gilgamesh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
throwmoreswords) wrote2019-02-20 10:22 pm
throwmoreswords) wrote2019-02-20 10:22 pm
[ic inbox] - Kaisou
State your case and don't bore me--or there may be consequences.
username: AUO | ✉ ☏ 📷 |
State your case and don't bore me--or there may be consequences.
no subject
[ maybe its the nerves
maybe its the
fact that youve been gone for 4 days and he's not been thinking about it until THIS moment but--! ]
...Doooo... we need to ... help you hide a body...?
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[ because even in these moments with the world on fire around his ears, the King is calm. measured. he hesitates a moment before touching Mydei's bloodstained body and then he reaches out, gold ichor rusting on his fingers as he feels the breadth and width of him, not trusting Mydeimos' own assessments--the man tends to play down his troubles, his worries, and trials. he carries them alone.
just like his elder brother.
the burning gap of four days of Mydei's disappearance, of Vergil and Zulius not being in his orbit--something burns bitter in his throat and he swallows it back. he hates being anything else's plaything. it enrages him to no end, but to see the whole work severed would take... irreversible actions.
they become more worthwhile in this moment, where Gilgamesh's fingers are soaked in gold and his brother sways on his feet, exhausted but too angry to collapse. ]
You need to clean up and rest.
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[ it's almost too much. the exhaustion, the pain, the way his head pounds and his vision swims. each second makes it harder to keep himself up but he persists, stubborn but determined not to fall even in the presence of those he deems safe.
perhaps that is exactly why the audience chose to step forward and take the reins from their exhausted host as Gilgamesh coats his fingers in gold.
there is very little change only a heavy exhale, a flicker in those golden eyes. were it not for the softer tone his voice adopts you couldn't be blamed in thinking nothing had changed, that it was still Mydeimos who spoke and not the spirit that chose him as a vessel. ]
Mydeimos had been spirited away into the Spirit Realm that had opened. Inside there was a man who sought to use him and the others gathered as food to sustain his lost loved ones. [ Mydei's gaze settles on Gil's. ] He did not succeed, however in the midst of the battle Mydeimos was felled.
no subject
Mydei was...
He had one of those, too. And it was speaking to Gil, now.
And maybe that'd be okay; for something like that to happen. The spirit's voice is soft and gentle. He had a good relationship with Aha, even if the God was chaotic and insane--he's sure others could also have good relationships with their spirits that saved their lives, but.
What's HITTING him more than that gentle voice now
is the LOOK
On Gilgamesh's face.
The way his eyes widen, the way the catlike slits thin so sharply his eyes are more red than any other color.
He recognised that look. He was on the receiving end of that look the day it came to light that he was alive.
that look of rage but relief, but also a quiet fury that cant be described by words. ]
...Hey. What's. Going on?
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[ but whatever he had to say about the rest of it falls away as a whole lot of information processes all at once and the ghosts in the back of Gilgamesh's mind are brought screaming to the forefront as kin calls to kin calls to King and that voice.
Sampo's instincts are impeccable, as is his read on the King's facial situation--pupils pulled to slits, feral and blood-bright, fingers dug into Mydei's arms to keep him steady as much as he means to ground the man, to keep him from fleeing or dancing away or falling to pieces once more. there's a strange concoction on the King's face--the tender fear of seeing a loved one in pain (dead and alive and dead again in more ways than one), the rage of hearing that someone has dared trespass upon someone-something that belongs to you, and the.
the Spirit he wears like ceremonial garb, ancestral lineage sitting easy on his shoulders, the King is the King is the King, and the King looks upon golden eyes that have shifted in hue just a few color-fractals down so that they don't glow with the little Prince's usual gilded arrogance
but with the amber-bright serenity of the Only Companion He Called His Own.
what does one say to a man one has long since mourned and buried? when one has walked a hundred lifetimes in contentment with one's mortality, having mourned their heavensent heart and resolved to rule as a proper judge in the washed-away wake of their passing? he remembers a King in a frozen bunker, looking down upon a little human--('Heh', he'd admonished, voice low, ' No, it is not enough to leave me pleased. Not in particular.' as he appraised Humanity's Last Master of the simulacrum of his friend, of the weapon that now lingered at their side--
that now sits inside of his brother's skin and gazes at him, amber-cold and entirely too factual for the King's redhot temper, the fire of his living blood. ]
You fail to plead a case for him and further prove my point, old friend.
