Don't fill your mouth with gluttony, for pride will surely swell [semi-open]

[curruid_coinchenn]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and Arthur Pendragon -- plus open prompts!
When: After their adventure into the Wilde
Where: The Coven (and elsewhere)
What: The aftermath of their battle against some caterpillars
Warnings: injuries and the like


Open prompt with Berserker

Open prompt with Arthur

Wildcard prompt for a 3 person thread

((OOC: context for this!))

Comments

For Arthur

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Though his wounds had been treated, Berserker was still tired. He's unused to having human limitations and fighting with that in mind was still an impossibility. The injuries he'd received were painful, though he fought through it to finish their mission. All that mattered was killing their target and nothing more. His recklessness had a side effect, though: Arthur pushed himself beyond what he should have and his injuries couldn't be treated by the Wilders.

This bothered him. Curious.

No matter. Now his only goal was to get his ally to safety where he could get treated properly. He's yet to use his wings and he doesn't want to risk injuring Arthur further, so he simply walks with him and supports him as they go back to the Coven. ]

You should know better than to try to match a Berserker...

[ The scolding is unnecessary, but he says it anyway. As Arthur didn't already know. ]

I can't believe you're the one who ended up worse off.

[holyswordwielder]

[ Although Arthur is thankful for the support, that doesn't stop him from scoffing at Berserker's chastising. He leans a bit more heavily on the larger dragon, but ultimately he still manages to walk with his own two feet, panting and wincing. His voice is tight from the exhaustion and the pain. ]

...I don't know how it is on your world... but on mine, Servants are ranked... by their power levels. I've always ranked first. Everyone... knows Mad Enhancement is a glass cannon.

[ It's not really a boast, because, well, obviously, he did end up worse off than the Berserker. At this rate, it's a small miracle that he's still managing to stay conscious. ]

Believe me-- neither can I.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ It would be faster to carry him and test out his wings, but there's a part of him that feels that would wound Arthur's pride in a way. Pride is pointless in these matters and yet he still accounted for it. While he didn't really have pride as a warrior (not in this form, anyway), he knew the other dragon did. ]

I'm not completely senseless in battle like most Berserkers. [ Which was also true -- ruthless and brutal, yes, but it's a calculating sort of madness. Efficient and methodical, yet entirely lacking in self-preservation. ] ... Stop talking. I don't want to carry your dead weight all the way to the Coven.

[ Is that a hint of concern in his voice...? Strange. ]

[holyswordwielder]

[ Arthur would appreciate the thought spared for his pride, scant as it is these days, but mostly he just wouldn't want Berserker to try flying him out of anywhere when he's never flown before in his life with those wings. For now, it's better this way... Well, for as long as it lasts, that is. He's grateful that the other Servant doesn't try it, because it's a little more comforting to have those wings around them, shielding them from potential further attacks. ]

It would... would be no less than you deserve... Dragon or no, you... are still less formidable now than you were. We all are--

[ He winces and his breath hitches as his movement begins to really take its toll. His fingers dig into Berserker as he leans against him. He can already feel his strength failing him. Still, he stubbornly tries to hold on to consciousness. ]

You know I... could never let you fight alone.

Open

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ With Arthur taken care of for now, Berserker goes to tend to his own business. He can be found at various places around the city: near the Coven, picking up supplies from the apothecary, and in the residential district. He may also be found either at the home he shares with Ozymandias and Arthur or at apartment he shares with Diarmuid and Waver.

No matter where one runs into him, he's obviously exhausted with visible injuries. He also stands out because he's still carrying his spear and wearing his armor, not just plain clothing. ]

... Don't look at me like that, I'm fine.

[ He brushes off any concern just like that. ]

[fulgency]

[And yet, despite Berserker's words, Ozymandias is somehow not discouraged from looking at him "like that" as he descends the stairs. By the time Berserker manages to make it back to Ozymandias and Arthur's home, word had already managed to reach Ozymandias about Berserker and Arthur's injuries. He's somewhat abandoned his plans for the day as a result, waiting about for at least one of them to return from the Coven first.]

