#projecticn

       𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎; every tray of cinders a collection of memories reduced to stains. Long ago, he who currently festers a smoky black burned a blazing scarlet -- one that was brighter than any flame, deeper than any passion, and more alluring than any virgin. To bear witness to his juvenile form here, of all places, excites her. Chaldea is not around to protect him, nor is that walking accumulation of karmic consequence.

        He is untainted. So much that she feels it a shame to introduce herself to him now, but... if not now, when? Surely, he cannot leave without receiving his daily dose of salvation.

9:00A.M, Monday, December 9th

          . . .

         ONE   of Medea’s innate, not-so-hidden talents is the ability to make one word --- no more than a couple of syllables --- ooze with all the love, hate, or indifference of the human condition. A wry smile tugs at her lips, and she’s thankful part of her face is concealed from view; her next-to-last memory, after all, is of his swords piercing her body. A mixture of agony and relief... Scorned and reprieved. Given the circumstances, she can hardly do anything but laugh --- high-pitched, girlish, nearly a delighted cackle.

             ❛   Hmhm--- Aha... Hahaha--- !  You’ll forgive me if all I can do is laugh... Knowing that despite your best efforts --- and mine --- our destination appears to be the same.   ❜

       ON LAZY SUNDAY MORNINGS, she enjoys lavishing a piece of literature or two with her body reclined atop of Archer’s, lazily careened at an angle where his hand can stroke her hair as he reads his own picking. They’ve developed an intimate familiarity with one another since her settlement at his estate, though they’ve yet to truly to venture beyond the realm of hand-holding and occasional pecking. It was a comfortable place to be in her mind; they’d only just established their new escapade together, after all.

       Today’s selection is a rather emboldened title labeled ‘THE OLDER WOMAN’S GUIDE TO DATING IN 2019′. Its design may as well be a caricature in its own right, as it appears to parody previous generations, but its givings are still profound. “Humanity has become lenient. No longer do we condone slaughter when faced with a disagreeable situation,” she muses quietly, “--we simply ‘move on’. However, it states that if we are fortunate enough to find a consort deserving of our time, the next step is to begin ‘dating’. I believe that is what we have been doing for the past fortnight. Is there a difference between dating and going on dates? They refer to it separately, here.” 

♐ ] That qualifies as knocking? More like bashing as when he opens it the what he can only assume to be a lost creature, it looks just as unimpressived with him as resident is with intruder. Oh wait. He remembers. The bossy Egyptian with a fake backbone. Next door, making next step easy. Grab the damn thing and open door to, before placing him inside. “I don’t want it.” If she was placing for adoption, consider him not a taker.

✫  𝒜𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝑒𝒽? He acts as if she wouldn’t see past his renegade behavior and make a bee-line straight into his compound with the other two Medjed in tow. The first one was no more than a ruse; a necessary sacrifice. “A tad early for insolence, isn’t it, Archer?” Nitocris is already inside, beaming with pride. Come now, don’t tell her he hasn’t seen that big tray she brought in. “You assume I brought nothing with me? Hmph, a foolish mistake. Seeing as I have declared a potluck, it means that I have brought my own fares.” 

how about I just kill him then you won't need to protect him

He’d never really lived with housemates before. At least not like this. Perhaps he didn’t need to, but he’d ended up acting like he lived alone. This included, annoyingly enough, buying his own groceries. 

He heaved a sigh as he leaned on his cart, eyes unfocused. He’d forgotten what he’d been looking for, in all honesty. His mind was in a haze today, far more than usual. He should be more concerned about it, he knew, but nothing of the sort came to being.

It wasn’t until he spotted a familiar figure that he finally snapped into reality. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Ah, Shirou...” It was still hard for him to believe. “... Out of all the possible places for me to run into you.”

        MORNING SEEMS TO HAVE GIVEN HER A NEW INCENTIVE FOR WAKING. Reluctance usually hinders her efforts to rouse from her reveries, but the scent of cologne on her pillow raises suspicion. In fact, it isn’t a pillow at all, but the warm nook of someone’s neck. So, her cheek -- which had been resting on his shoulder whilst simultaneously blocking circulation -- bevels upward until her groggy eyes center on a view of his sleeping face. It is obscured by her clustered bangs, but even so, there is a tired realization that he doesn’t look quite like himself with downcast hair.