middaeg | Don't lose your heart, we're made of sterner stuff [closed]

Entry tags:

Don't lose your heart, we're made of sterner stuff [closed]

Who: Berserker and a pair of Lancers
When: Octeuril 1, evening
Where: Diarmuid's apartment
What: Time for the awkward meeting with spearmom!
Warnings: N/A

[ It had to come to this. They'd been avoiding the problem for some time now, but there was no longer a reasonable way of continuing to do so. Scáthach knew of their relationship -- well, their Bond, anyway. She didn't know how deep their connection had truly become nor did Berserker particularly want her to know.

So a dinner it was. The appointed time crept closer and an irritating anxiety gnawed at the dragon. No matter what, he knew that she wouldn't be satisfied. That's just how she is. Nothing is enough...So be it. There's enough alcohol to go around to at least numb the problem away (even if it would exacerbate any problems that cropped up), the true Celtic method to dealing with your problems.

Sitting down finally, he looks to Diarmuid. ]

... This is a bad idea, isn't it? [ Yes, the answer is yes. ] Don't let her get to you. Just accept you'll never be good enough in her eyes and it'll bother you less.

[ Before dinner small talk is nice. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Diarmuid wasn't nervous at first. There was an appeal to talking out this whole situation and getting everyone on the same level like adults and, even if it ended without agreement, they could say they tried. A sensible idea. It was only later- in the middle of a lecture at the Coven, actually- that a large, impassable obstacle made itself known: Celts were, as a whole, not a very "sensible" people. Diplomacy and stable familial or romantic relations were concepts rather lacking in their collective history.

So, it's really not a surprise that, on the night of reckoning, the apprehension in the air is infectious. For Diarmuid to be worried is one thing but Berserker? Now there's a- decidedly unwelcome- novelty. Dwelling on it isn't going to help, though. Instead, the Lancer has busied himself with preparing a light dinner- among other things. A still warm bairín breac sits on the table alongside a half drunk glass of ale for good luck. At the very least he can trust Scathach not to find his cooking lacking.

... but maybe he shouldn't answer that question anyway. Just to be safe.]

I'll manage. [It's hard when he wants so badly to win her approval.] Just to be clear, we're going to be clear about our relationship, right? All of it.

[ Berserker doesn't have the luxury of a useful distraction to ease his worries. He's mostly been trying to keep out of the way and only assisting when asked. Mostly he's been left to sit with his thoughts and unwanted emotions, which is helping absolutely nothing. This is not a comfortable state to be in.

He gets up from his seat and goes to Diarmuid, pulling him into a sudden hug. The contact helps to ease his anxiety and will hopefully do the same for his Bonded. It's still weird to comfort someone else, much less with physical affection like this, but it helps. He presses a kiss to his forehead. ]

Right. I don't intend to cover anything up. [ Because she'll find out anyway. It's better just to be up front with it. ] The effect you've had on me should be enough for her to deal with it.

[Diarmuid crumples against him, the truth of how uneasy he is coming out in a long, soft sigh into Berserker's neck. This is more stressful than he thought it would be but at least they're both feeling it- and it's nothing that either of them can't handle. The Lady of Shadows is a formidable opponent but he's not so easily cowed. Besides, te magical rush of their Bond is nothing compared to the affection he feels for him right now.]

... I...

[Say it. Now is as good a time as any- no, the perfect moment. This is exactly when he should say it.

He doesn't. Instead, he draws away with a smile- the beginnings of a charm offensive that Scathach will no doubt see through immediately but he has to try- and nods.]

You're right. She might not like me but we're good influences on each other. At least, I hope so.

[Now all they can do is wait.]

Edited 2019-10-03 16:52 (UTC)

[ They didn't have to wait long. Not even a moment's breath after Diarmuid had spoken his words did a call come from just outside the door. No knock. ]

A lady has come to this house and asks permission to enter.

[ One could just about hear the smirk in her tone.

And really, at this point, this was merely formality for her. As worried as they both were, she'd seen enough of this "new" Berserker to set aside some of her own apprehension over the situation to see that the dreaded blight that sat upon her soul like an inky-black stain was no longer, well... that. And she wasn't certain what she could say he was now. But it was certainly different, and... perhaps as good as one could hope for.

