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

[ OOC: continued from here ]

[ The threat isn't a surprise. Dragons are fiercely protective of those they're close to and the things they own. It's an instinct deeply ingrained in the fiber of their being. Berserker silently accepts it with a cold look. He would have said the same thing if their positions were reversed.

He wants to shake the coat off and refuse the help, but he's really too numb to fight it. It's warm, dry, and smells like Diarmuid, all of which are welcome and comforting. He manages to get to his feet finally, even as every nerve in him lights up in pain.

Speaking of pain, the pain on Diarmuid's face concerns him. The ache is shared through their bond, troubling him further. Ah, this is all his fault. Well, no, Caster shares a good bit of the blame, too, but mostly it's his fault. He has to say something. He keeps his voice low, as these words are only meant for his Bonded. ]

I will give you the choice to sever our bond. I won't hold it against you if you choose to do it. I will no longer be your burden to bear. You would be better off if you simply gave up on me.

[ He'd told Diarmuid not to let him push him away, but things have changed. This is too severe of a situation to hold to that. An Alter Servant is a problem for everything and everyone around them. The reality of his existence is crystal clear. ]

I'm giving you this choice out of courtesy. Don't think of it as running away...I was never your responsibility to bear. I was never supposed to exist. [ He never wanted to exist. ] Don't feel obligated to help an impossibility. You owe me nothing, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne...

[ He closes his eyes, expression pained momentarily. ]

Do as you will.

[He knew it was coming and it still makes his chest tighten. Against all instincts, he stays quiet and listens, letting his unhappiness at the offer show only in a tightening of his jaw. Obligation. Courtesy. Burden. The words wash over him as coldly as the breeze but he says nothing the whole while.

Diarmuid swallows.]

... there's some truth in that. [He tightens the front of the coat around him and fastens a couple of buttons to hold it in place.] And yet here we both stand. Together, no less.

[Next, the scarf. Gently, he wraps it around Berserker's neck, making sure to cover his wounded ear without pressing on it too much. As he draws back, he touches a hand to his cheek to wipe some of the blood away. Since he gave up his coat, he has little left to offer in the way of body heat, but he's still warmer than the dragon and the prickle of magic has its own heat.

To hell with vows. The decision he comes to is made not as a knight but as a friend.

The smile he gives him is faint but its fragility belies the strength behind it. He sounds firm.]

An impossibility and a fool.

[ He didn't think Diarmuid would take him up on it, but he offered it regardless. To think he has this sort of determination in him. It's misguided in his mind; he's not worth this effort -- he's not worth anything at all. The same conflicted feelings trouble him as they did when he and Waver met. It was a mess, he was a mess...He's still a mess.

He passively accepts the additional warmth, expression unreadable. The least he can do is pull the Lancer closer. It's purely practical, he tells himself, for warmth and nothing else. In truth, it's a comfort to have him close. He wants to ease the burden placed on Diarmuid in anyway, even if he doesn't understand that's why he does this. ]

And you're a fool for staying here. [ There's no bite in his words, no edge whatsoever. ] Let me get Gae Bolg and... [ He should ask, not assume. ] ...Can I stay with you for the night?

[ It's closer to Diarmuid's apartment than Ozymandias' home. Practical, he tells himself. No, that's a lie. He wants the comfort only his Bonded can provide. Even he can't justify it another way. He wants to lie with him and rest his aching body. It's an indulgence he shouldn't take, one he should be ashamed for even considering...No. That's not right, either. It's okay to take comfort from Diarmuid. ]

I know. [A soft, strange laugh.] That's usually how it goes.

[The proximity is a relief he couldn't have expected. His head's still spinning in the aftermath and, now that he doesn't have to worry about Berserker breaking their bond, he's just... tired. It's only now that he even realises that he was afraid of that possibility; deep down, he was absolutely certain that he'd turn away and that would it be. Two down in one night. But he can breathe. Emotionally, his every resource has been drained dry but he can breathe. The smile fades and he leans into him, eyes closed for just a moment as he appreciates the steady pulse of energy between them.

There's no point worrying about right or wrong decisions tonight. When he pulls away, he makes an effort to perk up and hides his anxiety with a curt nod.]

... of course. You can take a bath and then I'll look at your injuries or you can just rest.

[The spear, he's assuming, is somewhere in the middle of all that rubble and he's quick to step in and help; the sooner they get out of the cold, the better. Hell, he'll even try to coax Berserker into a coach once they get back to the main street.]

[ Trying hide what can be felt is a bit pointless, but Berserker leaves it alone. There's a time and a place to dig at such a thing, neither of which were right now. Slowly things are changing, even if just a little bit. Don't tear at someone's worries and fears just because you can, have a reason. It's an improvement.

There's a certain relief once his favored weapon is in hand once again. He's already in better spirits, even agreeing to the coach. It's faster and out of the cold. The pain in his muscles is enough that he might not have made it back just walking, either. A practical solution to these problems. Berserker spends the ride in silence, leaned against Diarmuid.

Once out of the coach, he makes a stubborn show of walking up to the apartment. It's not as though he's truly walking unassisted -- Gae Bolg is a decent support. The second he's inside, he makes a determined line for the nearest bathroom. No words, only action -- he's on a mission. Careful with the borrowed coat and scarf, they go first and are left somewhere safe. The rest of his clothes form a wet trail behind him in his wake. Everything else be damned, a hot bath is what he needs.

As he draws the bath, he realizes he doesn't have a spare set of clothing...Oh well, he'll worry about that later. The comfort of hot water is calling now. He sinks into the water, his head just barely above it. Anything to soothe his stinging skin and aching muscle. ]

[There's something there. He knows it. At first, he'd wondered if what he was seeing was simply a reflection of himself in Berserker, parts that were passed down through the bond against his will, but now he has to wonder..

Abandoned clothes are gathered up- the wet ones ready to be hung out to dry when the snow lets up- boots are set somewhere out of the way and his own damp shirt is swapped out for a sweater. It's only when he hears the bathroom door shut, though, that Diarmuid sinks into an armchair. What a mess. Waver's at work if he's remembering correctly. Probably for the best; he's almost certainly felt that disturbance through their own bond but this isn't a conversation he wants to have right now with anyone. At least he knows Berserker will feel the same.

But there's no rest for the wicked- and god knows he's feeling as though he counts among their numbers right now. He gives the other Servant some time alone to decompress but, after a short while, heads into the bathroom himself, a pile of clothes he thinks might fit him under one arm. They're not too different in size, really, just built differently.]

... may I look at your ear?

[ Being left alone is both a blessing and a curse. The fight took more out of him than he'd expected; the physical part is easy to deal with, it's the emotional part that's new. Those bouts of rage were like nothing he'd ever experienced. They burned with such an intensity...

His thoughts drift away from his own problems to ones he's even less equipped to deal with. He never cared about how his actions affected other people before -- it didn't matter, he was simply doing what was needed. He'd done what was necessary once again, or at least what he believed was necessary. The ache he'd felt from Diarmuid when Caster said goodbye...That bothered him. He was the cause of it. Why was it different...?

The door opening shakes him from his thoughts. Berserker looks to the witch, almost relieved he has company again. At the question, he nods -- anything to pull him away from these troubled emotions he can't lock away. ]

Go ahead.

[ The wound is bad, but at least his ear is still attached to his head...Mostly. Archer's sharp teeth tore through the cartilage with ease, leaving a ragged mess. He hasn't tried to rinse the blood off yet, so the extent of the damage isn't immediately visible. ]

[Neither of them really seem to know how to handle the situation or even broach the subject. That's fine. They're not equipped to deal with it right now, emotionally or physically.