You have a bed here. [He stops midway down the stairs.] Make use of it.

[He knows it goes against Berserker's nature, but he's not taking no for an answer.]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Half the reason he'd come back here first was to keep from worrying Diarmuid and avoid a scolding from Waver. It seems he hadn't accounted for Ozymandias being here. As tired as he is, now it's the principle of the thing that he won't rest. The petty nature of Cú Chulainn could not be erased by Medb's wish, it seems. ]

When I need to, I will. I still have other business to tend to.

[ He gives Ozymandias a pointed look, as if to say "try me". No one ever said he was smart -- stubborn, yes, but not smart. ]

[fulgency]

[Ozymandias remains unmoved and unfazed by the look. Berserker may be stubborn, but Ozymandias is very much the same.]

That was not a friendly word of advice, Berserker. Your other business can wait.

[tryhard]

...seriously? Is this going to be a thing with you?

[ Waver's staring him down in the doorway (or staring up at him, as the case may be, considering he's puny...) and eyeing the injuries with a tired sort of acceptance. Is there even any point in scolding him? ]

Go on. Get in here. Go sit down.

What happened this time?

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker narrows his eyes just for a moment before he shoves a bag into Waver's hands. He moves past the smaller man, leaving his weapon near the door. Armor comes off in pieces as he makes his way to the nearest chair. By the time he's done removing his gear, he's only wearing tight, dark pants. The injuries have been tended to, though it was just enough to handle the infection. ]

I was going to take care of it myself. [ He points to the bag he handed over: it contains supplies from the apothecary. ] But I was out with the Wilders cleaning up some caterpillars. My partner ended up worse than I did.

[ And Berserker's not in the greatest shape, either. It seems location mattered more than amount. ]

But I told you I'm fine.

[tryhard]

Oof--

[ Waver grunts, momentarily unbalanced by the weight of the bag suddenly being shoved at him. While Berserker goes to sit, he pulls it open to peer inside, scowling thoughtfully at the contents. ]

You're saying caterpillars did that? Like... bugs?

[ Waver looks back up, searching Berserker's face. ]

Hang on.

What partner?

[ Not Diarmuid, certainly. Waver would have felt something if that were the case, right? ]

Wildcard

[curruid_coinchenn]

((OOC: For those who want a 3 person thread, feel free to drop a starter here!))

closed to Waver & Arthur

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ A day to rest, a day to dwell on unwanted protective instincts. It was a poor sleep, certainly -- he chose to sleep on the couch instead of with Diarmuid. He slept in fits and starts, waking with every sound, his wounds bothering him enough to wake him at odd hours.

He wakes for the last time early in the morning, just after sunrise. The only thought on his mind right now is to go check on Arthur. As he gets dressed, there's a sense of urgency to everything. He has no interest in breakfast or anything like that, just getting out now. He does, however, stop to tell Waver where he's going instead of just disappearing.

He knocks on the door to his room, but doesn't wait for a response before opening the door slightly. ]

I'm heading to the Coven to check on Saber. I'll be back later.

[tryhard]

[ It's a good thing Waver's either an early riser or just bad at sleeping (often both) since he's already awake and starting to get dressed. Berserker opens the door on Waver wearing nothing but an unbuttoned shirt and (thankfully) his underwear beneath, earning him a startled little yelp and a prominent blush as Waver grabs for the nearest pants to cover himself. ]

H-hey! I didn't even say you could come in--

[ Hang on. ]

Wait! [ he blurts, before really thinking this through. ] I want to go too.

I- er... I need to pick up some ingredients for work from the Coven anyway.

[ Sure. Probably. ]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker barely even noticed the state of undress Waver was in; his focus was elsewhere right now. He's already turning to leave when he hears his request. Odd... ]

... If you say so. Hurry up. I'll be waiting outside.

