middaeg | Am I beast or am I human? [closed]

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Am I beast or am I human? [closed]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and Waver Velvet
When: July-ish
Where: Diarmuid and Waver's apartment
What: Two people bonded to the same person meet
Warnings: none

Berserker is fast asleep on the couch, deciding to sleep there instead of with Diarmuid. When the Lancer fell asleep, he excused himself. Not that he wanted to be alone, but it was the easier path -- neither would wake each other that way. Normally, he's a very light sleeper unless he feels safe and safety for him is a luxury. He didn't even stir when the Lancer left the apartment to avoid what would be a very awkward situation.

There's a moment when he hears something in his sleep and starts to stir. Half-asleep and half-dressed, the groggy dragon lifts his head at the noise.

"...Are you up, Diarmuid?" he asks, not even sure if he heard a person. Safety is the only reason he isn't immediately hostile.

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You think I don't know that? Waver wants to snap at him, but he doesn't quite get the chance. There's a vague sense of Diarmuid coming closer, the Bond like a string pulling taut, but he wasn't paying attention to it-- not until the door bursts open and Diarmuid steps through, breathless and frazzled.

The look on his face sparks a mean little twinge of vindictive satisfaction. Oh, good. He can explain.

Waver rounds on him, Berserker's latest jab already having undone any small bit of smoothing over resulting from Waver's attempt at accepting it wasn't really his fault. Choosing to continue pushing is Berserker's fault... and now also Diarmuid's, for bringing a jerk like him home without even talking to Waver.

And so, to Berserker, Waver only snaps: "Shut up."

And to Lancer: "Get to it, then. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-"

Uncharacteristically, he stumbles. With both Berserker and Waver watching him, the gravity of his mistake hits him like a freight train- one that he's suddenly very afraid might be one way. He's not sure who to look at first and his gaze is left bouncing between them with almost comic restlessness.

"I don't know. I didn't expect either of you to wake up before I got back," he admits eventually, "I've been meaning to introduce you two for a while. I thought it would be a good idea to do it here."

On territory that Waver feels comfortable in. Now that they're here, though, he can see the folly in that assumption; canine instinct might give him more confidence on home turf but he hadn't accounted for wanting to protect it.

But that's not really the main issue here, is it?

"I had no intention of deception. Things got out of hand and..." He shakes his head. Get to the point, Ua Duibhne. "I've gravely insulted both of you."

Berserker ignores Waver's bite back at him. It doesn't bother him nor does it surprise him -- he's tormented enough people to expect that reaction. Lashing out is normal and expected. It's when someone doesn't react that way when he might pay attention -- then they're interesting and potentially useful. That's not the case right now, however. He turns his attention to Lancer for now.

He's not angry, he's not much of anything. It's not a grave enough mistake for him to count it against Diarmuid. It's an oversight and an annoyance, but nothing malicious nor outright dangerous. There must be a reason he bonded with the small yappy dog, whether out of a sense of duty or pure necessity. It matters little to him whatever the reason.

Berserker just shrugs. Waver can be angry all he likes.

"You just weren't thinking. Careless...You know better," he says, "I don't have to tell you this, though."

He'd already laid bare all of Diarmuid's failings and shortcomings, he didn't need to do it again.

Insulted doesn't quite cover it. There's trust broken here, and Waver shows it. Their Bond feels it, his hurt and anger spilling over, echoing down the thread of it in an anxious, sustained buzz.

"You should have told me you invited someone over. If for no other reason than basic common decency. I get it. You don't need my permission to make your own decisions-- fine."

He can make other Bonds if he wants. Berserker is right, and it is a reminder of his own loneliness and lack of value, but at the end of the day, it's Diarmuid's choice who he wants to share his magic with.

"But this is my home too. You agreed to this. Don't I get a say?"

Maybe they aren't talking just about inviting people over anymore, not really, but that's the easier part of the conversation to face.

It's a two pronged assault- but at least the two of them seem to be somewhat united by it. Not that it's much comfort when he can feel every ripple of hurt even as Waver tries so hard to cover by changing the topic. Yes, that's an issue too but-

"Waver..."

Another shake of the head. Painful as it is, the most grievous wound is the one that first needs attention; cauterizing it will probably hurt more than receiving it in the first place but it's the only way to close it. Hard as it is to meet either of their eyes, he forces himself to keep his head up. This is his problem to fix and he's going to do it even if it stings.

"It's more than that: I've betrayed your trust. As a knight, that's despicable." With a slow, deep breath, he moves down onto one knee. "And as a friend... as a friend, it's even worse. You're right- I should know better. I'm sorry."

Berserker maintains his silence. This is not his problem nor is it his place to say anything. As opposed to Waver's open emotion, he's unreadable, steely and cold. The only one who has earned the right to see such things is the knight kneeling on the floor. No one else will see anything beyond his cold apathy.

His desire right now is to leave, but he knows that would make things worse and prolong the inevitable. Better get this over with now before it becomes an unapproachable monolith. With this bond, he promised to be honest with Diarmuid, to not just retreat and avoid when things became unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He owed him that much, at the very least. It's because of that sense of loyalty he doesn't run.