And if that meant paying thanks to a warrior she didn't quite have much respect for, well... Maybe she could be open to the idea of re-assessing her thoughts on Diarmuid. Probably.

Hopefully. ]

[ Berserker wanted to say something more, to ask about the hesitation from Diarmuid, but the familiar voice draws his attention. With a bit of reluctance, he goes to let Scathach in. They'd worked alongside each other to cause chaos in Dorchacht, which left no time at all to talk about things (his lack of ability to speak in that form aside).

Choking back the irritating anxiety, the dragon opens the door and steps aside to let her in. ]

Right on time. [ Of course she was. ] Make yourself at home. There's a meal waiting.

[ He stops short of calling her master -- he still can't bring himself to do it. It doesn't feel right in this form of his. ]

[Strange, really, how much Scáthach's opinion means to him. She was never his master, never even a figure in the lives of those who were and yet both her reputation and her connection to Berserker have launched her into a position of extreme significance. In a blackly comic kind of way, it almost feels like courting the parents of an intended's approval.

Regardless, he inclines his head as she enters.]

My Lady. I'm glad to see you in good health.

[It's a little on the formal side but sincere enough; a role of respectful subservience is the one Diarmuid's most comfortable playing, after all. While Berserker can likely sense his lingering doubts, the simple elegance in his movements, from the bow of his head to the easiness of his smile, give away nothing.]

Coffee or something stronger?

[ It was something that frustrated her, honestly, about Diarmuid. He had more in common with the english knights than he did, at times, with his fellow celts, at least by her reckoning of what it meant to be a celt. But she was trying, for Berserker's sake, to keep that distaste from surfacing, keeping her own look neutral as she regarded the man.

Scathach herself was showing much clearer signs of transformation since they last met. Her hair was outright shaggy now, a wild river of magenta over her shoulders, that hid away much of the sides of her face. Fur tufts poked out from her chest and shoulders, as well as the tops of her hands. And when she spoke, those pronounced canines were difficult to miss. ]

Scotch. Or whatever whiskey you have to serve.

[ It still amazes him how easily Diarmuid falls into his role. He can feel the residual anxiety through their bond and yet none of it shows. It's so natural for him to play this part. His own nagging discomfort eases somewhat, though nothing can completely abate it right now.

Berserker couldn't help himself and looked over Scathach. The transformation of turnskins wasn't unfamiliar to him (he lived with one at times, after all), but it's still surprising to see the change in her. Someone once so familiar changed...It must be the same when she looks upon hm. Shaking that thought from his head, he closes the door behind them. He just decides to keep silent for now, saving further (likely uncomfortable) conversation for once they're all settled in. Nothing he can say right now will be beneficial. ]

[In its own way, it's a curse too. The ability to feign being perfectly okay with a difficult situation goes hand in hand with forcing yourself to be okay and, by the time the truth surfaces, it's too late. But he won't let it be so. Whether it's thanks to the last Grail War or his time here or even his Bond with Berserker, he's stronger now and he won't let it happen again.

Diarmuid fetches her drink, first measuring out a finger of scotch before deciding better of it and doubling it. As he passes it over, he pauses to pick up his own glass, holding it up in a quick toast.]

Sláinte. [This time, he turns his smile on Berserker.] Do you want anything, Cú?

[Translation: I know you're bad at smalltalk but say something, please.]

[ Scathach met the toast, taking a generous sip of her drink. At the very least, the selection did not disappoint at all. He was still a true celt in that sense, absolutely.

Her eyes also turned to Cu.

No pressure, son. ]

[ Ah. Now they're both looking at him expectantly. This isn't something he can just disappear from as much as he wants to. Say something, anything. Respond. ]

The same... [ As if an afterthought: ] Please.

[ God knows he'll need the help from the alcohol to make this easier. ]

You're adjusting well, I take it?

[ See? He's attempting small talk!! It's ... weird. ]

[It's as good as done. Diarmuid fetches a second drink, pouring with a flourish and handing it over. But, while subtle, Berserker might notice him linger a little longer than he strictly needs to, letting their hands meet for a few seconds more and their eyes lock. There's gratitude in his stare and touch.

And then he breaks away. Diarmuid settles back against the counter, as casual as if he were talking to another member of the Fianna but carefully respectful. It's a difficult balance to strike but he manages it.]