[ And with that said, he goes to do just that. Waver will find him waiting impatiently outside. It's not a long walk there, really, he'd just rather already be going instead of waiting on someone to tag along with him. ]

open to all;

[holyswordwielder]

[ Once the caterpillars were disposed of, Arthur would like to say that he handled his injuries with the same strength and composure he always has possessed since picking up his first wooden sword as a child. Unfortunately, that simply wasn't the case this time, due to unforeseen circumstances. No, this time, Arthur was in a bad way and not even the sheer determination of his will that was well-known for surpassing that of other men could really do much to stave off the worst of the effects.

Lying now on a cot back in The Coven, Arthur is exhausted, yet doing his best to endure the pain from their foray into the Wilde. While the magic of the Wilders and the other Witches does its work on his new Cwlyd infection, some of the injuries he sustained from the caterpillars are... in a sensitive place. His shirt is open, revealing a wide swath of hideous bruising along his neck that stretches down to the top of his chest and crawls upwards along his jawline. Usually bright, gleaming scales have turned black in the area and Arthur sweats as the healing magic combats the infection. He was hoping to sleep, but... well, that doesn't seem likely to happen any time soon as his veins feel like they're on fire and his head throbs. ]

You should've... seen me earlier. I promise this is an improvement.

[fordeath]

[ month in and month out, amadeus has taken a box-seat position in the noble fight against the cwlyd.

safe off the ground and untouched by the hands of blackened danger — save for a few instances within the mirrorbound-shared dreamscape — the caster assumes here much the same role he did back in chaldea: as support, pure and simple. maybe a dash of decoration, and all gramophone.

a melodious outlet for those beyond the bright wall too unlucky or too gallant to escape infection. the fruits of his studies here are borne in the coven's outer city stations, where his music has become more than just a familiar, comforting thing. harmonies soothe wounds of the soul and psyche rather than the body, and rightly have a place as life-enriching entertainment — but amadeus has quickly become reliable for his painless ability to put beaten and battered patients to sleep. a touch of enchantment spells, of hypnosis magic, in a score will do wonders for injured folk with restless bodies.

it's for these spells that the witches refer the musician (debate, briefly, whether his mouth will annoy their knightly patient to the afterlife before the music penetrates) and his services, and his violin to arthur's situation. ]

It looks terrible. [ (nurses and witches onlooking, take your bets now.) ] Yet, just the same amount of sleep, I presume?

[holyswordwielder]

[ It was something of a relief and a bit of a nasty shock to find yet another familiar face among the Aefenglom residents, but Arthur supposes if he had to pick another Servant to be around, best be one who was quite literally a musical genius. For now, he doesn't mind the talking, since the music does seem to be helping a bit already, at least, but those nurses and witches placing their bets now best take into account that Arthur is horrendously ill and wounded in ways he's never experienced before. ]

Just the same.

[ He answers the Caster with a small nod— one he regrets as it causes pain to shoot up the side of his neck to his skull. He flinches and gasps from the burning sensation left in its wake and closes his eyes. Well, he should probably resolve to move less from here on out. ]

You're from Chaldea... aren't you? Mozart?

[fordeath]

[ amadeus frowns. ]

Remain still now, if you can help it. I don't want to leave you here more injured than when we began.

[ he meant it — the wound looks terrible, but to think the poor fellow can't even nod without flashes of pain. he supposes sleep would be a far-gone thing ... if he weren't around.

amadeus takes a seat in a chair to the side, not facing his patient, as he doesn't need to like a doctor or a nurse might. so confident in his skill, amadeus hasn't quite begun, and won't, for the moment. it's their first chance to have a proper chat here in their newfound, spacetime-traveled home, after all, and he's not so rude as to knock out the other servant in the middle of it.

as it happens, he needs time to tune his violin anyway, which he plucks from its case and adjusts to his shoulder. ]

I'm barely in the good graces of your nurses as it is, ahahaha. [ he continues. ] Whisper at me if you need to – I'll be able to hear it. [ a wink for good measure. ]

I am. Pleased to finally meet you, Your Majesty.