[ it is not... a particularly warm way to say those words, but Gil's a mean little bitch when he feels like it. or doesn't want to feel about it, to be more specific. everyone in the room knows. people outside of the room know. it is known. ]
My assessment remains true. You--he needs to be cleaned and to go to rest.
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[ a bloody hand reaches up to rest on top of Gil's, a gesture weighed down by words unsaid and lifetimes the spirit's host is not privy to. this is not how they desired this revelation to be unveiled, it is not how Mydeimos wished this revelation to be unveiled. but recent events have forced their hand, forced them to remind their host of the pact made amongst the rushing waters of a river over a decade ago. ]
I cannot linger long. Surfacing like this is as equally unkind to Mydeimos as death has been. Ask him when he wakes, he will answer every question you will undoubtedly have for him.
[ the smile that finds Mydei's expression is unbearably soft, almost uncharacteristic from the man he holds himself as. what else but fondness would their hold for their king? it is what they leave Gil and Sampo with as they slip back into the recesses of Mydei's mind, his soul, what little strength that had been holding up his body leaving his limbs in a puff of smoke. like a sack of potatoes Mydei falls toward his brother, unaware yet trusting to be caught in arms much stronger than his own. ]
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He... quietly stands back to watch this interaction though. Not speaking up or interrupting in a way he normally would, were this almost any other interaction, any other conversation--but it feels weird here.
And then Mydei falls. And there's momentary panic in Sampo's eyes as he raises his hands, as if to try to figure out what to do here--but Surely Gil would catch him. The strength he has would make it an easy task for the king, after all. ]
...You uh.
Wanna' get him up to bed? We can get most of the blood off with some water and towels, but...
...
[ is he allowed to ask what the fuck just happened? ]
no subject
the angry fire burning behind ruby glass, the where were you and how dare you presume crackling in his chest, waiting pretty on his tongue as the Spirit speaks its intentions plain and factual, to the point
and then a hand comes to rest on Gilgamesh's. Mydeimos' hand, rough and broad from his years of work and his shape, but tender in the way that it now moves. its fingers rest on Gilgamesh and his eyes flick down for just a moment, skin tacky with golden ichor, and it's not the first time Gilgamesh's hands have been covered in someone else's lifeforce as he clasped their body to his, fingers dug tight enough to bruise flesh or dent clay--
he exhales once to catch his composure, looking back up to his Friend-in-his-brother's-eyes, kissing his teeth with a haughty sneer of an expression. ] He'd answer my questions regardless if he knows what's good for him, you fool.
[ but the heat, the arrogance is not even a fraction of how fiery it was moments ago, the King's mercurial mood fading in the wake of those quiet, familiar eyes--and then the expression cracks entirely, heartsick pain taking its place as Mydeimos' body buckles and Gilgamesh surges to catch him, arm around his waist, moving to pull his brother's limp arms around his shoulders so that he can cradle him into his arms like an overtired child, hefting him with a grunt of effort that's more for the shape of Mydei than the weight of him. ]
No. He reeks of blood and he'll have such a tantrum if we put him in his bedlinens like this.
[ try your luck, little jester. ]
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do not forget our pact, Mydeimos.
the voice is muffled in his ears, mixed with the harsh sharp tones and worried uncertainty. the surge of nausea hits him first, the throb of his head overwhelming the rest of the pain burning through him like a wild fire. only distantly does he recognize that he must have collapsed, that his companion took charge the moment they sensed his attempt to flee. but there is more to it than that, something Mydei himself doesn't understand, something that he has noticed since he first arrived in the city. something about his brother calls to them. something stirs them into action when before they merely observed.
but that is a thought for another moment, another day, not for the stirring Mydeimos unable to stand on his own two feet. ]
Don't─ [ a croaked out word. ] Ruin the sheets.
no subject
Ahem. A, anyway. I'll --try to go find the lavatory??
I think we unlocked that today, I think I actually--...
Going. I'm going.
[ he's gonna hop up and start opening doors--leaving them open behind him so the pair who will be dragging ass behind him will know where to go. Fortunately its not TOO far, just about three rooms down and two to the right--and he's in. Red room, red walls; and he's already racing over to the bathtub to turn the water on. ]