I daresay. [as playful a smile as he dares-] Have you found a wardrobe to your taste yet?

[don't worry serker he has an a rank in being a husband]

Edited 2019-10-06 13:41 (UTC)

I've been well enough, all things considered. Having an outlet for my aggression certainly helped.

[ She took another long sip of her drink, letting out a soft hum. ]

This is a good selection, lad. And I should be thanking you for solving most of my wardrobe troubles, as well. But none of that is particularly surprising...

[ The lingering contact doesn't go unnoticed, the gratitude getting a brief smile in response. The weight of this meeting is still in the air, though it's lightened a bit. A relief, really. This could've easily gone downhill very quickly right from the beginning. He takes a long drink, the familiar burn on his tongue a welcome sensation. ]

I expected nothing less from you. There's little you can't handle, after all.

[ Well, with the goodwill in the air, Berserker decides to step directly on a landmine. ]

Have you considered a Bond yourself?

[ It's not condescending or anything close to it, just an exploratory question. He hadn't spoken at length with Scathach since her arrival here and didn't keep tabs on her -- it's not his business, after all. Their relationship is still ... rocky, to say the least. Depending on how she responds, it may open up an avenue to speak about less comfortable things. ]

Say what you will but they certainly know how to make fine drink here. [This time, he doesn't hide that he's teasing her.] I hope your new form hasn't weakened your tolerance any.

[They're only a short way into the conversation but Diarmuid's starting to settle. Though Scathach's tongue is every bit as sharp as her spear, it's rarely brandished without purpose and, verbally speaking, she's had no reason to draw it yet. Another point of comparison between the student and master.

Speaking of whom, he's already caught on to what Berserker might be doing. It's a tricky topic to broach so early and, while he initially hesitates, he decides to defer to his judgement and says nothing. After all, it strikes him that his fellow Lancer had very little patience for his overly cautious, roundabout approach before. Maybe just diving in is better.

... and, he has to admit, he's curious about that exact thing himself.]

[ Scathach placed her glass down with a thud, letting out a groan and a roll of her eyes. ]

I swear to the old words, you two are conspiring together. [ And the tone she used suggested she didn't mean Diarmuid, of course. Not that it was hard to guess who else she meant. ]

I'm not discussing my status as unbonded, not at your table nor any other, am I clear? [ Berserker might have told her he was under no obligation to listen to her, but the bass in her voice was the sort that would cow even the mightiest of the Irish Kings... ]

[ Ooh, okay. That touched a nerve. It's a little funny that Caster's already spoken to her about such matters, judging by that reaction. Berserker knows that tone of voice and even though he likes to press his luck, he knows to go no further, lest he want to start a fight. So he backs off. He takes a sip from his drink and lets the silence carry for just a moment. ]

I wasn't trying to force you to discuss anything, I was just curious as to if you'd found anyone worth your time. I suppose I lucked out for once, finding someone I trusted enough to Bond with before things became dire...Someone who was willing to accept all that it entailed.

[ Another drink and he tries to lighten the mood a little bit. ]

But how has your change affected your tolerance?

[Well. That certainly draws a line through that subject for now. Diarmuid almost gets the feeling that she could command a warlord down from his horse, off of the battlefield and into a corner to contemplate his own foolishness with that voice alone. Even half-cut with a monstrous curse, she has the same regal presence as always.

Thankfully, any leftover awkwardness is immediatly washed away with Berserker's comment about luck. Just for a moment, Diarmuid's expression brightens and his body language softens, gaze turning unmistakeably fond. Again, he wants to say something but when he hesitates, it isn't out of a fear of driving Berserker away with his eagerness. Rather, he's not about to start waxing intimate with Scathach right there.

In the end, he settles on a heartfelt-]

... we were both fortunate. I'm truly grateful.

[-before clapping his hands together and getting to his feet.]

If it has, then hopefully something to eat might stave it off for a while longer. Are you hungry, milady?

[ Beserker's words, Diarmuid's reaction to them... neither were hiding it, but she almost wondered how much they even understood what it was they were putting on display for her. Or, ultimately, if it mattered. In this world she had no access to the greater wisdom of dun scaith to grant her the clairvoyance that could perceive beyond.