Diarmuid opens the cabinet above the sink and retrieves a small jar of cotton pads, a few of which he soaks in water before kneeling beside the bath to get to work. At least he can trust Berserker to be a well-behaved patient. Carefully, he begins to clean what he can of the blood away, occasionally pausing to gauge his reaction, and get a better look at the damage.]

... I'm going to use a spell.

[Before they were bonded, he might not have been quite so confident in his abilities but the cycling of magic between both Waver and Berserker has bolstered them considerably. A warm burst of energy spreads from his fingertips across the mutilated cartilage. It's not the most elegant of castings and neither will it completely heal up the wound but it will definitely keep it from getting worse overnight. Maybe he can be talked into visiting the Coven later.

By all rights, he should be done in here but he doesn't get up to leave just yet. Silently, he regards the other man, following the line of his nose to the curve of his lips in search of something even he isn't sure how to recognise. When they had first met, he wouldn't have thought him capable of humanity.

How things change.]

Take my room tonight, okay? [He gets to his feet.] I'll sleep on the couch if you'd prefer the space.

[It's the last thing he wants right now but putting that ahead of what's practical and right has been his downfall once already today.]

Edited 2019-07-15 15:54 (UTC)

[ It's something that can be dealt with later. There are more pressing needs to be taken care of right now.

Berserker barely reacts to the attention being paid to his wounded ear. It hurts, certainly, but pain is the one thing he's used to handling. He doesn't flinch, wince, or try to pull away, just lets Diarmuid do his job. It's relaxing in a strange way to let someone else care for his wounds. He closes his eyes as the spell warms the wound. An unfamiliar, though not unpleasant sensation he can't help but shiver in response. The briefest of smiles crosses his lips at the attention. Strange...

As the witch gets up, he reaches out to stop him, He gently grabs at hold of whatever he can, looking up at the other Servant with an unreadable expression. ]

Sleep with me tonight. [ That could've been phrased better. ] I don't want to be alone.

[Diarmuid stares and not simply because of the ambiguous wording. When has he ever heard Berserker express a want for anything, let alone company? Since becoming close to him, he's learned that there are vulnerabilities hidden in the most common of gestures but this is different. It's open and raw and searching. Uncertainty isn't a weakness that he would expect from the steadfast, prowling man he's bonded to and be permitted to see it, even in fragments, is oddly touching.

His response is immediate. Before he has a chance to second-guess himself, Diarmuid slips free of his grasp so that he can gather up his hair and tie it up out of the water for him.]

Neither do I.

[And still Diarmuid's quick to change the subject in fear of coming across too sentimental, patting the clothes he gathered before.]

I think these should fit you but you're welcome to anything else.

[There's no need to warn him away from Waver's things.]

[ If anyone deserved to see this side of him, it was Diarmuid. He trusted him not the prey on this vulnerability -- even if he did such a thing, he'd put a stop to it permanently. Behaviors and emotions he'd buried off long ago were bubbling up the surface. It should have been impossible, he tells himself. These were given up in the name of strength...weren't they? The Grail and Medb's wish robbed him of these things, so why are they here now? Tumultuous feelings burned inside of him, ones he couldn't put a name to or describe. All he knows is that he can't deal with them alone and that bothers him deeply.

He's pulled back out of his own confusing emotions by the Lancer tying his hair back for him. That's something he'd rarely let anyone do: touch his hair. It's a soft gesture, one he almost shies away from. It's always the gentle sensations he pulls away from or fights, never painful ones. It's a side effect of the type of life he lived.

Berserker manages a nod. ]

I'm almost done...I'm going to lie down afterward. Join me whenever you like.

[From anyone else, it would be a privilege to be allowed so close in such a time of weakness but from Berserker it's a milestone, a marker to a sense of trust and vulnerability that neither of them entirely knew he was capable of possessing. There are no thoughts in his mind to betray that. In fact, it makes him more determined than ever; if their bond was the pick that had carved open this long forgotten spring of emotion then he bears a certain responsibility for it.

Woe betide anyone, then, who should fall foul of that.]