[showsnopiety]

[It's not easy. And well-it was really by chance that Caren had been come by. She had been coming by with a gift (most of which had already been taken) for her treatments during her last transformations. While her bonded had been able to take care of her in the end, she had needed more then a few potions for the pain.

She had spotted him by his hair, the feverish gleam by his eyes. And the black scales...that's not a good sign.

At least she had some things with her by her side still. She had meant to bring the food bribe to someone else but...

She moved to perch on the edge of the cot, before lightly putting the package she carried by his side.]

I'm sure it is.

But I won't ask. You don't need more stress then you already have.

[holyswordwielder]

[ Arthur is more than surprised to see the white-haired girl again, not really having seen much of her since that night of the fireworks display at the docks months ago. He has to admit that a part of him still feels a bit of embarrassment about how their meeting went, but he doesn't chase her out of the room now— and not just because he physically can't. ]

I thank you.

[ His voice is soft, weak. They both look rather different now. Arthur's small white horns have grown out into a much, much larger pair, smoothly curving down and forwards, the ends coming to a sharp point nearly at the same level of his mouth. His scales have darkened in color from their pale yellow sheen into a rich marigold and they are visibly harder, covering more of his neck and hands now, his chest and trailing down his abdomen. They still hold that glint of red flame to them though.

Of course, that's not counting the ones that are infected right now. Those are still that sickly black. Arthur tries not to look at them. It's too disturbing. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to his changes. ]

[showsnopiety]

[His scales would be beautiful; his horns are lovely, reminding her of the tale of the white dragon of Albon. She's careful when she sits, not touching his infected scales. For one, she doesn't want her Bond to feel the agony of purging the infection, for another Arthur would feel guilty.

So she keeps her wings and tail away, as they're too easy to brush the wrong thing.

But she still reaches out, and lightly brushes her hand over his forehead. Not just out of affection, but to take the hair out of his face.]

I'm sure you've been scolded. And you've scolded herself.

What can I get you? Water?

[fulgency]

[Ozymandias hums acknowledgment to what Arthur says, but that's all. Although his eyes are focused on Arthur's injuries, running up and down, down and up, the mm likely sounds distracted. He's heard what Arthur's said, but much like the way his eyes continue to go over and over every bruise, every sign of infection, his mind continues to turn over thought after thought. Other than the distracted little hum in response, the only sign of Ozymandias' agitation is the slight bounce of his foot in the air. Otherwise, he sits in the infirmary chair by Arthur's bedside -- a reverse of their positions form earlier -- as he would upon a throne, slouched slightly into a comfortable position, arms at their rests and his legs crossed.]

[Ozymandias doesn't know who to be angry with: Berserker, Arthur, or himself. He supposes there's reason to be angry with all three right now with the prime evidence sitting in front of him. Berserker should have pulled Arthur back when he was pushing himself too far, not allowed him to continue, and Arthur should have known better than to try and keep up. And Ozymandias? Well, he'd never held much interest in the healing arts, but he's already made the private decision to speak with Zelda during their next private lesson. It's unlikely he will become an expert due to that general lack of interest, but if Arthur is going to stay alive with no Master to sustain him...]

[He is relieved, too, however. That they both managed to make it back alive while making such stupid decisions as to rush in too far like that. And proud that they both fought so well. As much as he would rather that in the future both dragons be mindful of their limitations, that they continued to push themselves until the task is done is what he would expect and hope for. If they hadn't, well, he would have kicked them both back out there himself until they finished the job.]

[Ozymandias' foot stills for a moment before he uncrosses his legs and moves to exchange his seat next to the bed for the edge of it. He leans over to the bedside, wringing out the cloth of excess water before folding it and placing it on Arthur's forehead.]

[In the end, he can understand Arthur at least a little. The limitations they must contend with in this world are new and different. It's difficult to concede to the fact they exist, particularly when one is both a king and powerful Servant.]

