's been doing for decades regardless of location. But she wanted to start here... She wanted to start somewhere Red Hood would've put out of business.

⠀⠀⠀Of course, if Red Hood were here, Dorothy wouldn't be so overwhelmed looking at all of this lost media at her fingertips. She would find what she wanted with scary precision, and then waste more time listening to the rest anyway. She realizes very quickly that she's somewhat out of her depth, and seeing only one other person in the vicinity, edges to a polite distance with a soft clear of the throat.

⠀⠀⠀❛ ⠀Excuse me... If I were to ask you to name a few classics, what would come to mind ? The older the better.⠀❜ ⠀

⤷ @exousiate : s.c.

[exousiate]

“You would not be the first.” nor the last, if he were to be honest. “Predictions aside, it is a rather common topic.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀"... Yeah, that's probably gonna happen. If and when it does, I'll try to not blame ya for jinxing it— more just predicting what's likely."

[exousiate]

sometimes he does wonder if he should tell her that he loves her pride as he does her smile — but she has always known, she had always known how to read him when he would rather dwell in silence, more apparition than flesh. she understood that he had much to say in few words, or none at all. it is the same case here, but he sees how she does everything to stand strong for both of them.

maybe it would've been easier if he had never loved that foolishness so much. maybe it was the contradiction that had caused his gaze to still for insignificant seconds. maybe it had been the apprehension that allowed the curiosity, or the pitiful mercy of sparing her from his own idiocy. or, maybe it was his own reflection — being looked at with the same judgement, followed by the genuine, vulnerable need to be seen.

but perhaps that had never mattered.

his eyes have never followed any conventional rules — when it came to his gaze, it expressed everything or merely remained blank. but he had never been able to deny her anything, not when she brought up the heart that he had believed he had discarded a long time ago. not when she rightfully shares her pain, because he had always loved how strong she could be when the world had spared no kindness for her. not when he can see her face and it brings nothing but the most genuine smile.

“If I listened to everything you said, you would grow suspicious.” a hand moves to hold her cheek, thumbs wiping away the tear stains. then, carefully, he comes closer as if to not startle her before placing a kiss to her forehead. there is a silence that he refuses to let go, giving her the opportunity to cry as he holds her with the same tenderness that she always brings from him. “I am sorry.”

forgive me? his smile does not disappear, even if she does not see it. she would understand, especially as his arms wrap around her to pull her closer. it has been barely long enough for him. but for her, it must have been far longer, and this must be corrected. she can blame him as much as she needs, he will not fault her. that will only happen when his heart has finally ceased to beat. “Marie. My Marie.”

for the first few minutes, she still can't quite believe it.

her body is what reacts first, immediately melting into the embrace. every ounce of stress and tension that's plagued her for far too long evaporates. her hands remain unsure as her mind struggles to catch up, hovering in place, unsure whether to touch or merely hang by her sides. and through the fog that remains, the pieces start to fall into place.

his arms around her, his hands cradling her face, lips touching every place they could were warm. every action sent a chill down her spin and it burns like heat touching frostbitten skin for the first time. his voice surrounded her not as a memory, but something that was there and real. she could feel his heartbeat in his chest against her own, hear it pounding away as he left no space between them. the tears that flowed started to slow as the anguish she's felt for far too long begins to vanish. small hiccups punctuate her breathing as it steadies and eyes widen when she realizes—

this is real.

her mind finally catches up. hands that knew not what to do raise to hastily rub away at the remains of the offending tears, ignoring how her eyes burn from the mere action of crying. she blinks once, twice, a third time as she pulls back only enough to clearly see his face, gaze scanning over every inch, searching. everything was still the same. no new scars. eyes that reminded her of warm honey. her name falling familiarly from his lips and emotions conveyed she knew like the back of her hand.

he looks no different than the last time and there is something comforting about that, for that was another worry for her. being left alone, though terrifying, was something she could handle in the end if it meant he was still living. perhaps that is selfish on her part, maybe even hypocritical, but she didn't care. she already had her time to be human, to learn and experience, to just be the ordinary Olga Marie before waking up for the last time. he was only just afforded that chance and even if the world was against such a thing, it still needed to be known.

but that didn't matter anymore. the haze clears from her eyes and even as tears threaten to flow fresh once more, she keeps them at bay. she tries, oh how she tries to put on a strong front but it is weak, easily seen through by how her voice still trembles, how she refuses to pull away from him. " You idiot." there is no bite to her words, nothing that could cut and wound. even her hand that tries to shove his shoulder only connects to slide down and cling feebly to his shirt as eyebrows furrow.

" I never said you could leave." it is not his fault. she does not blame him. but emotions are a difficult thing and the frustration that's kept her company trickles out. " Why don't you ever listen to me? Who said you could do such a stupid thing?!"

[exousiate]

for a moment, he is not sure what he is looking at; the king that will come to be, or the young girl that will bear future burdens with a grace most will be envious of, but the sterness is familiar, and he is well aware that she is not his king. it is still fact that something that he will never escape is the past, and he recognizes authority, and how natural it can be performed of those that are born to wield it. he puts a hand on his forehead, stopping any headache that will form without his permission, and then he meets the gaze that is nothing like that Saber but still close. it is so close, and he could pretend but he will not.

“Not an impostor,” he pauses, deliberately ignoring the utter mess that involved his creator. the more sentimental part, however, disagrees. it wins in the end, because he has never been able to turn away from how much that man matters. still matters, even if Goetia will never express that aloud. “This form is the only one that I can take.”

if he were with another, he would leave it ambiguous and move on, but he has learned that his lack of answers has made it infinitely worse to that king. it will not spare her younger self, and Artoria Pendragon has chosen to carry a burden that he had never meant to give her, it is still easier to not argue and come clean with the young knight. “You could say it is no different from those that take after their parents.”

The loss of his bag was the first matter she intended to attend to once the distance closed into nothing. But the bewildered look upon the Doctor's face held her sight, looking as if he were gazing at something beyond the world. Or like something loomed behind her. To ensure the latter could be eliminated, Lily did shoot a glance backward to find nothing amiss.

She'd not gotten the chance to question the root of the look before taking in his words. "—eh?"

That... wasn't just uncharacteristic, it was downright bizarre. her understanding of Doctor Romani Archaman was that he'd indulge sweets at any opportunity, but here he... spoke of only harm coming from the pleasure. "Did... Mashu forbid you from having any after Halloween?" she queried with a tilted head. Furthered words followed with a stern and warning tone. "or... are you an impostor who's taken on the Doctor's form?"

[exousiate]

“I doubt it.” he clicks his tongue, almost mulling over the question. “I believe the upcoming weeks will return us to those antics soon enough.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Remember when people would keep talkin' about their love lives every other week? I wonder why that stopped. Did people start goin' on dates?"