ARCHER.

I AM THE BONE OF MY SWORD. Steel is my body and fire is my blood. I have created over a thousand blades. Unknown to Death, Nor known to Life. Have withstood pain to create many weapons. Yet, those hands will never hold anything. So, as I pray, UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS. associated with @5aber.

↳ gfx credit. | follows from. | rules | memes. | hcs.

Aventurine looks somewhat dishevelled, if one could ever call such a put together man such things. Ruffled is more appropriate perhaps, or undone. The markings of a long day about him, the loose neck of his shirt, the slump of his shoulders, the half-finished drink before him. It does not escape Archer that few would be permitted to view this version of Aventurine, this version of him that does not have his armour in place, does not have his masks fixed to keep up the persona that protects him.

He is quiet as he crosses the space between them, coming to join him on the couch. He folds himself into the space at Aventurine's side, silent initially as he settles before his tongue clicks.

"It must be an egregious situation if you dare put the glass on the table without a coaster. You will be incurring my wrath..." he remarks, turning to look at Aventurine out the corner of his eye. The laugh he receives in response is a discordant sound, not one that holds only joy, but something strained by something unsaid. It is not for him to pry, and he will not. He is a guardian, a force to protect, not to investigate, his only offer presence instead. There's no expectation of explanation or conversation at all, and yet Aventurine's voice rises anyway, filling the void.

“Say you’ll stay. Just once. Lie to me if you have to.”

"I am not in the habit of offering false hopes." Archer's first words perhaps suggest refusal, except he settles back in his seat, his arm stretching along the back of the seat. A comfortable splay mostly, yet one that offers his side openly should the other require the comfort of embrace or the space to hide.

He does not say anything further but the reclined position, the unhurried look about him, it all says what words do not. I am staying, there is no need to lie about it because I had little intent on doing otherwise.

There is a pointed silence between them, only broken by the sound of a mug being placed upon a coaster on the desk. Archer has learnt over time when to speak and when silence is better to allow space for the other to process his thoughts and feelings. He had not been listening to all, but the gist of the meeting he had overheard between the Stoneheart and other IPC members seemed only slightly productive and more of a chance for him to be given the short shrift and a chiding that at best was veiled mockery.

He paces instead; pottering around the room, organising the space so the only mess that might exist is only that which lingers in Aventurine's mind. When he is done he only waits, standing by the window and watching Pier Point below with the sharpness of his gaze following each of the ships diligently, considering each an enemy until it moves on its course. When he hears the cup behind him picked up and be sipped from, he turns his head in acknowledgement, a smirk on his lips as he studies the other.

‘ you know me by heart . it infuriates me that you know me by heart . ’

"And yet you being infuriated will change nothing of my knowledge. I suppose you shall have to learn to be at peace with it..." There is no sense of remorse about his words, instead a slight amusement and a steady confidence that is followed by his full move from the window. A slow pace brings him behind Aventurine's chair. Hands rise and lay upon the other's shoulders, a firm presence, an existence that does not waver, a grounding support.

There's an itch beneath his skin when the report comes into the ship, the anomaly that speaks of world traversal, from this to another and echoes in the reversal of his current predicament. Not that such a descriptor is really fitting; it implies a sense of trouble that he is not in, his life one that has found routine and order, albeit at a slower pace than he was once used to. Once Aventurine has cast the report on the anomaly to the side, he reaches for it, idly perusing the contents, recognising similarities between the Holy Grail war of this world and the event in question thanks to his acquired knowledge. It would be worth investigating further, to perhaps push at the boundaries to see if this is only allowing things into this world or if the reverse was also possible.

When his gaze raises from the page, he realises that the office is silent.

There's no background of video calls or clattering keys. No whizzing screens nor data changing at rapid rates. When he looks over to Aventurine, he half expects to see him sprawled across the desk, asleep again as a consequence of his own overworking, and yet he is not. Instead, the weight of that gaze lays upon him and he can see the turmoil in him, something unspoken beneath the surface. Archer watches that gaze flick to the report in his hands and then back to him.

“ If I asked you not to leave… would it change anything? ”

For a beat there is nothing, his own heavy gaze meeting Aventurine's own as he attempts to discern the purpose in his Master's words. Then there is the quirk of his lips, the edge curving upwards, his gaze a little softer for his sins. For a moment he looks less like the Archer he has become and more like the Emiya hewas once long ago. A man with noble dreams and endless hope, and the damned attitude that led to his own suffering.

"Not particularly..." he answers, folding the paper in half in his hands. He sighs, and shakes his head and then makes a deliberate gesture of leaning down and putting the paperwork in the bin beneath the desk. As he straightens back up, he fixes a knowing look upon the other. "Your littering the desk might have me reconsidering my choices however."

