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middaeg2019-07-10 01:24 pm
curruid_coinchenn) wrote in middaeg2019-07-10 01:24 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
"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."
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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.
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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?"
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
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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."
no subject
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?"
fml lost this tag
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."
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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.
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"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."