|Just what Akko needed. She inwardly groans, shoulders dropping. Why did the opposite gender always find her doing something stupid? Why couldn’t she ever be doing something “sexy” or “cool”? Still, the male seemed nice, and he was trying to help. Akko’s obviously embarrassed, pressing her handkerchief against her nose stubbornly.
She takes his hand and is able to heave herself up with some struggle. The brunette avoids the young man’s gaze. He probably thinks she’s stupid. I mean, not like she cared, but he probably thought she was stupid. There’s some cuts on her knees, but nothing some band aids won’t help. Luckily. Akko carried those with her, and once this nosebleed issue was done she’d take care of that.
Still, she’d be stuck in the middle of the cement without this young man’s help, so she decides to thank him. Of course, Akko still has the handkerchief pressed against her nose, she’s flustered, and she avoids making eye contact with him.|
|It’s then she realizes she’s still holding onto his hand. Akko quickly lets go. Smooth.|
Merlin helped the brunette up after she accepted his aid, one hand pulling her up onto her feet with some struggle. He wasn’t as strong as one of the knights but the sorcerer figured it was better to at least try to help the young woman up rather than letting her sit face-first on the road.
After Akko slipped her hand away from his, Merlin realized he had been holding onto her’s for the small amount of time. He felt a tad embarrassed but tried not to let it show—instead he question her about the broom she carried alongside her.
"What’s the broom for?" he asked with genuine intrigue. He was wondering if she was a servant just as he had been—that would be a coincident to meet someone just like him in the city. Seeing his luck though the dragonlord guessed it wouldn’t be so since she appeared to dress in cleaner clothes than any servant he knew.
Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself either, the dark-haired male put out a hand and offered her a handshake. "I’m Merlin."
|This city was so..boring. Akko found herself walking on the cement, moving amongst the crowd of citizens. She kicked a rock for amusement, only to have it get lost within the rush. The young witch let out a heavy sigh, one hand gripping on her broom and the other tucked away in a pocket.
Akko being as clumsy as she is, it’s no surprise she manages to trip on a flat surface. Letting out a loud scream of distress, she lands straight on her face. A few citizens stop to look at her..only to walk away. Still stomach first on the floor, Akko lifts her head to yell at them.|
H-Hey! What’s your deal!? Come help me!
|At her outburst, her nose begins to bleed. Akko reacts with a small gasp, fishing into her pocket quickly to press her handkerchief against her nose. |
The man came out from his apartment late that afternoon for a quick walk to ease his troubles and relieve some of the stress which had been ailing him so much lately. Hive City kept him safe from all of the dangers which lurked in his own world and he had seen nothing but a secure and stable civilization in the world he stood in. That wasn’t what worried Merlin however. He feared that without being in Camelot, the fate of Albion itself might be in danger. There was no way of going back home and he had to accept that—to move on.
Moving on was something others seemed to have trouble with. As he walked down the streets the warlock noticed a loud cry from ahead of him and sprinted towards the sound to find a crowd forming briefly around a young girl before going on their paths.
Leaning over the brown-haired girl, Merlin held a worrisome look on his face. "You okay?" he asked after he little outburst—though his question was soon answered by the nosebleed which followed. The dark-haired young man scrambled close to her side and waved a hand to show he was willing to help her up. “Come on now, take it easy on yourself!” he exclaimed in concern while lowering his hand to help her up from the ground.
Restoration did not equate to instant recovery in less than twenty-four hours, with satisfactory results meeting the eye not long after eyelids flitted open and pupils adjusted accordingly to morning light. The weight of responsibility rested on those who had the means to fast forward the effort, a burden he found on his very own shoulders for indolence induced by faithlessness in the claims that the peculiarity of consecutive events were unpremeditated. In a more palpable sense, responsibility was in his arms as a pile of debris he carried, just as the others around him who had felt the need to make some efforts whether compensatory or not.
No strain was felt from the excessive weight in addition to the necessary weight of armor, thus no complaint was voiced aloud by the blond. Genuinely, he felt regretful of his idling, and should any thoughts of complaint have arisen in his mind, he would have forcibly extinguished them by inspecting the remaining work that had to be done, remembering the occasional bandaged patients recently released from the hospital. He tirelessly labored for weeks, entirely happy to do so under the circumstances. As anticipated, though, there were always a few who grumbled for the one who did not.
Stopping in his tracks, he threw a glance to the side towards the source. He had slight remembrance of the frequency with which he saw the other, noting the man to be one of the handful who regularly returned for cleaning, but the recognition did not go deeper than that; not even a name came to mind. Yet, what was the unexplained familiarity, the urge to start a conversation for a confirmation of something, that he felt the instant his eyes fell upon the male—?
“…I dare say I understand your sentiments. It is truly unfortunate there are those who do not work at all.”
