middaeg | [closed] august catch-all!

[He takes the ale back and downs a healthy mouthful. The drink here is less malty than he's used to but Diarmuid doesn't find himself missing the hops. Rather the rich, fruity quality it has is pleasant in its own way, allowing the true alcoholic kick- and it's definitely a kick- make its entrance at the last moment.]

What better combination could you ask for?

[Many of his dearest memories involve the two, after all; surrounded by his fellow Knights, laughing and drinking, sharing stories and songs of love and battle from all corners of Ireland. As Diarmuid laughs, he leaves a fleeting impression of the man he once was; Fionn's favourite, a beautiful, spirited rose of red and yellow blooming at his lord and king's side. Those petals would wilt along with their friendship but he holds every memory from before dear.

With a chuckle, Diarmuid hitches himself up onto the railing, apparently undaunted by the newly blackened seas below.]

Perhaps I should have brought something to eat as well. [He tilts his head.] I'm still not sure what you like, though.

[ Seeing him laugh warms him more than the ale. It's such an unfamiliar sensation to share in someone else's joy. That warm feeling radiates through their Bond, one of the strongest emotions he's felt in recent memory. If he can't experience joy for himself, why not experience it because of someone else?

Berserker watches him mount the railing, not particularly concerned. If that's what Diarmuid wants to do, so be it. He could probably catch him on the way down if he falls...Probably.

Oh well. He takes the bottle for another drink. ]

I'm not sure what I like, either. [ As a Servant, he didn't need to eat, so he never did. The idea of "liking" particular foods isn't something he's bothered to think about. Eating was simply necessary for him in life and unnecessary as a Servant. ] But I'll eat anything you give me.

[ Because no matter the form, Cú Chulainn can't reject hospitality. ]

Don't fall off now. I'd hate for something to happen to you when we're having such a nice time. Someone might think I'm responsible.

[ ... Cruel jokes? Cruel jokes. ]

Ah, already thinking of ways to discreetly dispose of me? [He gives a bright little laugh and leans forward to press a light kiss on Berserker's lips, sweet and bitter all at once with the ale.] I'd take you with me.

[Just because he doesn't have a Servant's unnatural dexterity and speed, that doesn't mean he's incapable of keeping his balance- at least, he hopes that's the case. Maybe he shouldn't drink too much while he's up here after all.]

Anything, hm... [Diarmuid puts his head to the side.] We'll find something you like eventually. I enjoy cooking anyway.

[It's not a hobby he got to indulge much before arriving here for obvious reasons but he's gotten back into the habit since. Admittedly, that was largely motivated by wanting to be useful to Waver but that's not the point.]

I'd like to see you try.

[ It wouldn't be hard with the right leverage, after all. Berserker isn't concerned with that -- even if it did happen, it would give him a chance to test out his wings. He takes another drink as an idea strikes him.

He hops up on the railing alongside Diarmuid with what could be construed as a mischevious smirk. ]

Do you want to fly? [ He places his hand on the Lancer for a moment before kissing him. And then comes the sudden push. ] I hope you do.

Fly...?

[It was a very clever plan, he'll give him that. Diarmuid's so distracted by that kiss, so eager to lean into it, that he doesn't even question why he's suddenly decided to sit with him. Or why he placed his hand on him quite so firmly.

Or how goddamn ominous that question is.]

I-

[Suddenly, he's not on the railing. In fact, he's not even upright anymore. The last thing he sees is Berserker's knowing grin before the sky tips, double moons blurring across his vision as he drops straight over the side of the lookout.]

You son of a-

[It's about as far as he gets before momentum knocks his voice right out of his throat.]

[ Ah, there's something absolutely satisfying about that reaction. Sure, he could've picked him up and done this like a normal person, but he's a force of chaos. A force of chaos who will inflict it on everyone he can.

It's just a second or two before Berserker jumps off after him, though he's sure those precious seconds feel like an eternity to Diarmuid. His wings fold back to speed his descent, the motion coming to him with surprising ease. He's never done this before, but his instincts are finely honed to give him confidence in incredibly ridiculous situations.

Closer and closer he drops until finally the Lancer's in reach. Berserker grabs for him and hugs him close to his body. His wings spread to slow them down, the dragon swaying from the sudden force against the wind. It's more difficult than he'd admit to control this flight, especially with the added weight. It's fine, though -- it has to be.

His wing tips skim the water's surface as he flaps them to gain a little more altitude. Now that they're no longer in mortal peril, he finally says something. ]

You trust me far more than you should.

[Is it a few seconds? It seems like simultaneously far more and far less than that as he tumbles through the near darkness, furious with both Berserker for doing it and himself for falling- ha- for it. There's no way he'd actually let him hit the rocks, though, right?

Right?

At the last second, a dark shape swallows the stars overhead and, in a movement sudden enough to jerk Diarmuid's head back and catch his breath hard, he finds himself being pulled tightly against a familiar form. Of course he left it until the last minute. Berserker might be an Alter but he's still Cú, just with a considerably darker, crueler sense of humour. In spite of his pride as a Knight telling him to elbow him straight in the face there and then and opt for a late-night swim instead, Diarmuid clutches at the dragon to anchor himself to him even further.

A gentle spray of brine as they glide across the waves reminds him that he hasn't replied yet.]

... as soon as we're back on land, I'm going to punch you so hard Caster will feel it.

[It might be a little hard to take that threat seriously when he looks so indignant.]

Maybe you just take advantage of that trust more than you should. [Again, he undermines himself by resting his head against Berserker's neck with a huff.] Prick.

