middaeg | July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

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July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and you!
When: Throughout July
Where: Through the city
What: Quests and other things!
Warnings: Some threads are NSFW!

[ 1. Sew and Tell ]

[ While Berserker can't help with the magical parts of upgrading the shop, he is strong. He's doing any grunt labor asked of him, lifting things, moving heavy objects, and holding people up to reach things. You need something carried? He's your ~~dragon~~ man.

He finishes a task to take a small break to stretch. He looks over to a coworker (or customer, he doesn't care to know the difference) and tilts his head slightly. ]

Is there something you need me for?

[ 2. Out of the City ]

[ There's a lull in the activity of the day and Berserker takes a moment to rest. He slumps down against a tree, his spear Gae Bolg resting against his shoulder. He's only doing this because he knows he's good at it -- fighting and killing is boring and routine. A sound catches his attention and he grabs his spear without getting up. ]

Do I need to stand up or did you just trip?

[ He's a jerk, sorry. ]

[ 3. Wildcard ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something already? Drop me a starter or PM me here or on discord at glitzkrieg#0673! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The cold annoys him endlessly. Dragons are not meant to be cold like this, at least not the sort of dragon he is. He wouldn't have even left the apartment if he hadn't needed to pick something up from the shop. It wasn't even a long trek, but the snow was falling heavy in a frigid, gusty wind. After the stupidity from a few days ago, Berserker is still sore and, as a result, crankier than ever. Being forced to venture out in the cold didn't help that attitude.

He comes up the steps to the apartment and opens the door, shaking the snow from his cloak before he comes in. He didn't think to wipe his slushy boots, though, and tracks the mess along with him. Mercifully, he leaves them nearish the door, so it's not an egregious problem. Wetness drips from his hair and clothes as he stops to strip off most of his outer layers. Instead of hanging them up or anything else, he just lets them drop onto the rug beneath him.

"Anybody home?"

At least he thought to announce himself this time.

Waver may not be particularly averse to the cold by nature or instinct, but that doesn't mean he really enjoys it. He's perfectly content to stay indoors while the weather's all wonky, other than to go to work or run necessary errands.

He's only just returned from his shift at the apothecary a few minutes ago when he hears the door open. His ears prick automatically, but he recognizes the scent and the voice calling out. Even if it doesn't make him all that happy to hear Berserker, and without Diarmuid.

It's been a bit awkward, but all things considered, Waver's gotten used to the large dragon's presence-- potentially even to the point of considering one of the household, if grudgingly. They haven't had occasion to interact too much even with Berserker coming and going regularly these days, but Waver doesn't mind keeping it that way. Vague politeness and willingness to share space when needed is all that's required of him, and it's a deal he can live with for now.

So when Berserker calls out his question, Waver steps out of his room with the intent to stay just long enough to say hello and make himself some hot tea to settle in with, now that he's home as well.

"Just me," Waver replies, making his way down the hall with a small wave.

And then he spots Berserker's boots in damp disarray by the door, having already tracked mud inside past the rug for wiping off shoes. On top of that, he's a mess, looking awfully bedraggled and miserable, and standing amidst a pile of what appear to be sopping jackets and coats just getting the floor wet.

Waver sighs.

"Are you serious? Don't leave those on the floor. You're getting everything dirty."

Berserker had a vague hope he'd be the only one here. The past few days have been rough, with isolation being the only relief from complicated feelings. No such luck today, but such is the risk of living with others. It's fine. It's not ideal, but it's fine. He gives a cordial nod in response to the voice, but says nothing himself.

His feelings about Waver are largely indifferent. He's important to Diarmuid so he's at least trying to not be outright cruel to him. There's still an attempt at avoidance made whenever possible to try to keep the peace. He has no interest in being overly friendly or trying to force more of a relationship when it's unnecessary.

Berserker narrows his eyes as he drops off his last layer, down to a loose dark shirt and dark pants. Manners of any kind are a foreign concept -- he's more like a wild animal than a person in some ways.

"I'll deal with them in a moment."

And, to his credit, he does pick up the layers abandoned on the floor and hangs them up to dry. His boots are left where they are, mostly because his focus has gone to how cold he is. Berserker fights off a shiver as he wipes wet hair away from his face.

"Is that better?" Indifferent. He mostly wants to be left alone so he can go bundle himself up in all the blankets he can find.

Edited 2019-07-15 12:17 (UTC)

"...I guess."

The real answer is 'no' but Waver has surmised that Berserker is clearly incapable of doing a simple task like cleaning up after himself. He can't stand the mess though, so Waver stalks over to the boots first, brushing past Berserker as he bends to grab them, mouth twisting in distaste.

"You need to stomp the excess snow off outside. Wipe your feet on the rug before you come in," he lectures as he moves to go do that himself now, meaning to shake off the boots before coming back in to mop.

Warm...That's all Berserker can focus on as Waver brushes past him. The lecture annoys him, but the annoyance is background noise to the thought of that warmth. It would be inappropriate and, frankly, weird to ask Waver why he's so warm and if he can leech off of it. And yet...No. Focus.

"I can do it myself. I wanted to warm up first," he admits, "don't clean up after me. It's not your responsibility."

"By the time you warm up, the floor will be wet and the rug will be stained. Just take care if it before you get settled in and it won't be a problem next time," Waver points out flatly. He also doesn't think it's his responsibility, but frankly, he'd rather not deal with worse messes later.

"I'll do it this time. Don't expect me to do it again."

He doesn't like being lectured, but he's trying his best to be civil. Instead of lashing out, he lets the annoyance stew inside of him. It's not an ideal way of being.

"I don't expect you to do it now, why would I expect it again?"

It's hard to sound irritated when you're trying to stop yourself from shivering. Berserker is deeply displeased with this situation in general -- he just wanted to come in, strip down, and warm himself up, not get a lecture about how to act like a decent human being. He should excuse himself to get a towel to dry his hair off, but he's too stubborn to give up on this.

"I'll take care of it, go back to what you were doing."

"I wasn't doing anything," Waver argues back because for some reason now it's a matter of principle. He's started this. He's not going to just drop it. Besides, he doesn't even trust Berserker to do a good job cleaning at this point anyway.

"If you really want to help, go get the mop before the water seeps into the wood. Do you even know where it is?"

Honestly, Waver's not even that mad, just mildly grumpy. This is just how he sounds...

But first, actually--

"Wait. You're just gonna drip everywhere. Stay put. I'll bring you a towel."

He is really trying his best to not yell at Waver to shut up and leave him be. Again, he silently accepts the scolding despite the simmering irritation beneath his apathetic expression. Let him get it out of his system and maybe he'll let him go warm up finally. Make a nest on the couch and take a nap -- this is the thought stopping him from snapping at the smaller man.

Before he can say anything about not knowing where the mop is because he doesn't live here all the time nor has he needed to know where it is, Waver's telling him to wait and stay put. An annoyed grunt escapes the dragon and he hangs his head for a moment.

"Fine. I'll wait here."

Maybe the cold isn't so bad, at least no one was treating him like a child out there.

Satisfied with that frank, useful answer, Waver nods once and quickly ducks back through the front door to shake out Berserker's boots on the stoop. There's some thumping and vague grumbling, and then he's back, setting the slightly less muddy boots on the doormat to dry and glancing back up at Berserker just once, as if to make sure he's stayed put.

So far so good...

Waver's small, but he moves fast, with confident and efficient strides. Especially when he needs to get shit done.

Just a few moments later, Berserker will find a large, fluffy towel being pressed into his hands.

"Shirt off," Waver orders, stretching out his hand expectantly to receive it.

"How did you even manage to get this wet?"

Berserker takes off his shirt and hands it to Waver. Despite his looks, he's quite passive and will do what he's told. The path of least resistance is the one most followed.

"The last time you were telling me to put my shirt back on."

Was that a joke...?

Wet skin exposed to the air breaks out in goosebumps as he fights off a shiver. Bruising shows on his lower neck and upper shoulders, fairly fresh. He starts to dry off his hair, being mindful of his left ear; it's still a little mangled from an earlier ... incident, the same one that caused the bruising. At least this soaking wasn't essentially his own fault, but it was still deeply unpleasant.

"A spell to keep people from getting too hot. Too hot meant anything warmer than the air around it, so I got soaked."

Sigh. He hated this place sometimes.

"Yeah, well-- last time, it was dry," Waver mutters, though he might be blushing slightly despite himself. Still, he grabs the wet shirt out of Berserker's grip, meaning to just turn around and go hang it up in the bathroom to dry when his eyes catch on the bruising. He'd noticed the injured ear, too.

Even though he wouldn't consider himself close to Berserker in the slightest, the fact that he's Diarmuid's Bonded as well and has recently begun to sort-of live in their home when he's around has placed him just within that category in Waver's mind that might cover part of his 'pack,' as it were. The instinct is new, and Waver isn't consciously aware of it, but what he does know is that Berserker is important to Diarmuid. Who is his ally... his friend. And so, by extension, that protective, possessive instinct extends to Berserker now too. Waver frowns, the displeasure at seeing him injured more acute than he might have expected but no less real for its surprise.

"That sounds like an idiotic spell," he agrees, absently, even as he lifts himself up on tiptoe to get a better look.

"Did you get in a fight?"

There's a certain bit of protective instinct Berserker's developed for Waver in turn. He's important enough to Diarmuid that he's worth protecting. They live in the same house, share the same space, and are bonded to the same person, it was bound to happen. He won't openly admit this, of course, but it's a feeling he can't deny. There's also a sense of obligation to Diarmuid to protect those most important to him. Despite how much has been taken from him by the Grail, the loyalty of Cú Chulainn remains.

He averts his gaze at the question. Yes, there was a fight...An extremely stupid fight in hindsight that could've been much, much worse if not for the intervention of two others. He's not used to having a mortal body still. He's also unused to emotions and the feral outbursts he's prone to without someone nearby to ground him. It's better with his bond now, but this just proved how uncontrollable he could still be.

"Yes. Caster and I got into a fight."

There was no sense in lying about who was involved. Waver didn't have to know about Berserker's connection to Caster, though.

"I'm fine, don't look so concerned."

"I'm not concerned," Waver shoots back immediately, even though he'd clearly just been eyeing the bruises. He backs up a step, still scowling, his free hand in a fist on his hip.

"I might have something to help. Go shower first."

Definitely not concerned though.

"If you say so."

He could press it more, but he doesn't -- he's slowly learning the act of restraint. Don't pry at someone's denial without a good reason.

"Fine...I'll accept your help once I'm out of the shower."

Instead of antagonizing Waver further, he walks towards the bathroom. He sheds his pants on the way there without a thought for decency. It's just more practical, is his excuse.

What is it with Heroic Spirits and not understanding pants?

Berserker might hear Waver's soft, startled intake of breath, and then his groan. There he goes. Ass-naked.

"J-just leave your pants by the door!" Waver calls after him, (mostly) averting his gaze. At least he can try to dry them along with the shirt, hopefully in time for Berserker to wear them again. Waver's not sure if he's got any other clothes here.

...this would be much easier if he had magic. He's just going to have to do it the old-fashioned way, hanging the wet clothes up near the fireplace and hoping belatedly Berserker doesn't forget to at least wear a towel back out.

With the amount of unscheduled freezing cold baths he's been taking lately, he should really leave a change of clothes other here.

It's a little while before he emerges from the bathroom again, just a bit warmer. His hair is loose and damp, the length clinging to his neck and shoulders. Berserker did wear a towel out of bathroom...around his shoulders. He's not really thinking too hard about the situation here. Sorry, Waver, this Heroic Spirit lacks shame when it comes to being nude.

The warmth of the fireplace naturally draws him over. He kneels down in front of the hearth to bask in the heated glow. It's like he can never be warm enough and it frustrates him.

"Now what's that help you were offering?"

This is an absurd situation...

Waver is also hanging out near the fireplace now, curled up in his armchair with a book. On the small side table beside it, he's set out a couple of small jars and vials, alongside his cup of steaming tea.

He looks up when he hears footsteps, having completely gotten distracted and forgotten the possibility that Berserker might forget to wear anything out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, it's almost worse that he brought the towel and didn't even cover up with it. Waver nearly dunks his whole hand in his teacup mid-reach to grab it, eyes widening as he's greeted with the full... everything... of Berserker's freshly-showered body.

"Berserker!!" Waver jumps up, book abandoned. He's absolutely no good at hiding how flustered he is, and the firelight unfortunately only makes him look even more tomato-colored.

"W-what are you doing?! Don't just-- Aah!"

Berserker's too focused on the fire to pay attention to Waver for the moment. It isn't until he hears his name that he turns in momentary confusion. Oh. Oops. He stands up again as he takes the towel from around his shoulders, giving the smaller man another eyeful. It's not like he's trying to embarrass him, it's just a side effect of having no qualms about nudity. After what probably feels like an eternity, he wraps the towel around his waist.

"Better?" he asks as he approaches Waver.

Before he can answer, Berserker kneels down in front of him. It's his attempt to get this back on track -- be happy he didn't seize on your embarrassment, Waver.

Another eyeful, indeed. Waver's definitely seen a lot more than he'd bargained for with the full frontal view this time. At least while he'd been walking away, it was just his back and butt...

Now, Waver has to contend with the sudden, unwarranted revelation that whatever changes Berserker's body is going through to become more like the native Monsters in this world, they've spread down to the most... intimate... parts of him. Waver's just going to assume he didn't originally arrive here with that between his legs.

Also, he was definitely staring until Berserker covered up, whoops. Waver forces his attention away just as the towel finally wraps around the other man's hips, where it should have been the whole time to preserve whatever's left of Waver's innocence. Too late now.

"Y-yeah, er..."

Wait, what is he doing now? Why is he getting closer?!

Waver steps back, forgetting the chair is still right behind him, and knocks the backs of his knees on the front of it, sitting down hard with a startled grunt. Now that he's got a tail to deal with, that's not nearly so comfortable when it gets bent or sat on. He winces, reaching back to adjust the annoying appendage, and looking up again to find Berserker's face now way too close. Kneeling on the floor, he's just about the same height as Waver in his chair. A very confused, red-faced Waver still vaguely concerned about his junk...

"I-- Ah... Right." Waver reaches over to snatch up one of the small glass jars. Working at the apothecary has its perks.

"I have some healing and pain relieving poultices... here..."

Waver's lingering stare doesn't go unnoticed. No one's more intimately aware of the changes his body has gone through than himself. It doesn't bother him, though -- usually people are trying to avert their gaze when they see him, but a few stare. It's normal.

Also normal is Waver's reaction as Berserker draws nearer. Fear is a common reaction. He's large, intimidating, and gives off an air of a killer. He's led a bloodstained life and it's imbued in his very aura. He doesn't react to the other man's fear and anxiety, keeping a neutral expression. Maybe he'd stop scaring Waver someday, even on accident.

"I can handle pain...You don't have to waste these things on me."

Pain is a fact of life for him. The way he fought as a Servant was unbridled and wild: his Noble Phantasm was thrown with enough force to dislocate his shoulder, tear muscle, and break bone. It's only because of his Rune Magic the damage was repaired. The pain remained, though.

"Save them for someone who needs it."

Waver doesn't even bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Berserker probably doesn't realize how pointlessly edgy he sounds right now, but it's just stupid.

"I work at the apothecary. I can make more. It's not like there's some limited supply that needs saving or rationing out to someone who 'really' needs it. Don't be an idiot."

At least with Berserker kneeling, he's easier to reach. Waver unscrews the lid on the jar, balancing it on one knee, and scoops out some of the substance inside onto his fingertips.

"Hold still."

Look, he's got issues, okay? Accepting help without fussing is an impossibility. Berserker narrows his eyes, but doesn't react beyond that. He did have half a mind to stand up to make this harder on Waver -- he's not in the mood to be that petty.

"Shut up. I'm used to caring for my own wounds, that's all."

'Caring' meant leaving them alone to heal over on their own. He's so stubborn that it's detrimental to his well-being. It's so hard to care about yourself when you're self-destructive to a fault in battle, expecting and anticipating each one to be your last.

He does as he's told, though, and sits still. It's weird to let Waver get this close to him, much less touch him. Allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of him requires trust. There's only trust given here because he has nothing to fear from the other man. If he were any more of a threat, he wouldn't allow this.

"Don't tell me to shut up. You shut up," Waver snaps back. It's like an automatic reaction though, all bark and no bite.

Despite his belligerent tone, his fingers are gentle, and he's careful with his claws. The poultice feels cool and tingling on Berserker's skin and scales as Waver carefully rubs it into his bruises, smelling of fresh mint and sharply scented herbs. His hands, though, are warm-- a bit warmer than a human's at this point. And when he bends forward to take a better look at Berserker's ear, Waver braces himself with the flat of his palm on one broad shoulder, leaning in close.

It's the gentle touch that makes him want to shy away. The pain he can handle, but he doesn't know what to do with softness. Every touch laid upon him should be painful and nothing else. Berserker flinches at the contact. It feels good, especially with how warm Waver's hands are, though from his reaction it looks like it hurts.

He turns his head to let him get a better look at his ear. It's scabbed over, but it's obviously a bite of some kind.

"Diarmuid did something for it, enough to keep it from getting worse. I've left it alone other than that."

Words to fill space. Waver didn't need to know that -- it didn't affect anything.

closed to Waver

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