He waits a beat, then turns away, seeking the teapot and brewing a herbal tea, leaving Aventurine to work through his admission in his own time. He's a man of few words so to be more direct is simply too much work, but he suspects the shewd Stoneheart will piece together what he has said. His choices. No changes. There was nothing to change because he had already made his choice to stay.

With tray laden with a steaming teapot and two cups, he turns back to the desk and lays it atop, looking down at Aventurine in his seat and studying his face quietly, leaning into his favoured choice of observation. He's not displeased with what he sees. "Keep the desk clean and drink your tea, Mister Aventurine..." he says rather simply and turns on his heel, finding the next room as he falls back into the routine of pottering.

Archer took over my H.SR account and I'm not sorry.

annoying as few, she still took pity on those odd creations that meant to serve a purpose of some kind. in the eyes of someone who were rather fed up with words and phrases thrown in one's face left and right in penacony, she didn't quite see the need. all one had to do was look up and one would see hundreds of signs and videos showing some sort of thing in the dreamscape. it was annoying, overwhelming and only seemed to worsen when those funny boards came wobbling, the halovian still finding pity enough to walk over and put some of them back up.

" – do not," she'd cast a glance over to him, almost concerned that he (like the trailblazer) would swing his leg or weapon around for an harder whack, " take that as a challenge to slam them harder into the ground ... did you not say you wished to spend your time doing something worthwhile while lingering in penacony ? we do have an excellent choice of bars, restaurants, karaoke bars..." not that he struck her as one that would indulge in karaoke, but robin would give herself the benefit of the doubt. for all she knew, maybe archer had a thing for breaking out in song.

the little billboard, of course, waddled away when it saw another stranger it wished to offer its advertisements to; " ... tell me what you would like to do and i will gladly be your personal guide for a moment. i know penacony in and out like the back of my own hand, and ... i'd rather not see billboards being bullied."

A twist of the wrist allows him to weigh the balance of his latest copied sword, its smooth, round shape more qualified towards a descriptor of a bat but as long as he registered it as a sword, that was all that mattered. The boards had proved to be the perfect targets to test the swing and efficiency of the Trailblazer's signature, their disposition suited to getting back up again in the face of adversity and their complaints minimal. And if he was causing a scene in the high streets of this dreamland, what was it to him? The people would pass him by eventually and Mister Aventurine could compensate if it became a necessity.

Yet with the sound of the melodic voice, his head tips to look over his shoulder, bat/sword rolling up onto his shoulder to lean at rest.

"With the lack of options available for target practice, the billboards seemed best suited to the task..." he answers, her words posing a challenge in itself, though he refrains from following through on it. If there was an order to things he would adhere to it. Mess was not something he enjoyed, be it emotional or physical and it would not be to his advantage to press on this, especially when he truly wasn't that attached to it in the first place.

"A kind offering, Master of Caster, though I cannot say any of the activities you listed are of my interest. A servant has no need to consume anything other than the energy source provided, beverages are unnecessary and music I will leave in your capable hands." He does however act to alleviate her concerns, however, by dissipating the recreation of the bat removing his weapon from his hands. "In truth, my talents are ill-suited to a world like this. Your systems offer too many bypasses for those hobbies I might indulge in." Cooking and housekeeping might seem odd to most for a seasoned warrior such as he, and yet the routine, rituals and systems involved in such processes gave him order and peace in his mind.

@apocryphis asked: oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued. ( from aventurine - i'm cheating and sending you an ask here too but in my defense i was reasonable and did not send you 10 on your multi -)

A flicker of a smile appears thinly on lips, lids descending over eyes for but a moment. He remembers only fragments of his past, more restored than he once had thanks to a Grail War previous where he was forced to confront it, but he does remember fear. Cloying and stark, filling his chest the same as the spewing smoke that was choking his lungs, embracing him with the lick of the flames that seared the ground. He recalls that boy hoping for something to save him, to offer hope, and finding it, finding salvation in the broken man who gave him a dream.

Yet now is not the time for his past, and Aventurine speaks not of their personal thoughts and inventions but instead the bizarre and strange creations that are permeating this arcadia planet, the creations drawn from the dreams of the scared and helpless seeking support at that which was haunting them.

Truthfully some of their creations made him wonder if humanity had hope for the future, for some of them were simply bizarre in their functionality and use for protection.

"I suppose it does show the distinction between those prepared to fight to the bitter end and those who are little more than children screaming in fear." A harsh observation, but no less true for it. And despite the callous nature of it, his lips do curve upwards in a smirk as he thinks about some of the more ridiculous cases. That blue-haired boy who was full of tough words until the tide truly turned against him came to mind.