Edited (fcKING SubJECT LiNES) 2019-08-17 09:19 (UTC)

[ His actions completely deserve the indignant responses, though he finds them more endearing than actually bothersome. He leans his head down to fondly nuzzle against the side of Diarmuid's neck, almost as if in apology for being a completely reckless jackass. ]

I told you from the start that I would test you... [ His tone is soft and affectionate as he kisses where he'd been nuzzling, embracing him tighter for just a moment. ] And you've responded to every challenge I've given you so well.

[ He climbs higher in the darkened sky, letting stronger currents carry them upward. It's freeing to be able to experience such a thing...His new appendages had been nothing but a nuisance, though now he sees something far more practical in them. ]

At least look around you...I want to feel what you do.

[ An incredibly vulnerable admission. The experience has barely elicited a reaction from Berserker, which is normal -- wanting to feel something about it is decidedly not. ]

Oh? Well, I can't tell if I passed this one or not.

[There's still an edge to his voice, caught on the cusp of an unexpected near-death experience but it's hard to stay angry in the face of such affection- or vulnerability. Diarmuid makes a token attempt at resisting for the sake of his bruised ego but by the time they've found a comfortable current to ride, he's already settling back against him.

In much the same way as the tide rolls across the beaches and rocks, the movement of Berserker's wings has a gentle rhythm all of its own. In spite of his earlier admission about having not tested them yet, instinct must have kicked in because each beat feels strong and secure.

To say nothing of the view. Night has truly fallen across the harbour, allowing a host of stars to blossom across the sky, countless glittering lights in a sea as dark as the one they're flying over. Below, the tiny lights aboard nightime fishing boats create a skyscape to mirror the true thing. It was beautiful from the lighthouse but, out here, they're fully suspended within it, caught in an unreal, weightless in-between that silences anything he might have originally thought to say.

Thankfully, there's no need for words. Through their Bond, Berserker will feel every shift in his emotions. Amidst the wonder and excitement and delight, though, he'll sense something else; the fleeting crystallisation of affection into sheer, exuberant tenderness directed solely at-

Ah. He hadn't meant to let that slip through.

Diarmuid looks away with a short, self-conscious laugh. Perhaps he hadn't noticed...?]

... maybe I'll postpone that punch.

Edited 2019-08-18 18:24 (UTC)

[ It's still so strange for him to feel anything, stranger still to know it's someone else's emotions. Is this what's normal to feel? This sense of wonder and awe, just from something as simple as a moonlit night above the harbor? Some of these sensations are expected, one in particular not so much. Ah...Of course he can't let that go. It's unfamiliar, something he's sure Diarmuid's been trying to bury. ]

...What was that? [ A hint of confusion in his voice. It's such a long forgotten feeling that he almost can't comprehend it. A complication, but one he can't be upset about. ] Don't hide it.

[ Perhaps not a conversation to have in the air. He makes a wide, sweeping turn, heading back to the lookout this all started from. ]

[Of course he noticed. Expecting him not to would like like expecting a bloodhound to conveniently miss your scent in the midst of a hunt out of pity. It also won't escape Berserker's attention that for the journey back, he's not only silent but a little tense too.

Even when they get back to the lighthouse, he seems wrongfooted- metaphorically and literally, judging by that uncharacteristic stumble as he sets both feet back down on the platform.]

Don't- [A little helplessly, he shakes his head.] I-

[A flicker of anxiety. More than a flicker, even. How are you supposed to lock something away when you've already given the person you're trying to hide it from the keys? It's been so easy to colour his fondness with chivalry and loyalty and companionship but in those few, intense seconds, he let the depth of it bleed through. Infatuation is one thing. Lust another. But the beginnings of something more genuine?

It had unsettled him when he had felt it for Gráinne.

And now, with the memory of tusks, rent flesh and loss and loss, with the knowledge that it could destroy something precious to him as it did before, it scares him.

In the end, all he can do is wrangle his emotions back into some semblance of control and try again. With a sigh, Diarmuid finally lifts his head to meet Berserker's eyes again.]

Pay it no mind if it concerns you. It's my weakness, not yours. [He even manages a- shaky- smile.] ... I'm not drunk enough for this.

[ None of it escapes his notice. Not the tension and the silence, not the brief tinge of fear across their Bond. For once, it concerns him. This relationship of theirs moved far beyond the practical to whatever it was now. The fact that Diarmuid became so attached doesn't surprise him, he simply lacks the ability to know how to respond to it. Berserker has no need or want to spurn him, but he's unable to return such strong affection. The idea of loving someone is beyond him -- at least...for now. There's still a deep devotion and affection for his Bonded, for the man so willing to stand by his side and weather the chaos that is Berserker's existence.

He picks up the bottle of ale, forgotten before the impulsive flight, and hands it to Diarmuid. ]

Then drink more. [ He lets his hand linger, wanting to be close again but not wanting to push things right now. The vulnerability on display from the witch is a lot. ] But...feel as you wish. I can't control how you feel nor do I have the desire to. If that's what you feel for me, so be it...I won't push you away or tell you it's wrong.

[For a few moments, all Diarmuid does is stare at the bottle in his hand, unsure whether to be ashamed at himself for such a display or relieved by how well Berserker takes it. There's so much he wants to say but try as he might to pin down the words, they slip away at the like second like silvery fish disappearing into the depths of a lake at the sight of a shadow. The anxiety, though, has faded enough for him to act on at least one desire.

Quietly, then, the Lancer steps forward and wraps his arms around him, anchoring himself to him once more in a firm embrace. This time, it isn't their Bond he takes comfort in. Everything from the warmth of his skin to the drumming of his pulse and the rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath and even his scent is soothing.

A final, gentle kiss- so dangerously close to loving, but he'll let himself have that much- and he moves away.]

Drink more, hm? Sound advice if I've ever heard it.

[Bottoms up. The man can hold his booze, that much is obvious.]

[closed] august catch-all!

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i cant believe that diarmuid is dead

rip never trust chaotic evil servants

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