See to it that you continue improving.

[holyswordwielder]

[ Arthur can tell Ozymandias is lost in his thoughts, but he can't begin to imagine what exactly is going through the older Servant's mind. His green eyes watch his face, taking in all the details of his dark features, admiring as much as he is searching for any slight shift in expression that might belie what he's thinking so hard about. It's rare that Arthur sees Ozymandias like this. Quiet, contemplative... almost as though he is at a loss for words. Even when not being boisterous, he is never so... pensive.

It makes Arthur anxious.

So when finally the pharaoh finally moves and comes to sit beside him on the bed, the Saber shrinks back a little on reflex with a soft hiss, startled. His instincts are urging him to protect his vulnerable side and it's all he can do to just barely manage to suppress that beast nature quick enough. Shameful. Showing fear like that to an ally. He can't help it, but it betrays his hesitancy to completely trust Ozymandias all the same.

He's grateful he has the dragon's instincts more or less under control when the Rider class Servant opts to take more surprising action and actually tend to his sweat-drenched brow. It doesn't matter to Arthur how much effort he has to exert to fight the monster's nature while it bucks against his humanity; he won't have Ozymandias paying for his kindness with blood. ]

...If I didn't know better... I would say you are worried for me...

[ He pushes out a shaky laugh, trying his best to cover how much pain he's in still with humor. It's really a tell, but he's not sure Ozymandias knows him well enough yet to realize that. Arthur doesn't bother with wit when he's not nervous. ]

[fulgency]

Then how fortunate for both of us that you are not foolish enough to suggest it.

[It's more snappish than he intends to be, particularly when coupled with taking his hand away, leaving the cloth on Arthur's forehead for the moment alone and still. Ozymandias turns slightly from Saber, his face turning towards one of the room's windows as his gaze moves ceiling-ward. He keeps all his movements somewhat calm and easily telegraphed before they happen. After observing the way Saber flinched when he first sat down on the bed, it's plain there are instincts present that given Arthur's weakened state, he may not have full control over.]

[It's only a moment that Ozymandias remains this tense, however. With his next exhale, he closes his eyes and upon opening them, he lets it go. Some of it. For now.]

[...For maybe two seconds because it's not long before he starts riling himself up.]

Berserker, I understand. It's less that he is unaware of his limits so much as he does not care whether or not he comes to meet them one day. But you--

[Ozymandias cuts himself off, the rest of the sentence completing itself in his mind. But you should have more sense. How else is he to come to rely on Arthur in any capacity otherwise?]

[There's a litany of other things that Ozymandias would like to say and would feel thoroughly justified in saying. Even the injured party in this scenario could not totally disagree with Ozymandias' right to say what it is on his mind and would have to tolerate it in silence. But there is some degree to which saying those things would be unfair, too. As much as this type of behavior creates concern as being able to depend upon Arthur as an ally, it is also the same behavior that makes him worthy of an alliance with Ozymandias. He is a noble warrior, which comes at an unfortunate cost of having a propensity to do incredibly stupid things in the name of protecting someone or something without actually calculating any amount of risk.]

[It is only after a poor substitute for a laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose at both Arthur's stupidity and his own foolishness for being so surprised at the double-edged nature of the other Servant's nobility, that he looks at Arthur again. Ozymandias' expression neither soft nor warm, but certainly not potentially contemplating smothering him with a pillow and being done with it.]

Consider yourself fortunate that I feel I've wasted enough energy for one day lecturing Berserker. [He removes the cloth from Arthur's forehead, dipping it back into the bowl.] That man could argue with the night sky, claiming it is the day until the sun truly rose the next morning.

[As frustrating though it may be for Arthur to have ended up in this bed, at least he has the good sense not to attempt leaving it. Merely thinking of how things might be in here if Berserker and Arthur had the other's injuries is enough to inspire a headache.]

[He wrings the cloth back out.]