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon (you're not the only one who has toyed with the thought kjdhdkfsh )

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no (i love shipping with you )

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits | healing and trusting leading to a relationship

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating ( you know that would be a funny little assignment ) | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine * (kind of but it's more like the taciturn and the peacock) | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship | the absolute terror of opening up one's heart and finding someone who understands you

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between we are already in the building so let's keep going but also maybe put them in a couple of situations to test this boundary

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: Honestly I have also been here so let's skip the talking about shipping with me because you know what that's like and get straight to the, oh there is a certain unique flavour to this dynamic. I like the idea of them finding romance through the things they are dealing with but also then they have the unique situations to deal with like Archer becoming someone who might be targeted because of Aventurine and also Archer existing not being guaranteed given that he's a summoned servant. I just think they have the makings of a real sweet and complicated relationship.

A chuckle passes over the Archer in Red's lips, cool gaze turned upon the Irish Servant, surveying the man before him as he contemplates the offer. There is an appeal in finding something to occupy himself, the days are beginning to drag, each failing to reveal any sign of progress on the horizon. It rankles; he is a man of action, not one who wishes to linger on the periphery awaiting for it to reach him.

"What did you have in mind? I'm disinclined to make a mess here." Habits of an old life had risen, his hand turning to rearranging the living space, in creating an orderly environment to ensure items could be found at a moment's notice. It has now become routine to upkeep it, even to the irritation of his companions when he adjusts things they have placed down, relocates that which is discarded.

@apocryphis asked: “ if i think about it, i get angry. and i don’t know where that anger stops. so i’d rather not start at all. ” (from aventurine who is very much a liar)

There is silence that follows in the wake of Aventurine's words, the only sounds permeating it the clink of the spoon against the tea cup as Archer methodically follows through the steps to make the tea. He lets it linger, unconcerned about the discomfort of permitting it to do so, unhurried in his actions. With a final clink, the spoon is laid to the side and the tea tray is lifted, taken across to the desk and put in front of the other, left before him as he returns to the worktop to tidy the debris of his process. It is only when he finishes, leaving the surface spotless, that he turns and folds his arm, leaning back against the counter and fixing brown hues upon the other with a critical gaze.

"Your silver tongue holds no standing between us, Mister Aventurine. You might smile in the face of others, but I know beneath the surface, you have been burning for some time." He does not offer any delicacy with the way he speaks, brutal honesty proferred as a tool to get to the point with little negotiation about it. His gaze lingers still, waiting until the steaming cup is reached for before he turns away, letting lids descend over his eyes once and exhaling.

"You would do yourself well to be honest, at least between us. I have no need for the comfort of reassurance nor seek to use information against you. To lie is a waste of your energy entirely." He reopens his eyes to look back to the other, his expression not accusatory, but instead only solemn, perhaps a touch of concern lingering in the back of that gaze. If it is so easy for his Master to lie, to fabricate a reality, then he wonders when it was he last shed his mask entirely. When was he last real with the people he surrounds himself with? Had he ever been?

"If you knew we all weren't saying it... why did you open your mouth, Lancer?" Arms fold over his chest as eyes narrow in a glare, wondering what social decorum the other man lacked to simply allow his mouth to vomit the words all had refrained from letting slip. Still, he knows that he should not be surprised, The Child of Light had a way of doing things that simply got under his skin.

@apocryphis asked: it's never enough. (from aventurine)

He stands before the office window, a silent vigil over Pier Point for the most part, though often his gaze drifts, watching the figure reflected in the glass, the Master who refuses his title as he works diligently on his next gambit. His next gamble. He has been with Aventurine long enough to recognise the recklessness that seeks to slip forth with his very actions, the chances where he puts his belongings, his health, his life on the line for the sake of his next move. Fortune seems to favour him for it, yet truthfully is it truly something that can be so sustained?

To give oneself away to a cause is something he knows well. Had he not given his health, his body, his empathy, his desire to an entire cause? Chipped away at his own sense of morality, at his own ethics to keep giving until he could no longer share in compassion and consider righteousness in the same way? While their trades differ; Aventurine soaked in gold and gambles, he stained crimson with the blood he has shed, there is no denying the similar vein they have followed, the way the world has always demanded more.

"If you offer it, it will be taken, until there is nothing left to give." He does not need to say he speaks from experience. Just as he has come to know The Stoneheart, he has come to be known and though he has not spoken in depth of the life he lived before becoming a Heroic Spirit, it would be foolish to assume one as shrewd as Aventurine cannot see the weight of the past that haunts him in the times he falls silence, the horrors he revisits in the nights where he remains vigil, staring into spaces at nothing at all.