arthurus started following you
"Ah, Miss Saber… I suppose the polite thing is to say it’s a pleasure?"
“…How strange. Such an aura— it is undeniable to who it belongs to, and yet you take the form of a child?”
Haw, haw, haw… Ramin Karimloo, Matthew Gray Gubler,
the entire cast of Criminal Minds, ??? do fictional men count too—
Uhh let’s see.
Smarts, tallness ? ? ?, must know about the NBA. :l
Constant swearing, smoking, lack of hygiene.
¥ - A photo of you?
She’ll kill me.
Well and truly, without a doubt, she would kill him. That was his first thought when the little lion cub first made himself scarce. Well — his second. His first was being stricken with fear, as parents are, that his silly miniature human had gotten itself in a position to be permanently or otherwise damaged. Except the “child” was not a miniature human at all. His third was that surely there was no way a tiny creature like that could stray very far. Right?
After combing possibly the entire park, he was beginning to reassess this thought. Just a little.
The one time, the one instant, that he took his eyes off the rambunctious beast, he just had to make a break for it. Just like his uncle, he almost (only almost) thought before remembering that this creature was not human, or demon, or related to him at all. Even so, some part of him blamed Dante, a little. It was his influence, clearly. That wild adventurous spirit. Laughing in the face of danger and so on.
She really would kill him, wouldn’t she? Vergil made a small amount of effort to assess how he felt about this being his final day. Should he leave the city? Change his name?
…That was stupid. Even for an already ridiculous thought process.
Even so, he dreaded facing the music, as it were. Though only maternal in spirit, Saber was perfectly liable to be as fiercely protective of this cub as she was of her dinner. Perhaps unbecoming of a king, or perhaps positive qualities. It didn’t matter. Either way, she could quite easily behead Vergil.
”Foolish little cub,” he uttered aloud, reverting back to worry slowly. Where could he have go—
Whether by sheer luck or coincidence, a particularly loud but still so very pitiful, and remarkably familiar, mewl hit him just before a heavy lump sprawled spreadeagled on his head and slipped unceremoniously, face-first, into his arms.
"Mufa—?" Vergil spat out feline fur and blinked at the squirming, complaining creature in his arms, one that twisted to face him and blink owlishly back. Bright, familiar eyes greeted him. "Where — how —?” The lion mewed again, shivering in his arms, and Vergil hesitated before realizing how much of an idiot he was being and hugging the little beast close to his chest, looking up to squint at the branch overhead as if it was at fault. It was guilty only of bearing the cub’s weight, if the little claw marks were anything by which to judge.
"…" Just like his uncle, he repeated to himself, not bothering to correct it this time. Vergil held the tiny creature at arms’ length as one would a baby under its arms and tried to look stern. Mufasa only stared at him. And mewed.
"Don’t give me that," Vergil replied, sternly.
A tail flick.
"…How many times have I told you not to climb trees? You’re far too young to —”
Vergil remembered for little apparent reason that he was talking to a lion cub. He sighed heavily and pulled the creature back close to his chest, where Mufasa promptly proceeded to attempt to climb onto his shoulders. Vergil simply brushed his mane back. (If he squinted, it looked a little like his own hair. Or what it used to be, before it started raining cats.) “Little fool,” he accused, more biting than he meant it.
It may have been his imagination when the lion pulled back and looked hurt. This knowledge did not stop him from flinching and looking away. “You ought to listen to your elders, you know. I have only your best interest in mind, and your — S— she will kill me if you are not at bare minimum in the same condition in which she left you, if not better.” Mufasa swiveled an ear. Vergil frowned. “Stop it.”
He did, choosing instead to ignore this weirdo human talking to him and curling against the broad warm chest he was being held against instead…before promptly returning to attempting to use Vergil as a launching pad for his test flight.
The treat had been undeniably delectable, incredibly sumptuous beyond belief that bite after bite, she truly believed she’d ascended into the heavens. It was a treat that could rival even that of Shirou’s exquisite culinary skills, and despite her usual restraint, this dessert was just more than she could ask for…
She stopped shortly thereafter, almost too abruptly as her gaze fell upon Sera, who appeared to have a rather disheartened look upon her visage. The expression troubled the King of Knights who, while perplexed did not fully understand the severity of her actions. Her spoon still lifted upwards, and with only a tiny portion of the dessert remaining on the dish it once sat upon, Saber slowly lowered her spoon.
“Was— Was I not supposed to eat it all?”
The act alone was pure nightmare fuel, eliciting from the knight king intense feelings of complete and utter revulsion. She willed herself to promptly remove her very person from the strikingly perilous situation, for holding hands is the last thing she’d do with the King of Heroes. It was peculiar, strangely off-putting that in an instant she distanced herself from the male, her enemy, before eyes bore daggers into his very person. How he’d managed to slither his way by her lonesome and hold her hand was beyond her comprehension.
Truthfully, she was more perplexed than surprised— this was inherently out of character for Archer. Was he looking to ridicule her—?!
“If you seek contact with my hand, it is what you shall receive.”
And thusly, fist collided with the loathsome face of his, wishing to completely eradicate the smirk that eased upon it like a lithesome snake.
A heavy sigh escaped thin lips, as a look of utter disbelief swathed her very features. Beryl hues gazed upon the flesh wound that required immediate medical assistance, the blood oozing quite fervently from its origin, seeping through his garments, staining them red. The wound itself appeared extremely painful, and the knight king could not help but frown at the severity of the laceration.
“… Pray tell, Lancer.
How is it that a servant such as yourself—
gets himself in such precarious situations?”
It was odd to see something not quite so life-threatening incapable of healing itself (as for servants were capable of rapid healing— especially from wound like these). Perhaps he was hit with a Noble Phantasm that did not allow for the healing of wounds that it inflicted… Ah. How ironic was the thought?
“Allow me to help you— but this shall happen only once. I shall honour your values as a Knight and aid you for the time being.”
It was strange, to say the least— sharing a bath with another Eirei of war. The proliferating steam made it difficult to see much, and although Saber herself did not mind if another gazed upon her nude body (for the notion of being a tool currently used for war is still currently embedded into her very cognizance), to partake in such an occasion with an individual she was not relatively close with, let alone one she would deem an enemy of war, was by any means puzzling. Despite the haze formed by the vapours that filled the air, an Eirei’s gaze was keener than an average human. She could see the well-endowed opponent (an observation that of course, did not escape her notice but she did not dwell on) on the opposite end of the bath, struggling very much so with cleaning the small of her back.
“Do you perhaps require any assistance?”
Her query came swiftly, allowing herself to close the space between them. Walking across the bath, a single hand is raised, grasping a small washcloth, gaze inquisitive. She would not touch the other without permission. That is… until her gaze fell upon a peculiar bush of fluff that swirled to and fro, to and fro.
… and it is then that the Knight King’s curiousity took hold, and without much thought, she pulled on the tail. Hard.