[closed] cool cherry cream and a nice apple tart.

[babbylon]

Who: Gilgamesh and Adrasteius
When: A few days after the housewarming, likely.
Where: Adrasteius' residence
What: Gilgamesh owns up to his failings; Adrasteius teaches him a lesson; a surprising new addition joins the Spouse House.
Rating: I can't imagine this going beyond PG, but I'll update if needed.

[Gilgamesh had erred.

Not in how he treated Adrasteius, as the great tyrant would likely remain forever oblivious in that regard, but rather in how he treated his sacred domain: the kitchen. He'd burnt it, soiled it, and nearly blown it up in his quest to make a meat pie, and there was no hiding the evidence the next day. At first, Gilgamesh decided to lay low; though he feared no man's temper, he didn't particularly want to face Adrasteius anyway. Not after the awkwardness of their last conversation, how furious he'd been over a perceived slight. A slight Gilgamesh did not and would not understand, no matter how many times he'd turned over the incident in his head.

But eventually, the air in the home grows too stiff to ignore. So rather than persist in stubbornness and continue to act as though he'd done nothing wrong, Gilgamesh takes a step in the right direction—he admits fault to Adrasteius himself, and then, in typical Gilgamesh fashion, demands something immediately after.

"Teach me how to cook properly."

He'd been promised they'd start with a simple dish, so when Adrasteius has some free time, Gilgamesh waits for him in the kitchen. He's already sporting an apron and looking rather antsy. When he hears familiar footsteps, he rushes forward in his eagerness.]

I am prepared! I vow to be most studious and most serious, "Chef"!

[He really, really wants to impress Adrasteius, or at least make up for his mistake, and it really, really shows.]

Comments

[hymnals]

[ GIL PLEASE

Adra covers his mouth with one hand, though is it because he's scandalized, or because he's holding back laughter? Well, maybe it's a little of both. He cares for Gil, and in caring for him, can't deny that he finds the man attractive. Can't deny that he has good hips. ]

Putting your whole body into it, I see.

[ He comes up beside Gilgamesh, and holds out his hand. ]

Let me show you how to drizzle the icing.

[babbylon]

[Gods, please do.

Err, wait, no, not quite there yet. Focus. Gilgamesh nods enthusiastically, and steps aside.]

Show me a truly skillful hand, Chef.

[...that really wasn't much better, was it.]

[hymnals]

[ Adra picks up Gil's mix and begins to pour, drizzling perfect criss-crossed lines over the surface the adorable pastry claws. He finishes one, and the resulting product glistens, looking delicate and appetizing.

He starts in on a second, but as he's pouring, he feels a sudden jolt of weakness in his muscles. His arm spasms, and the glaze spills, pooling in one corner of the tray. Adra hisses, setting down the bowl in his hands. He mops up the spill with one of the claws; it's a mess, but it's effective. ]

I'll just. Take this one. Sorry about that.

[ He sets the ruined claw aside. ]

Anyway, you have the idea.

[babbylon]

[The quick cover-up may have fooled most, but Gilgamesh has spent too much time with Adra at this point not to notice something amiss in his body language. Every other thought leaves his mind except those immediately pertaining to his health; he reaches forward, to that same troubled arm, and looks to the elf with concern.]

You are unwell.

[Magic leaps to his fingertips, flows soothingly between them. For a short time, at least, Adra will know peace, although Gilgamesh can't help but press.]

For how long?

[hymnals]

[ Adra doesn't step away, though he does list against the counter, sighing with relief--however temporary--at the revitalizing magic. ]

... I don't know. The past two or three weeks.

[ It's true. He had been largely fine until recently, until the small aches and brief moments of dizziness suddenly became more protracted, more severe. The bouts of muscle weakness are the most crippling, and the most recent, of his present troubles. ]

Perhaps I've been overexerting myself lately.

[babbylon]

[Sharply:]

But of course you have.

[It slips out before he has the chance to stifle himself. Gilgamesh steps forward and resumes pouring the glaze with his own two hands, eyes searing with a familiar sort of fire. The fire that always occupied them right before he launched into a lecture of some kind, though here his lips just remain firmly creased. Tight.

It is safe to say that with that little slip-up, Gilgamesh has figured out exactly what's going on, and he's not too happy about it.]

[hymnals]

[ His ears fold back, because that reaction would be impossible to miss even if he weren't naturally attentive to shifting moods. His head aches, and he reaches for the ponytail to pull it out, to let his long hair cascade in a wave down his back and shoulders. He sighs. ]

It's of no concern.

