#internalresenting

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      A RINGLET OF KEYS ‘PON HER WRIST AND A WEB OF PLASTIC ‘PON ARCHER’S, the door of their new apartment lures them in with a sense of submission. Give or take six hours, their old dwellings are now vacant and polished for whomever may replace them, with this one prepared for ownership. “It would appear we are on the twenty-third floor this time,” she notes, steel locks clicking as she fiddles for a moment. As soon as the door caves, the trapped cold rushes them through the gap, and she hastens toward the thermometer to adjust it to a more tolerable level. 

    “Bring the groceries to me, Archer. I’m in the kitchen.” Where everything appears to be in working order. Good. Determination gleaning, the sleeve of her cardigan is rolled to the elbow, hands dousing themselves beneath the flow of the sink. “As a celebratory occasion, I intend for us to enjoy a homemade dinner, champagne and card games tonight. What say you, Archer? How does lobster sound, with butter and herbs?” Is she capable of cooking? Absolutely not, but when there is a will, there is a way! “You are welcome to bring our luggage in if you’d like. As a reward for carrying everything, I shall cook for you.”

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     HEEDING THE CALLS OF THE MYSTERIOUS FIVE, the two Servants ( unknownst to him yet ) find themselves before three transport options, grounded by hesitation and apprehension. Her consort scarcely found the announcement tolerable enough this morning to warrant forgoing their bed, but she had other things in mind. “When we arrive, let us make haste to buy weapons. I am not in possession of my lance, but with what I have been hearing, we would be wise to err on the side of caution.”

      Or so she says, but her heels find themselves feeling burdened. Why could that be? “Our options are a water slide, a submarine, or a simple pathway. The first one seems rather juvenile, and I know not of what lays on the other side. The submarine and walkway seem most reasonable, yes?” Quaint as the latter option seems, she’s not certain if her feet can carry her all the way. It leaves but one option. “...The submarine, then.” As if on cue, the watercraft emerges from the depths, its Helmsman appearing to usher them onboard. In contrast to her usual confidence, she’s seemingly keeping behind Archer this time, nigh unnoticeable fingers clasping the hem of his shirt.

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      BENEATH THE SPARKLE OF CITY LIGHTS, a lone woman clad in dazzling white ferries through a sea of people in hopes of reaching the anointed Clocktower. Decorating herself so extravagantly in the gown she lavished during the summer, she wonders if it all was a tad much. Days ago, as they departed the pâtisserie, he requested something rather special from her: a date. 

     Bearing only a diminutive comprehension of the times, she said yes. Knowing not of its underlying implications nor of its nature, alarm struck when he called for finer wear. Only after did her phone uncover startling truths to her, none of which she contested nor called to cancel. What entailed was a scrummage through her clothing chambers, in search of something he’d yet to see, a scent he’d yet to smell, a hue on her lips she’d yet to paint.

      For a warlord once feared on the field of battle, the soldier herself was rather vain deep down, growing into the comfort of luxuries once her acquisition upon the Throne of Heroes cemented. Perhaps it mattered little. Fragrant tones of bouquets and bourbon roses would be lost in this crowd, but at least he will always be prevalent. The unmistakable back was facing her, his profile outstanding on the bridge that overlooked the sea and planets. Coming to a stop behind him, she addresses her arrival. 

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      MENTIONS OF A FOLLOW-UP RENDEZVOUS followed his haphazard betrayal immediately. Arturia, failing to take his excuses kindly, restrained her urges to relinquish him and compromised. Anyone else and she would’ve seen them out of her life or executed rather than agree to meet, but she supposes these are the modern times. 

       Still, damned she’ll be if she upholds a chipper disposition in the face of a man who ought to repent. Idly seated inside a French pâtisserie, a gold-woven spoon stirs cream into her tea, the delicate scent of vanilla and lavender contrasting the pout on her lips. Archer’s been in front of her for some time now; she’s simply elected to ignore him.

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       WITH THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF THE PREVIOUS NIGHT LONG OVER, daybreak has brought a new horizon to explore. Dimly clarified through the shadowed screen of her phone is a name: Archer. 

        Recollections of an encounter serviced by spirits accumulate in hazy flashes. The mysterious entity named Archer endorsed her whims and departed via one of Koi’s many canals. Before he left, however, he made short work of educating her on the perks of having a cellular device. Dedicated to his role as an enigma, he omitted a surname in his contact. Likewise, she entered herself in his simply as ‘Arturia’. 

       Two taps and a dial tone later, she hears the line connect, and feeds her voice through.

       “Archer.”

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      OF THEIR TRIADS, not once have they disclosed their residences to one another. Archer had given her the invitation of his hospitality as an escort once or twice before, but she’d denied due to undeclared reasons. Now a fortnight has transpired since their last engagement, interactions limited to occasional messages and voice calls whenever she felt his presence missed.

       As a matter of fact, his name is fixed as a subject on her phone, idle fingers typing a greeting in the elevator despite the late hour. Only her message halts when the journey up to the eighteenth floor is interrupted by opening doors, revealing none other than the gentleman himself.

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    DOES HE BELIEVE IN THE RED STRING OF FATE? Destiny could be considered a debacle at this point with the nature of their ordained meetings and the tragedy they behold, but if one were to ask her... there exists a reason for it all. Three realms traveled over the span of a mere lifetime ( aspects of it owed to them being Servants, surely ) and they persistently wind up in one another’s company.

    No matter the location of her summons, her eyes always seek his red mantle. Pursues it, perhaps, despite the willful ignorance on his behalf. Yet, if she were to let her thoughts transpire and revel in fantasies, reunions would remain conceptualized; she has to give chase, and even here, in this fantasy world, she does as such and concedes upon him and a few straggling beasts. 

the city is open to you, archer. welcome to terra.

you will be housed in celestia apartments C5, where you will find your pendant waiting for you, just like always. there’s also a tiny plastic sword which looks more like a cocktail decoration than anything befitting mr ultimate blade works.

you have been granted tenebrae’s spell darkness to use at your discretion, though you may have to wait a little while to get full use of it, given... current events.