Oh, goody. Romance of the century. At least his task's done, as such as it was.
Gilgamesh glances back at the two and that hush, child attitude dissipates. Now, he just stares with the vaguest sort of annoyance at Dorian, who acts with such concern and compassion when by all accounts he was the cause of everything. Gilgamesh lets him know, too, tugs at his mind as only a Servant can—you idiot, you've made a mess, now I have to go and clean it up.
A showy mess, but a mess Gilgamesh has already grown bored of. Where's the beautiful, bloody lionness? Chased away by this false modesty, and it grates. He doesn't want Dorian here. He's only in the way, playing the pretend friend and doing a much worse job of it by his measure.
"Dorian."
Gilgamesh calls out to him, placidly, plainly, and then immediately slides into an accusation. "You did not employ the Command Spell. Am I not your Servant? Am I not so pledged? I could've protected the both of you."
Not that he would have. But it's always the thought that counts, right, Hermione?
no subject
Gilgamesh glances back at the two and that hush, child attitude dissipates. Now, he just stares with the vaguest sort of annoyance at Dorian, who acts with such concern and compassion when by all accounts he was the cause of everything. Gilgamesh lets him know, too, tugs at his mind as only a Servant can—you idiot, you've made a mess, now I have to go and clean it up.
A showy mess, but a mess Gilgamesh has already grown bored of. Where's the beautiful, bloody lionness? Chased away by this false modesty, and it grates. He doesn't want Dorian here. He's only in the way, playing the pretend friend and doing a much worse job of it by his measure.
"Dorian."
Gilgamesh calls out to him, placidly, plainly, and then immediately slides into an accusation. "You did not employ the Command Spell. Am I not your Servant? Am I not so pledged? I could've protected the both of you."
Not that he would have. But it's always the thought that counts, right, Hermione?