[babbylon]

It is of every concern!

[And Gilgamesh nearly spills the glaze, too—not just on the tray but all over the floor in a sudden snap of frustration. He wheels on his heel and immediately, as if a switch has been flipped, turns on the heat, pursuing the elf with an accusatory finger poked sharp at his chest with every word.]

We live in the same space, mere inches or feet from each other at any given time, and yet you cannot even deign to tell me these things? That you are suffering, that you would much rather bear it alone than seek solace in another's arms? Even if they were not my own...

[I would not have minded. But was that really the truth? Gilgamesh shakes his head, turns away.]

You are killing yourself, little by little, and I am allowing it to happen. What shame, that this King can not even take proper care of his own vassals.

[hymnals]

[ Adra's not used to this. Typically, he's the one in a rage; the one indignant. The one with the high ground, at least in his own mind. If someone shouts at him, he's easily able to brush it off, because it's often just someone angry at being called to the carpet for their poor behavior.

Adra winces, both from those sharp pokes and from the withering heat of Gil's tone. He clutches at his chest, his expression crumbling. Light, his head hurts. ]

I'm just--I'm just trying to manage this. I'm trying to stay disciplined!

[ I don't want to die.

And as for comfort in someone else's arms ... he hadn't even thought of that. He rarely thinks of comfort with regard to himself at all. ]

You have enough to worry about, I'm sure. You don't need to worry about me.

[ No one needs to worry about him. No one should. No one ever has. ]

[babbylon]

You are mine.

[That's it. It just comes out, in a furious rush, in one chillingly possessive statement but it's not like Gilgamesh would've even stopped himself otherwise. It's not like, in his mind, he isn't simply relaying an obvous truth. He goes on, and in typical Gilgamesh fashion, just makes it worse.]

And because you are mine, it is my responsibility to look after your person. I may be a tyrant, but no one could ever claim I did not take the best care of my treasures. They are valuable. They are at their best when they are shining, not withering away in some dusty corner, lonely and forgotten.

[Somehow, Gilgamesh goes above and beyond and manages to glaze the pastries properly. Even if he's sighing throughout, clearly aggravated.]

Come to my quarters after this. I will see the situation remedied at once.

[The harshness of his tone implies this will not be a choice.]

[hymnals]

[ (That's an excellent job on the pastries, Gil)

Too bad Adra's bright red and stumbling back against his cabinets, his mind wild with conflicting thoughts, his attention completely diverted. Treasures? What does that mean? Was he just an object to this man? His stomach churns. ]

Yours? When did you decide that?

[ Probably immediately, actually, comes the quick response in his own head. Doesn't Gil think everything is his? Hardly a special designation. He scowls. ]

And I will do no such thing.

[babbylon]

Since I laid eyes upon you.

[In contrast to Adra's panic, Gilgamesh remains perfectly composed. Almost insultingly so.]

And I absolutely will.

[hymnals]

[ He rubs his temples in agitation. ]

Right, because that's your whole thing, isn't it? People are just objects to you, and they're all yours.

[ He's pressed back against the counter and the cabinets like some kind of aggrieved cat; he clutches at the counter's edges with both hands for support. ]

Just--slow down a little.

[babbylon]

He was my blade as well as my brother.

[A person as well as a possession. Gilgamesh could not see them as anything but one in the same.]

What I have are not objects. They are treasures, just as I said.

[hymnals]

[ Now, that does give Adra pause. He settles down, just a little. Swallows thickly, his mind working rapidly, as it tends to. He considers what he knows about this person; the way Gilgamesh spoke of him. Considers the way Gil has always spoken about himself. In many ways, Gil reminds Adra of his own people, but in others, Gilgamesh's perspective is remarkably alien. He seems to have a very particular way of viewing the world, of viewing other people, and this viewpoint doesn't necessarily align with the usual interpretation of certain concepts.

Such as the notion of treasure, for example.

Teasing out a thought process, trying to understand something ... that never fails to organize Adra's frantic mind. He taps his fingers on the counter, rather than clutching for it. ]

What was his name?

[babbylon]

Enkidu.

[At any other time, Gilgamesh may had hedged away from the conversation. He may have tried to change the subject. He may have dismissed Adra outright. But here and now, it seems he's decided that he should know. That he must know, in order to fully grasp what he's getting at.]

