[They should be important too, shouldn't they? Even for a Servant.
But I'm sure it comes at a cost.
It strikes too raw for him to ignore, and his eyes flicker away as if she's hit him. Perhaps she has, in a way, bringing up friendship and love and all those things he really did understand once upon a time—all those things she doubted of him yet was the very first to show among all mankind.
He'd like to think it doesn't have to be that way, either. That he could still have what he sought from her and she'd still look at him like she believed in the lie of a person he sold to that charming little magus. Lies were only as good as the liars that told them, and the thought of not being good enough rankles.
He's not good enough to just tick boxes off and make it happen anymore. He hasn't been since Enkidu breathed his very last.]
Here.
[Gilgamesh strides ahead of her, to the table that's been prepared. It's lonely and small compared to the emptiness of the room, but the tea wafts a warm and welcoming smell from its tray. A tray beside a plate full of lemon cakes, since she knows him too well for her own good now.
He pulls out her chair and acts cordially for the knightess-in-training. He smiles to keep up the facade. He speaks softly to hide the fact he'd dash her across the floor in an instant to get what he wanted, in love as ever with exactly what he can't have. He's worse than Voldemort could ever be: someone who can't love but clings to the delusion of it anyway, once upon a sunny day in Uruk.]
Catch me up on everything. From every strike of your sword to every dash of your pen. I want to hear.
no subject
But I'm sure it comes at a cost.
It strikes too raw for him to ignore, and his eyes flicker away as if she's hit him. Perhaps she has, in a way, bringing up friendship and love and all those things he really did understand once upon a time—all those things she doubted of him yet was the very first to show among all mankind.
He'd like to think it doesn't have to be that way, either. That he could still have what he sought from her and she'd still look at him like she believed in the lie of a person he sold to that charming little magus. Lies were only as good as the liars that told them, and the thought of not being good enough rankles.
He's not good enough to just tick boxes off and make it happen anymore. He hasn't been since Enkidu breathed his very last.]
Here.
[Gilgamesh strides ahead of her, to the table that's been prepared. It's lonely and small compared to the emptiness of the room, but the tea wafts a warm and welcoming smell from its tray. A tray beside a plate full of lemon cakes, since she knows him too well for her own good now.
He pulls out her chair and acts cordially for the knightess-in-training. He smiles to keep up the facade. He speaks softly to hide the fact he'd dash her across the floor in an instant to get what he wanted, in love as ever with exactly what he can't have. He's worse than Voldemort could ever be: someone who can't love but clings to the delusion of it anyway, once upon a sunny day in Uruk.]
Catch me up on everything. From every strike of your sword to every dash of your pen. I want to hear.