“It's no problem to me, Saber, I really do appreciate the effort,” rest in peace, omelet-san, was Shirou's current thought, but it would have only upset the girl before him. “S-Shirou? I must apologize for this, I had thought to try and repay for you making all those exquisite morning feasts, so.” her voice trailed off as she lowered her head in shame. Saber noticed him then, her cute baffled face turning red at his presence. Shirou, master of Unlimited Food Works as he was, stepped in to aid his beautiful house. Saber had, through a providence of fate, only moved on to the eggs, and seemed to be having difficulty. Emiya Shirou could do nothing for those poor souls, though he sent the heaven's a quick prayer on their behalf. The charred corpses of toast stared at him, either accusing him of not waking up early enough or begging him to put them out of their misery. Saber was cooking a meal, and dear GOD how could he have been lured by the sight before his eyes! The scene before him rivaled the number four spot on his list of horrible things that he wished had never happened or he could forget. The infamous loli sex slave hypothetical scenario was a notable one, as was getting sword spammed to death whilst the bastard King of Heroes made out with a tainted Saber. There were many scenes Shirou had never hoped to see, either ever or again. Shirou hopped to his feet, and started walking. The smell of breakfast wafted into the room, disrupting the increasingly disturbing video's going through his head. He grimaced, and wished there had been a better way, but a cat was fine too. The memory of that morning both snapped Shirou out of his archery zone and made his “bone of his sword” go floppy. Unfortunately, his method of mediation was going into this weird ass zen zone that he had sworn off when he had awoken one strange morning with Issei curled up like a kitten in his lap. He laid back onto his mat, and tried to meditate to clear out his, erm, problem. A mental picture of Rin dressed up as a doctor and glaring at him was enough to put out that idea, however. As he was getting dressed, Shirou idly wondered if he should get his perverse sexual fascination with weapons checked out with a therapist. He groaned, if only because now he'd go around about thirty minutes with a raging stiffy after that particular dream. Shirou woke, images of dancing swords with tantalizing lolipops still lingering in his mind. It had started out relatively normal too, as far as Bad Ends go.
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Mostly for the fact that the guy he hated was nailing his moe Servant on the kitchen counter, though the Gate of Babylon vs Kentucky Fried Chicken ran as a close second. Emiya Shirou would always regret that day.