As Diarmuid moves to kneel, Waver's eyes widen. It's not a relief. His discomfort shows in the stiffness of his shoulders and his tail, the curl of it nearly pulled taut behind him. The spectacle makes him want to look back up at Berserker, but it feels worse to look away; besides, he can already feel the cold energy coming off the other former Servant anyway, or whatever he is.

There's a heavy expectation in the air now, the weight of it settling in Waver's lungs. The silence stretches unpleasantly.

He's supposed to say something. He's supposed to accept the apology. Let this blow over. They're waiting.

But--

Waver exhales shakily, confused and caught off-guard suddenly by more than just the new presence Diarmuid has brought into his life.

"...friend?" It's awkward, with Berserker watching, but Waver doesn't have a lot of prolonged experience with friends. He doesn't feel like a friend. He feels like an obligation, and now he feels like he's just in the way.

He remembers that night in Fuyuki City, Iskandar helping him onto his horse. Riding together. One final time. Rider had called him friend.

Waver's throat squeezes, and the words come out breathless and thin.

"You really mean that?"

The catch in Waver's voice breaks his heart. Shards of memories and emotion slip through the thread-like strands of their bond, weaving into a disparate but somehow comprehensible tapestry. Aching loneliness. A moment of reprieve wrapped in a scarlet cloak, dazzling and bold. It's not a feeling Diarmuid could ever recreate for the young mage and, while the knowledge of being the second choice yet again had once left a bad taste in his mouth, it seems absurd now.

He has a duty beyond that of a vassal to fulfil. Without getting to his feet, Diarmuid takes hold of Waver's hand and, in a gesture that burns with silent but hopeful, chivalry, presses his forehead to its back.

"I wouldn't swear myself to someone who wasn't, Waver Velvet. Or to someone I couldn't trust wholeheartedly." He lets go, turning his eyes on Berserker this time with a small smile. "Fortune has favoured me in that regard."

Slowly, he gets back to his feet. The parcel he had tucked under his arm has been abandoned on the floor but he makes no move to retrieve it. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck, still repentant.

"... I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Again, Berserker remains silent. The urge to run away just strengthens, a burning desire he can hardly ignore. Claws dig into his palms for a moment as his hands tighten into fists. It's not that he's upset by the scene that plays out in front of him, he simply doesn't know how to deal with the emotions he's being given. This bond drug out things long ago given up in the name of strength, locked away so he could survive.

That's what this bond was about, wasn't it? Survival and nothing more. He trusted no one but Diarmuid enough to take on this burden. Deep discomfort surges through him for a brief moment. A force of chaos sent to disrupt and destroy; that's what a Berserker is meant for. That's all he's meant for. Alter Servants are an aberration, things that should not exist; an impossibility given form by the corruption of the Grail. He's just doing what he's meant to do, so why does this bother him so much? The longer he considers his existence, the greater his agitation grows.

"I should leave," he says finally, far quieter than he meant to say it. None of what he's feeling show on his face nor in his body language. Waver doesn't deserve to see this vulnerability.

If he can't escape the unfamiliar, unwelcome, and uncomfortable torrent inside himself, the least he can do is escape this situation. He's done his job and thrown everything into disarray, so there's no reason for him to remain here. He doesn't know the exact nature of Waver and Diarmuid's relationship nor how they knew each other, but he knows he's the problem here. If that's his role, why does it bother him now? Why is he conflicted? He doesn't know and can't understand it.

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

Despite everything, the touch helps almost instantly. It strengthens their connection, the thin echoes of their Bond solidifying, as real as the feeling of Diarmuid’s skin against the back of Waver’s hand, breath warm against his slim fingers. Waver can feel his earnest hope, his regret. It’s clear Diarmuid means every word he says; at the very least, it’s true to him.

With a soft, shaky exhale, Waver squeezes his fingers gently around Diarmuid’s beneath them, then lets go to allow him to stand. His own eyes linger on the Lancer’s face as he looks up at his other Bonded, but even if the connection isn’t between them, Waver can feel the tension in the air. He can sense the discomfort, Berserker’s awkwardness in not knowing what to say or do. That feeling of being an outsider is one Waver can understand well enough, even if he doesn’t understand the circumstances.

If Berserker wants to leave, Waver won’t stop him or ask him to stay. He’s not that selfless. But he won’t argue either if Diarmuid asks him to. He doesn’t answer, but Diarmuid can probably feel him growing calmer after the reassurance. He waits.

It's like a breath being released in a slow sigh. As the tension in Waver and Diarmuid's bond releases, so does that in his shoulders and he takes a moment to brush a silky strand of dark hair back behind the mage's ear. As much as he wants to prolong the contact, though, there's someone else just as important he needs to face.