But. She didn't need it. Her natural intuition was just as sharp as ever. It was obvious to her what she had witnessed. ]

I can eat. As for my tolerance, I don't doubt I could still drink the lot of you beneath the table. [ A small chuckle, her mood calming some. ]

[ No pushing against it, no backlash...Just an acceptance. It's a relief, a massive weight off of his chest to have the nature and, to some extent, the depth of their relationship out in the open. Berserker sinks into his seat a little bit, letting Diarmuid take care of the rest. ]

... Let's not test that tonight. [ Three drunk Celts at the same table meant nothing but trouble. ] Some other time.

We'll see. But another time.

[There's something else he'd rather address while sober- and away from Berserker. Tilting his head, Diarmuid turns to Scathach.]

Could I trouble you for your opinion?

[With that, he heads into the kitchen. A cast iron pot sits atop the stove, quietly bubbling away and filling the room with the comforting, hearty smell of a rabbit stew. Though he would have preferred to have hunted them himself, he's too wary of straying into infected grounds and was forced to accept the butchers assurance that the meat was of the highest quality. Looks like he wasn't exaggerating.

Diarmuid fetches a spoon from the side and holds it out to her.]

Does it need more salt?

Edited 2019-10-10 11:08 (UTC)

[ Scathach took up a cursory sip of the broth, hoping to answer Diarmuid's question, but instead her eyes widened briefly, focusing, and... she began to have several more spoonfulls without break, taking care not to slurp but sparing no lack of effort to consume her entire portion in just under a few moments. ]

[... well. At this rate, they won't even get to sit down together but he'll take it as a compliment. With a gently bemused laugh, Diarmuid takes the spoon from her hand and flashes her a grin.]

I take it that means it's fine as it is?

[Sounds like it's time to eat. Diarmuid begins to serve dinner, filling each bowl and portioning out the meat and vegetables with care. He doesn't even look up from his ladle when, a touch quieter this time, he speaks up.]

Actually, there was something I needed to talk to you about.

[ She was grateful he had a good sense of humor about it, as her pride wasn't about to let her apologize for that temporary show of boorishness (well, boorish outside of her usual acceptable amounts) and she preferred they just moved on pretending it hadn't happened. But she did want more stew... ]

Well, what is it? I take it this is about Berserker.

Mmm. I've given some thought to what you said when we first met- about finding me disappointing. [Another laugh. Soft, uneasy.] Don't worry. I've no intention of trying to change your mind with simple words, milady. But...

[When Diarmuid next looks up, it's with a tangible sense of resolve- and yet even that can't cover the intensity of the emotion he's feeling beneath. He talks evenly and without pause, confidence growing with each word.]

Know that however lacking I might be, whatever the number of my failures, I would lay down my life for your pupil in a heartbeat. It isn't my place to "fix" him but even being able to lift his burden just for a moment or see him truly smile sets my own heart at ease. He is everything to me.

[So many words for something that could be summed up much more succinctly- but he doesn't dare.]

[ She definitely knew this was coming, crossing her arms and letting him speak his words without interruption, remark, or even a gesture or reaction from her while he found his resolve and saw it through. When it was all said and done, she let a pause linger between them as she thought over for herself just how to respond... ]

In truth, lad, you're still disappointing to me. And I'll tell you precisely why, but it may not be why you think... [ She let out a sigh, dropping her arms and reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. ]

What you've said sounds like a knight swearing fealty to a lord, not an equal partner in love. He doesn't deserve just another person who will lay their life down on him, another death in a life burdened with far too many. And maybe he doesn't need to be "fixed" so much as reminded of who he truly is, beneath all of the Grail's corruption.

What he needs is someone that's willing to survive all that will come with this. He doesn't need a knight... he needs a partner, Diarmuid au Duibhne. Someone who will endure with him until his new future is clear...

Can you be that for him, lad?

[At first Diarmuid says nothing. Once again, Scathach has left him breathless and full of doubt- but there's nothing he can deny this time. He can't take offense at such a fair and clear judgement.]

... ha, you've caught me acting a coward, Lady of Shadows. Everything you say is true and I don't know who I thought I was fooling- you or myself. Please, let me try again.

[What good does dressing up his feelings in the words of a knight do? Perhaps all this time, it's been easier to accept that their relationship is founded more in the code of lords and vassals, that the emotion is a pleasant and welcome part of that and not a full on dive into something much more dangerous. Love has always been a distinctly double-edged sword for him, never ended in anything but hurt and loss that left everyone caught in the crossfire- even his death had sparked the war that was the beginning of the end for the Fianna- and the thought of losing Berserker wasn't worth the risk.