Alright. Take your time- and whatever else you should need.

[When he emerges, he'll find the Lancer still in the kitchen and a glass of hot whiskey waiting for him on the side but whenever he decides to retire, it won't be long before he has company. As usual, Diarmuid's tentative about physical affection, not immediately giving way to his desire to nestle close in favour of letting the decision fall on Berserker. Affection. Now that's something he never thought he would feel towards the man lying next to him, even in such small, cautious doses.]

[ This is a difficulty he's unaccustomed to, one that he's ill equipped to deal with. He can't sit here and let this burn inside of him. He needs to rest...That will help. Dry and dressed, he's already feeling better. The comfort of the hot alcohol helps, too, of course.

Once Diarmuid joins him in bed, Berserker sidles up closer. He puts an arm around him and draws him in closer. It's desperate, yet cautious. He can't rely on anyone but himself, this is how he's lived for so long, and yet now he finds himself relying more and more on the Lancer. How did it come to this...? ]

You're risking a lot for me... [ He nuzzles against his neck. ] I still don't understand why, but I accept it.

Edited 2019-07-16 12:42 (UTC)

[As soon as he feels his arm around him, he closes the gap between them, shifting so that Berserker's head is resting against his chest. It's a little tricky with the horns but he's slowly gotten used to their presence.]

Risking a lot...? [Diarmuid sighs long and deep, putting a hand to his forehead.] I... maybe. I've always been a poor judge of that.

[There are classes at the Coven tomorrow but, somehow, they've suddenly lost all pull for him. There's so much he has to think over that the idea of trudging through the snow and spending hours learning archaic fire spells is unbearable; how is he supposed to focus on that right now? More likely, he'd burn the whole classroom down.]

Just know that I'm here out of choice rather than obligation.

[ His horns have been nothing but a nuisance, really.

He shifts a little bit to settle in further, his eyes closed. The magic pulses between them, their hearts beating in time with it. What a strange, yet soothing feeling. Just this contact is enough to settle some of his more bothersome thoughts. Everything's fine so long as his bonded is here with him.

Berserker raises his head for a moment to look at Diarmuid, brow furrowed. There's no point in being gentle about it. ]

I know...I think it's foolish, but it's your choice. I will have you as long as you'll stay. For all that you may lose, I will remain.

[ He lays his head back down as he pushes a hand underneath any top the Lancer might be wearing. Claws play gently across his skin, light and teasing. How strange to give out soft affection like this. ]

It is foolish.

[Almost feline, he arches his back into the touch, breath catching in a decidedly more satisfied sigh as claws ghost over his skin. But it isn't just the sensation making him break out in goosebumps; Berserker's promise has struck a chord and he responds by stroking a hand through his hair.

As he talks, he traces the base of his horns and his temple with one fingertip.]

I can only hope you're not chaining yourself to a sinking vessel.

[A small silence. It's not even late and yet sleep beckons with as much intensity as it would if it were the middle of the night. He resists.]

... I shared a bed with Lord Fionn often. Not like this, though.

[ A soft, pleased noise comes from him in response to the petting. Even though he let himself indulge in this more often now, simple affection still draws a strong reaction out of him. It's something he can't control, but the desire to control it lessens in Diarmuid's presence. Odd. ]

Even if I am, I don't care. That's my foolish choice to make.

[ Berserker traces the lines of the Lancer's muscle with the pads of his fingers, using a little more pressure. It's a test to see what sort of touch he responds to best, curiosity getting the best of him. He listens for a change in his breathing, a tensing beneath his fingers, anything that might give him away.

Sleep is tough to resist right now, his body and mind exhausted. The warmth and physical comfort from Diarmuid isn't helping him fight it, either. Fionn's name is enough to shake it off for the moment. ]

I'm not surprised... [ By either admission. ] A knight's expected to serve his king, after all. [ He shifts a little bit as his hand comes to rest on the other man's hip. ] Is this better or worse?

[Each touch brings about a subtle reaction of its own; a catch in his breath; teeth pressing lightly on his lower lip; skin prickling. But, even half asleep and basking in the hazy warmth that lying beneath a triple layer of blankets, bedsheets and dragon brings, he has enough of a presence of mind to bristle. Just a little, though.]

"Serve his"- [He shakes his head.] No, not like that. Or this.

[Why was he even thinking about Fionn? Perhaps, in the middle of the tangled mess of loyalities and emotions he's still trying to process, all he can do is think back to the relationship that brought him the most joy and pain of any so far.]

What I meant to say is that it was a mark of trust, not... [He trails off.] I don't know what I meant to say.

I was being mean. [ Because of course he was. No point in hiding that fact. ] Don't take me so seriously all the time.

[ He doesn't have much of a sense of humor and it's usually at someone else's expense. Sorry, Diarmuid. He lets it go for now, at least. ]

I know...You trust me enough to sleep in the same bed as you at your most vulnerable. I trust you enough to allow the same.

[ Which was strange. He'd never trusted anyone enough to share a bed with him, save for Ferdiad, but that was a long distance memory. Trust wasn't something you could spare when your sole focus was on survival.

To distract both of them, he strokes his fingers down Diarmuid's stomach, gentle and without urgency. It's good to feel warm and safe for once in his life, though he'd never admit it. It's hard to say he's happy with this arrangement, but at the very least he's content. This conversation and affection settled his mind and the unwelcome emotions from earlier. ]

... You've dealt with a lot today. Just let it go for now.

[Oh. That was teasing? Hmm.]

Ah- right. Sorry. [The Lancer tries to focus instead on the way his claws trip over his skin, biting his lip just a little as they brush over the sensitive skin of his side. But still, he can't let that last part go without remark.] I've "dealt with a lot"?

[He punctuates the question by cupping Berserker's jaw, tilting his head up and kissing him. It's the first time he's done so in a while and with the stress of what just happened, it seems like longer still. More than anything, though, Berserker will get the feeling that when Diarmuid's lips meet his, it's driven by a desire for intimacy and affection rather than anything magical. God knows, he's playing with fire; their bond was only ever supposed to be practical but here he is carrying on like- like this. It's not simply embarrassing, it's downright laughable.

The smallest amount of regret creeps into his eyes as he draws away- but he's quick to cover it with a playful but pointed look.]

... which one of us levelled a building again?

[ Claws dig into Diarmuid's side just a little bit as the kiss catches him off guard. It's enough to draw a soft sound from him, a little confused, but also wanting. This should have been a practical arrangement and nothing more. Emotions complicated things and Berserker didn't know how to deal with them. He didn't know how to deal with the protective instincts the Bond created between them nor...anything related to it. This is foolish and embarrassing and yet he wants more.

He kisses Diarmuid once more, nipping his lower flip gently as he pulls back. ]

Caster did that, I just gave him the means and motivation. I broke a tree.

[ It was his spear and his behavior that ultimately triggered the explosive reaction from his lighter side.

That aside, he's interested in getting more from the Lancer. Maybe something to ease any tension between them. Boundaries are to be tested and he trusts the witch to stop him if he goes too far. He slips his hand beneath Diarmuid's waistband to tease as he leans up to kiss his neck.

Foolish to want this, foolish to keep pursuing it. He knows there will be a day when this breaks down and they'll both be worse off for it. That's what he tells himself, anyway. It's safe until then to get attached...It's not, but there's no way to stop it. The flood gates have been opened and trying to close them back up now is a losing battle. He can't stop it, can't control it, so he just has to accept it.

That's okay, isn't it? ]

Edited 2019-07-18 23:34 (UTC)

[It has to be okay.

