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Entry tags:
[closed] cool cherry cream and a nice apple tart.
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.]
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.]
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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. ]
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[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.]
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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.
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[In contrast to Adra's panic, Gilgamesh remains perfectly composed. Almost insultingly so.]
And I absolutely will.
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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.
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[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.
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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?
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[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."
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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.
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[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.]
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[ 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. ]
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But regardless, you are mine.
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Ah, Gil. Slick, as always.
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[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.]
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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.
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[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!]
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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! ]
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Quiet peep, peeps accompany the shaking and rocking of the egg. Within a few minutes, it splits itself straight down the middle, and the halves fall away to reveal a sticky, gooey mess of a...]
...!
[...of a this. A birdlike creature, covered in a thick down of rainbow feathers, with a tiny body and an even a tinier beak with no eyes visible. Nonetheless, it lifts its head and coos, appearing to "look" from Gilgamesh to Adra. Its wings are still nubile, too weak to fly, but it's a brave little thing; it comes toddling out to greet them and bounces up and down, excitedly.
Gilgamesh finds himself at once endeared.]
O-oh... it's so...
[Cute. Not a word that often comes out of Gilgamesh's mouth. He holds out his hands and the bird rolls right over, provoking laughter.]
How marvelous! So full of life and energy! Who knew it was waiting within that egg all along?
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[ But the word seems too small for what Adra's feeling, for the expression on his face. He reaches to touch the little bird, pressing one fingertip gently against its feathery stomach. He melts, his ears curling, his eyes soft and bright. For this bird is something like a phoenix, and though Adra is clearly enamored, there's reverence in his tone, too. ]
You've brought home a rare creature.
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[Gilgamesh corrects him, gently. After a moment to wash off the remaining yolk from its feathers in the sink and pat it dry, Gilgamesh offers the little chick to Adra. Wobbling onto its feet, it raises its wings like arms; the gesture could only really be interpreted as a desire for holding. Gilgamesh smiles at the sight.]
You are my little sun, and so it will be my little rainbow. Quzah.
[As if in reply to its naming, Quzah coo-coos. It's already starting to toddle off Gilgamesh's wrist, so if Adra doesn't catch it...]
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It's a lovely name. But I'm not that little.
[ Gently, he lifts one hand so that it's beside the top of his head, allowing Quzah to step off and burrow into his thick, blond hair. It takes its new nest happily, turning around and around on Adra's scalp. He has to stifle laughter at the tickling feel of its tiny feet. ]
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[Quzah chirps in its continued cheer and all but makes it clear that, just as the great King claimed, it belongs as much to Gilgamesh as it does to Adra himself. And, in this case, Gilgamesh may not mind sharing. He reaches for Adra's hand to hold and gives it a squeeze.]
You will make a good papa. I am most certain.
[Though the implications of that were certainly interesting. If Adra was a papa, and Gilgamesh was a papa, then...]
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Quite the family, huh.
[ He coughs once he realizes he's said that out loud, and his ears curl in embarrassment. He's quick to make these kinds of connections; too quick, he knows. ]
I mean--er--thank you. You--too.
[ Gil had done well just now, after all--preparing the egg to hatch, cleaning Quzah afterwards, handling him gently. Adra can return the sentiment confidently. ]
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[Gilgamesh gestures to the tray of half-glazed pastries, and the counter full of mess that's yet to be cleaned up.]
Go and take a good rest. Shut your eyes and relax.
[His smile fades to a more concerned frown, as he's still cognizant of the not quite argument that had just died down with a not quite resolution. He's no longer in the mood to have it out with Adra over it, but it remains a point of contention in his mind. They would have to discuss this more openly, and soon, to avoid Adra simply fading away. He was a stubborn elf; it would take an equally stubborn soul to convince him.
It is why Gilgamesh will assert himself here. He respects Adra's boundaries, but his tone makes it clear: this isn't up for debate.]
I will join you in a short time, and we shall see to the improvement of your... status.
[Gilgamesh had blown his chance for anything romantic, he's aware, but there were other ways to deal with him.]
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... fine.
[ He'll allow some help. He knows he has to; knows he can't run on fumes. Who knows when the next battle would be upon them; when they would be sent again to a dungeon? It was irresponsible not to at least be prepared for that. But he would take only what was essential, and no more.
He pauses. ]
By the way. You did an excellent job. We should--practice like this more often.
[ His words are a little halting, and he doesn't know why. Exhaustion, he supposes.
He turns away from the kitchen (Quzah still rolling around in his hair) and heads for the corridor, leaving Gil to his work. ]