The face which Merlin turned to meet was one of sure familiarity and foreignness all the same. He had let out a few mumbling words of complain as were the usual for a fed-up manservant—though he didn’t expect anyone to actually respond to his words. A young blonde spoke up with a deep sense of responsibility in his tone, that much Merlin could tell from his voice alone. He had been around enough knights to know when one held their priorities properly and the man ahead showed such signs.
He had to admit though—there was something about the stranger which struck him as exceptionally strong. Be it the fact that he worked so gallantly despite his heavy armour or the air which surrounded him, perhaps no one would know. However upon hearing the simple words he spoke, Merlin mistakenly dropped the rubble he had been carrying and allowed it to smash into a dozen smaller pieces.
Cocking his head to the side with a look of absolute confusion, the sorcerer managed to say a few words. “Do I.. know you?” the young man asked with the same expression cast across his pale face. He couldn’t think of a name in particular, no, but someone from back home had the same aura as that man before him. Merlin shook his head just thinking about it, realizing it couldn’t have been the same knight he knew. He bent over to pick up a few more pieces of debris and smiled cautiously at his company.
"Thanks, though." he said after a while of pause, going so far as to shift the stones in his arms into one arm completely so that he could offer a handshake. “My name’s Merlin.”
The very utterance of her name had driven Saber to an immediate halt. How had this man known of her true name—!? Her initial inclination was to grasp for the Holy blade which she had been blessed with. When her fingers grasped nothing but mere air did she realize with much embarrassment that such a blade was no longer in her possession. After many years of bellicose contentions and altercations, it was not unlike her to be so apprehensive of a stranger who knew of her identity.
There were many few individuals of this age who knew of her name— and most of them were Eirei— Heroic Spirits, just like herself, summoned into the modern era to fight for a war. The victor of such a war would be granted a wish from the omnipotent vessel, the Holy Grail. If this man knew of her name, then it must mean that he was someone of her past. The way he looked at her and spoke of her percolated utter familiarity. But she did not comprehend—who could this man possibly be?
He was much too young to be the bearded wizard who, throughout her reign, made her life strangely miserable but was the greatest adviser. Was he possible a knight? That could not be possible. He did not hold the air of knighthood.
“Ah—you look thinner now, sire!”
Upon registering that phrase however, did the knight king’s temple pulse. ”Thinner? Blasphemy. I always appeared this way!” she retaliated, quite miffed by this man’s audacity!
After composing herself, Saber finally gazed upon the man with a steadfast gaze, verdigris hues incredibly inquisitive as to this man’s identity. “… But yes. That is the name I went by when I was alive many years ago in the age of man. It is only an honourable thing to do if one tells you of their name. Pray tell, who may you be?”
It’d been months since Merlin had saw or even spoke to Arthur Pendragon, their last encounter in Merlin’s world was one of sad farewells. Yet being there in front of him (or rather her) once more, it was more than mere legend, it was the truth that they were meant to reunite as friends again.
The warlock’s eyes widened at the simple thought of his old friend having the very same appearance that she held now. Shaking his head, Merlin was definitely not keen on that idea. "No, no!" he blurted out, his expression showing the difficulty he had in remembering his King with that image. "You—you’re girly now. Didn’t see that side of you often…” the servant mention with a raise of his brows.
The only real surprise Merlin had was in hearing that his good friend had yet to recall his identity. Blue eyes widened in a show of both shock and disappointment that the woman couldn’t tell just who she was speaking to. After cleaning her boots, bed, and horses’ waste in the old life she lead, it was astonishing to hear that the blonde couldn’t tell it was really just Merlin.
"You really don’t know…" the warlock murmured with a more serious tone, his expression humourless due to the unforeseen question brought upon him. "I’m Merlin. I was your servant, your adviser—I’m… your friend.” the young man confessed with a rather hopeless look on his face, not sure if the woman would be able to recall him after reincarnation the same way Merlin remembered her.
Looking around the both of them, the young man reached one hand to rub the back of his neck in nervousness. Before long he muttered a few words rather lowly, not sure if he wanted to be heard or not in the tense situation. “Maybe I should go..?”
Merlin oftentimes has urges or cravings for stew despite the variety of dishes which Hive City has to offer. He was practically raised on mysterious soups and stews by his mentor, Gaius, and has come to actually enjoy and long for the dish. Besides, he isn’t the best cook…
The alliance which Merlin formed with Mordred became his downfall—it caused for the events of prophecy to unravel and thus Merlin holds more wariness when forming alliances with others. He takes care when doing so and tries not to overlook what prophecies state.
He isn’t a man of revenge. Not when enemy knights murdered his father nor when Mordred killed Arthur did the sorcerer feel the need to take out his feelings in the form of violence. He feels that revenge only gives way to an endless cycle of pain.
Early in his days of using magic, Merlin often had the urge to use it for his personal benefit. After the years he spent in Camelot however, his experiences taught him that he should be using it for the good of others. He slowly began to reduce how often he practiced spells for personal gain rather than ones to aid Arthur in his journey.