Diarmuid's used to facing down ruin; when he wed Gráinne, when he had accepted Sola-Ui as his Master in Kayneth's place... each moment marked the beginning of the end and it was entirely out of his control. A proverbial sword of Damocles was hanging over him, perhaps not ready to fall just yet but growing sharper and closer with every passing minute. So, what of this? When Diarmuid looks down at Berserker, the uncharacteristic gentleness in his movements makes him weak with unease and hope alike.

No- it can't just be okay: it has to be different. He won't let this fall apart.

Though he makes a short, reproachful sound at Berserker's admission- provocation makes him just as culpable, okay- moves with his touch, back curving again in an elegant arc as he leans into his hand.

- and then he catches the dragon by the wrist.]

I'm not sure you deserve it. [Diarmuid fixes him with a disapproving look through half-lidded eyes, flushed face ever so slightly undermining his tone.] I should be mad at you.

[ He stops the moment his wrist is grabbed, maybe with a look of slight disappointment. It's fine, though. Maybe Diarmuid's right -- he didn't deserve ... any of this after the way he acted today. It should have been expected something like this would have happened, though: he is a Berserker. They excel at destruction and shows of force. Combine that with his status as an Alter, it was only a matter of time before something on this scale happened.

Maybe that shared dream with Caster was prophetic after all. ]

Think of it as an apology. Guide me and I'll do what you ask. [ He's normally quite submissive, so it's strange to take the initiative. ] Or we can just lie here together and you can scold me for what I did.

[ He might be joking with that last comment, it's hard to tell with his tone. ]

[To be fair, it's usually hard to tell when he's joking anyway. Regardless, Diarmuid isn't really angry by any stretch of the imagination; disappointed, maybe, but a hefty portion of that is directed at himself and not Berserker. It's complicated. At some point, light and dark were going to clash and he should probably just be grateful that it ended without too much bloodshed; the lasting damage will have probably been done to their pride and feelings rather than their bodies.

So, instead of a scolding, Berserker receives only a chuck under the chin and a click of the tongue.]

Strange way of apologising. But it isn't my forgiveness to give.

[As far as he's concerned, that draws a line under that. With a light nuzzle, Diarmuid lets his hands trail downwards, beneath the fabric of his shirt and then to tug at the waistband of his pants. Fingertips trace the lines of his hipbones before dipping lower, slow and cautious in spite of the sense of need already building in his chest.

This is practical. After all that stress, it's practical to reaffirm their Bond and share a little more energy between them to ease the tension- at least, that's what he's telling himself. Does that make it better or worse? Gods, today has him questioning everything.]

Is this the Bond or is it us?

[He sounds breathless, even a little confused.]

[ After what happened today, Berserker's just grateful he didn't hurt Diarmuid. The petty feud between himself and Caster was just supposed to involve them, no one else. Now with Bonds and instincts drawing in others, it was more complicated. The next time they got into a fight, it would be worse -- someone might die. That thought normally wouldn't bother him, but he's grown so protective over his Bonded that things have changed. If anyone will kill him, it will be by his own hands...Ah, there's that obsession. That thought bothers him, too.

Diarmuid's hands on his body draw him away from those thoughts. It's hard to think on anything deeper when even the simplest touch sets his nerves on fire. His muscles tense beneath his fingers as his breath hitches in his chest. He's normally so guarded with his reactions, anything that might give him away carefully concealed, but there's something different here. Berserker owes his Bonded honesty in everything, doesn't he? So it's okay to let these things slip. He allows himself to arch into the touch with a soft, needy sound.

Permission to continue given, he presses his palm against the witch's cock, only pausing when the question finally hits him. ]

...Does it matter?

[ Berserker didn't know, either. He's really not the best person to ask, so unfamiliar with his own wants and desires. It's convenient to blame the Bond for this, but there's some part of him that knows that's not true. He'd grown attached to Diarmuid and while, yes, that was the fault of the Bond, there's more than that. Putting the emotions into words is beyond him, all he knows is that he wants this. He wants whatever the Lancer will give him and he will give him more in return.

It's okay. It has to be. ]

closed to Diarmuid, event continuation

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