He was made of clay, in order to challenge me. You see, by his own definition, he wasn't much of a person at all. He was only given a "soul" by the gods of my era, and only given purpose in his pursuit of me. I knew him since when I was a boy, and he watched me grow even as he did not age one bit. He would always tell me, "I am your weapon", and I would always say...

[He smiles, a little, to think of it. To remember.]

"But regardless, you are mine."

[hymnals]

[ This is a story that Adra's glad to hear. It feels like a missing piece. If Enkidu was the person dearest to Gilgamesh's heart, and Gil thought of him in these terms--if he was, in fact, fashioned according to these terms--then that illuminated much of Gilgamesh's perspective. It clarified the way he interacted with other people; the way he treated them. Because Enkidu was clearly a blueprint--no ... more like a gold standard.

All of these thoughts go through Adra's mind as he listens to Gilgamesh speak. He doesn't say anything right away. He's quiet, his eyes burning, his head still violent with ache. But ... ]

I understand. You loved him as he was. For what he was.

[babbylon]

I loved my people.

[Just as he grew to hate them, over time, for his people were not just Sumerians but all of mankind. His destiny, his duty, which he grew to despise as he was summoned into increasingly depressive eras. Eras of greed and self-destruction, eras which reflected a humanity that had strayed off course—and he, as the shepherd, was fated to set them straight again, by any means necessary.

But he doesn't tell Adra any of this. He doesn't need a morality lesson, and Gilgamesh doesn't need to justify himself.]

And so I love now, whomever I please, however I please. So too you may be loved, by this same philosophy.

[In his own way, as only he can. That is what it means to be cherished by Gilgamesh.]

[hymnals]

Mm.

[ He sighs tiredly. ]

But I am not one of your people.

[ Not that he doesn't understand what Gil's getting at. Quite the contrary; he feels he understands more about Gilgamesh than he ever has before. But the fact remains: he's not one of Gil's people. He's not even human. ]

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh just tips a wry smile over his shoulder.]

But regardless, you are mine.

[hymnals]

[ His eyes widen slightly. Then, he throws his head back, and he laughs. ]

Ah, Gil. Slick, as always.

[babbylon]

If it were a joke, you would be laughing much harder, I assure you.

[Though Gilgamesh lets him have that attempt to recover dignity and just returns to the pastries, placidly finishing off his task as if they hadn't argued at all. Meanwhile, there's a loud thunk several rooms over that those elvish ears just might catch wind of; Gilgamesh, however, does not.

It thunk and it starts to roll, and roll, and roll... something's coming.]

[hymnals]

[ He has to admit, he's having a hard time taking the claim of 'you are mine' seriously. Doesn't Gil say that to all the girls? And boys? And everything else, animate or inanimate?

He just sighs as he comes up to inspect the pastries, but ...

He pauses. His long ears twitch. ]

Gil--do you hear that? Something's moving towards us.

[babbylon]

Hm...?

[Gilgamesh was no elf, but he was a hunter, once—even as a King, Archers were still warriors of the wood. So although it takes him a moment longer and a bit more focus, he does hear that, and immediately his demeanor shifts from casual to serious. As a Servant, it's natural to him that he interprets this as an intruder.

Gilgamesh sets the bowl down and steps in front of Adra without a word. He doesn't have his sword at the ready, but one can see the magic flowing about his fingertips, hear him muttering under his breath. If they're about to be attacked, he'll be ready for it.

As it turns out, however, there's no need. The rolling object comes rocking 'round the bend, and... it's an egg. Gilgamesh's egg, to be precise, that he looted from the last dungeon. It just keeps going and going until it hits the end of Gilgamesh's foot, which prompts him to pick it up, curious.]

How did it find its way here? Could it be—

[The rolling sound has turned into chipping. Whatever's inside, it's trying to hatch!]

[hymnals]

[ He's so quick to defend. Adra's distracted by that for a moment, by the quick and unthinking way that Gilgamesh moves to protect him. He feels the crackle of magic in the air, and he braces himself--but, oh. The egg. Huh.

He looks on, and for a moment his aches and pains, his anxieties and fears--all of these fade to the background noise of his mind. Excitement bubbles up in him as he watches spiderweb cracks form all along the egg's surface, as whatever's inside makes its bid for freedom. Pieces of the egg's shell fall to the floor and shatter, and soon enough, it's been broken entirely apart. ]

Anar'alah belore*!

[ * = by the light of the sun! ]