[ m o v e d ]

Send 💋+ a number to kiss my Muse! 

      On the ear, on the cheek, on the neck, on the jawline, on the collarbone.

                         “I forget. You know how absorbed I get when I’m working hard. But let’s move on, Riruka-sama. Is there anything I can do to at least make up for lost time?”

He can’t help but wonder, as the young woman glides alongside him serenely - did the body she now wore know what it would be used for when she’d come to this mountain facility, away from the rest of the world? What had she been like, before the Spirit within took control?

Would she have been a better Master than the sole one who’d survived?

“…Hmph.”

“You can dress it up with fancy words all ya want, but I’d rather be in here than walk among these halls without it. I know some of these bastards hate my guts enough t’ try an’ take my head, so I’m keepin’ it on.”

      It’s interesting, how certain he is that the vitriol of others will trump what she considers common sense. She has to wonder, considering some of the looks he sometimes gets, if he isn’t at least partly right. 

“Aw, I’m touched.” From Riruka, ‘not gross’ is a compliment he’ll take with pride. He indicates his favorite table, pulling out a chair for her. It’s a fancy kind of place, where they wait on you. It would be impressive to anyone else, Shinji is sure. “Then I guess you’ll just hafta tell me all the embarrassing shit ya’ve done, hm?”

He orders his drink and one of those oversized cookies for them to share.

      She orders herself an espresso, which seems to surprise the waiter, and she narrows her eyes at him for so much as thinking about pigeonholing her. Honestly, some people.            “Sorry, no can do. I’d have to kill you, and that’s just too much effort.” That she even thinks she could should probably be galling. 

What if, instead, I just take it?

“Tʜᴀᴛ ɪsɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋs!”

“Geh. Politics.”

Mordred’s face twisted into the same kind of expression a normal person might give when faced with a steaming pile of dung sitting in the middle of the sidewalk they were walking on, and it was upwind. Still, it slowly faded into a more neutral look as he considered her words, and for a while he was silent, staring at the ceiling with a small frown on his lips.

“Huh. I dunno if I like it, Rii. Tryin’ to be someone’s friend on the surface an’ then stabbin’ ‘em in the back like that don’t sit too well with me. Feels like somethin’ Morgan would try ta do, an’, well…”

A frustrated sigh, the Knight of Treachery letting his face lean into her hands.

“It just don’t feel right is all. How about takin’ over Albion - er, Britain? I’m guessin’ it ain’t as simple as beatin’ up the current King or Queen for the crown anymore, is it?”

      “Politics indeed.”            Her face mimics his distaste; her knack for playing parts and saying what people want to hear is a natural one, but not a preferred one. Still, her advice was asked and damned if she won’t give it to the best of her ability, especially to her favored Servant.            (She feels bad even thinking it, but it’s a known fact by now.)           “Hate to tell you, Mokkun, but that’s just how it is. You don’t have to like someone to cooperate with them-- that much is obvious just from being here, isn’t it? So long as there’s a common end, the means being cooperation become... bearable, at best. Necessary, at the very least. A good ruler has to be able to set themselves aside, now and again, for the nation. Though always try and keep what the people want in mind.”