He turns to Berserker. What a complex rush of a emotions it must be for someone who normally feels nothing to be flooded with ones even the most empathetic of people would be overwhelmed by. Two states of mind, one clear but complicated and the other clouded by proxy but no less difficult to process, alongside what he's starting to pick up on as Berserker's own, conflicted feelings. They're surprisingly delicate for such a beast of a man, almost completely inperceptible but beating with a heart of their own. They're out of his reach for now but maybe with time-

Diarmuid doesn't want him to go but he doesn't want to push an already fragile situation to its breaking point either.

In the end, all he can do is try and be sensitive. The Lancer heads over and rests one hand on his chest, just beneath his still open shirt. The touch is light enough to allow him to brush it away if he so chooses but Diarmuid's hoping he won't.

"I truly am sorry that my foolishness caused such chaos. I... won't stop you if you want to leave," he says softly, "but know that I want you here."

It's a fight not to call him Cú.

It's a terribly delicate situation. His heart pounds beneath Diarmuid's hand, though the touch does soothe him just a little bit. A dull ache throbs inside him for reasons he doesn't understand. Physical pain he can tolerate, but this is something different. A wound he can't nurse, an injury he can't deal with.

Stiff beneath the other's touch, he finally relaxes. He raises a shaky hand to clasp it over Diarmuid's. To be this weak, this vulnerable on top of everything else is too much. Run, his mind screams at him. He can't. He can't shut hmself off again. His expression hardens with a renewed resolve.

"...I made a promise to you as Cú Chulainn." There's no fear of Waver hearing his True Name -- perhaps it was out of fairness he offered it. "I told you not to let me push you away. But I have to hold myself to that, as well. It's an unfair burden for you to bear, my knight."

He wants to offer some kind of softness beyond taking his hand in his own, but he hesitates. Waver doesn't need to see him anymore vulnerable than he already has. A small concession he allows himself is to lean down and rest his forehead against Diarmuid's. The gentle affection soothes some of the turmoil inside him. Anything to calm that down right now is welcome.

"I'll stay for now."

Now, it's Waver who feels awkward watching their affection. He hangs back, his fingers following the motion of Diarmuid's in a belated echo as he tucks back his hair even though it doesn't need it. While they reaffirm their Bond as well, Waver takes a few steps back, quietly moves to pick up his fallen blanket and fold it, start tidying up the kitchen. Coffee can be attempted again in a few minutes.

It feels invasive to listen, but he can't help but be curious too, and Waver takes note of Berserker's True Name-- which sounds a little familiar, but doesn't mean anything in particular to him. Unfortunately, he doubts this place would have literature on old Earth heroes, so his curiosity may go unanswered for now, until he feels comfortable asking Diarmuid about it.

In any case, he also feels better with the tension easing in the room. He's noticed the smell of the pastries by now too and goes to pick the bag up off the floor and set it on the kitchen counter, pretend-busying himself so he's not staring invasively at their moment of affection.

When Berserker decides to stay, Waver looks back up. All right. Take two.

"Then let's stop standing around. Lancer, coffee or tea?"

My knight. It's fantastical indulgence to the extreme but hearing him say that again strips away whatever tension remained in his body after the unexpected relief of his agreeing to stay. It wasn't necessary. Nothing that Berserker just did was necessary- on the contrary, he was only making things harder for himself and giving a glimpse of something vulnerable to a near stranger by staying- and yet he did it anyway. For him. He did it for him. Deep as the trust between them runs, Diarmuid's still quietly amazed by the realisation that he's making an effort for his sake. That he's worth that much to him.

But to call attention to it would embarrass them both. Instead, he clasps his hand and, amber eyes wide with gratitude (and no small amount of affection), half whispers, half mouths a simple: thank you.

China clinks. Cups. Saucers. Hot drinks ready to be made. It's the sound of domesticity that, thankfully, drags him out of his daydream and stops the moment from becoming any more sentimental than he's entirely comfortable with. Diarmuid gives his hand one last squeeze and turns back to Waver. The other third of this increasingly bizarre triangle.

"Coffee- and there's no need to call me that when it's just the three of us, Waver." He gives him a small, gentle smile. "Diarmuid is fine if you prefer it."

Berserker smiles faintly at the thanks before letting apathy settle back over him. With that settled, the urge to run away lessened to a quiet nagging in the back of his mind. That he could ignore -- it's no longer screaming at him. The tension in his body relaxes and he looks the same as before: completely disinterested in the world around him.

He does take a moment to button up his shirt out of courtesy. Being considerate if not something that comes naturally to him, though he'd try to make at least a token effort for the moment. It would take more yelling and scolding for him to not walk around half-dressed on a regular basis.

"Maybe this time you'll finish making it," he says to Waver, a gentle jab. It's a joke at his expense, the only type he knows how to make.

Mostly, it's just been habit to call him Lancer. It feels weirdly intimate calling a Servant by name, in a way... but there's no need for their classes here, and if Diarmuid wants to be called by his name, Waver can oblige. They're... friends, right?

"Okay. Diarmuid." It feels odd, but not bad. Waver smiles back tentatively.

Berserker's little joke quickly makes the beginnings of that smile slide away though. Waver's lips purse, and he shoots the larger man a flat glare.

"Maybe this time you'll let me."

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Am I beast or am I human? [closed]

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