Gods, he's an idiot.]

I love him. [Spoken like the first breath of air after a long dive, at once hungry and shaken and filled with relief. He even seems a little shellshocked for having said it out loud initially.] Not as a knight but- but as a man. And as long he'll have me, I'll be there for him.

[There's the faintest tremor in his voice but he just about manages to banish it from his hand before he clasps it over hers.]

It's an old fashioned indulgence but I want to earn your blessing one day.

[ There it was. That's what she'd been after, wanted to hear him say with his own words. While Scathach could not honestly say he was any less disappointing to her; he just wasn't the type of warrior she favored, even if his skill and courage were without question. There would just always be something about Diarmuid that needled at her, sat poorly in her esteem.

But it didn't matter, really, did it? He'd said what she needed to hear him say.

She drew on that grip to pull him against her, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and letting out a sigh, patting against his back. ]

Quit fussing over whether or not you'll have my blessing. I'm not his mother, after all. [ As much as she could seem like she was, at times. ]

Whether or not I ever like you shouldn't matter. What matters is I've seen the evidence, plain as anyone can tell, about how much this love of yours has helped him. Keep up that love, and you'll not ever hear a protest from me, Diarmuid au Duibhne, Knight of Fianna.

[There's a moment of tension. Scathach will feel it spread through his entire body, every muscle going taut with unease- and then she speaks and it disappears almost as suddenly as it appeared. While it seems disrespectful to return the embrace, Diarmuid lets his head drop against her shoulder, eyes closing briefly as he processes both her words and his own. Emotion tugs at him, making his heart hammer and his mouth turn dry, but the last thing he wants to do is lose his cool in front of her.]

In my defense, displeasing people with my choice of partner has never played well for me. [The Lancer manages a small, self-conscious laugh as he pulls away.] But thank you.

[Then, before an awkward silence can develop, he turns back to the side, where the bowls of stew are still waiting to be served.]

... I should probably take these out before they go cold.

[Diarmuid picks up all three dishes, balancing one in the crook of his arm as effortlessly as any experienced waiter before heading back out to the dining table.]

Sorry to have kept you waiting. [He sets the first bowl in front of him with a nod. Hopefully, he'll pick up that his discussion with Scathach, whatever it was about, went well from the genuine warmth in his smile.] Enjoy.

[ And cold stew would definitely earn a harsher judgement... not that Diarmuid hadn't just seen that Scathach clearly loved what he'd cooked.

The elder lancer sat herself back down at the table, taking a sip from her drink before taking up a spoon once more. ]

It tastes amazing, just from the test, that I don't doubt I'll put away more than just this bowl.

[ As they reenter, Berserker lifts his head. He hasn't moved from where he'd dropped into his chair, though his drink is long gone. Whatever they'd been talking about must have gone well; there had been no sounds of a fight, verbal or physical, and Diarmuid was content, at the very least. ]

It's fine. I didn't hear any signs of a fight, so I decided to be patient.

[ He knows what the conversation was about, or had a very strong inkling, at least. It was about him, a defense of their relationship. Berserker lets his fingers brush over Diarmuid's hand, lingering for a moment with a faint smile.

He doesn't seem particularly interested in eating -- it's a holdover from being a Servant. Basic needs of a mortal body are more of a nuisance to him still; sleeping and eating regularly aren't things he's good at. Still, he takes a bite and gives a nod. ]

He's good at what he does. It's rare we have leftovers.

[Diarmuid laughs, at once clearly very pleased with the compliments and embarrassed by them judging by the new dusting of colour across his cheeks. Now there's another- less life-ruining- downside of his mole; it makes his blushes that little bit more obvious.]

Well, what better way to leave an impression than with a good meal? [He takes his seat and picks up his own knife and fork.] I'm glad it's to both of your tastes.

[Maybe it's just the atmosphere but it really does taste good- better than normal, even.]

[ Scathach would have offered further comment, but she was well too busy actually eating, really only stopping to breath and drink between spoonfuls.

So yeah, she really did like it. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Don't lose your heart, we're made of sterner stuff [closed]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject