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Entry tags:
ic inbox/voicemail
"Hello, Hermione Granger here. I must be busy, so please leave a message. Thank you very much!"
(text, voice, video, action;
locket, compass, bone charm, letter, owl)
"Hello, Hermione Granger here. I must be busy, so please leave a message. Thank you very much!"
(text, voice, video, action;
locket, compass, bone charm, letter, owl)
voice
It's not the first time she's felt that bone deep betrayal, of course, but it's still frustrating to have fallen for it all over again. She had been touched by the idea that someone might have liked her enough to even consider what he had offered, but now...
She picks up her compass, stroking the sides before she answers. ]
Of course, Gilgamesh. How may I help you?
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[Gilgamesh isn't playing nearly the same game as before. It makes no sense to with the way the tides have shifted, and arguably away from him. He still doesn't fear for future prospects, but a seed of doubt has been planted alongside his own, and it troubles him to admit that Dorian's word holds far more sway. This is going to require serious work, serious commitment. It starts now.
He's playing a very different card today, one of honesty. He'll see where it leads. Back to where he was before, he hopes.]
It was not my intent to eavesdrop. Such things bleed naturally through our bond, so that's how I knew. And so if you would ask me anything, I would answer, but there's something I must tell you first. I believe it may help with greater context.
[And give him something of a lead on her before she ever even starts.]
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[ She's not sure what he expects her to say. Is she supposed to tell him that she knows that this, all of this, their friendship and their tutoring, had all been a lie? That she had been lead and mislead, thinking they were friends, only to think that he had been using her, to coerce her to his side? She trusted Dorian for more than she did Gilgamesh and it hurt to think that she had been so stupid.
She leans back in her chair, curling up a little and holding the metal of her compass against her lap. She's glad he can't see her, hair a mess around her shoulders, shoved into a messy bun with black rings around her eyes. Hardly the sort of image she wants to present to anyone. ]
I'm not angry at you for any eavesdropping. You can, um. Tell me whatever you like. Go ahead, I'm listening.
[ She might not believe it, but. ]
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When Gilgamesh begins, there's none of his usual lilt, not even a hint of callousness or condescension. He's just speaking from facts, which she'll hopefully appreciate being a woman devoted to her studies.]
I am a Servant, as you know. Though some of us were once human, our enslavement to that sacred artifact which summons us—the Holy Grail itself—renders us less so. As I mentioned, I share more kinship with your wand than with your flesh. Magic comprises and sustains us. It makes us do battle, bound forever to that Grail, in its name.
[And the truth remained that it really was a despicable system, one no Servant ever favored. He did not wish for gold or glory or anything he already had. He wished only to be himself, and now... now that had been taken away from him. Which leads him to his main point.]
But there's a problem with the system. It's one I discovered only just recently, but... it affects all of us. Every Master and Servant from my world in the same twisted way with the same twisted stroke of fate.
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As he speaks her fingers continue their gentle motions, brushing against the metal, warming it under her hands before she closes her eyes and lets his voice be the only thing she pays attention to. She's warm and comfortable and, considering the circumstances, in the best mood to be bargained or reasoned with. ]
I imagined that some of you might have some links to humanity, or at least some link to mythology. Some of the names I've heard here just seem fitting, at least compared to stories in my world.
[ She doesn't like the idea of anyone being seen as a wand more than a person, of course. She had fought so hard and for so long for her own rights as a person, to be seen as more than just her blood, that it draws a sudden rush of empathy from her, digging into her chest and settling there even as she wishes it would just go away. He continues and Hermione listens. ]
Let me take a guess. Is it a problem you want to fix?
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[Grave words for a grave situation, and this too bears no exaggeration, no deception. The revelation had troubled him when he found out, and troubles him still, evident in that very real strain in his voice. Perhaps he will spin it to his favor, but the crux of matter remains bothersome and likely always will. Still, he goes on.]
It has been seeping into Servants for years now. If you know of her, of the Winter King who bears the name Saber, it is responsible for her corruption. It has misled us all and drawn upon our lives, our very souls, with wicked purpose. And as one present from the start, I...
[...I must word this with care. He cannot slip up again, like before. He cannot lose her. It must be the truth, but it also must be his truth.]
I have likely suffered from this same madness. Sometimes, I sense it. Sometimes, I do not. But it is there, and even worlds away, the Grail calls to me. It is the reason for my existence and I cannot ignore its influence by the nature of what I am. So you must understand.
[It's only a theory, only a guess, but he's going to use it. He will use that empathy. He will draw on it for as long as he can, even if it pains him to rely on her pity.]
What has happened to Saber is happening to all of us.
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[ It's clear from the quiet whisper that the meeting didn't go well. Not in the least. Do try not to fall again. It had been a warning, a threat, and Hermione forces herself to calm as she thinks back on that moment. A friend of Harry's that seemed to loathe her, hate her, want to see her fall apart for the mistake she had already been forgiven for, Harry telling her that Saber was his friend, that she would never...
She can't let Gilgamesh influence her so easily, no matter what he says, of course. She's guarded, careful, swallowing back the urge to draw out more of his story and his secrets, pushing away the empathy and the hurt she feels on his behalf. She knows what it's like, after all, to be near something that hurts and plays with your mind. She carried a Horcrux around her neck for weeks and had suffered the consequences of having such an evil skin so close to her. It didn't excuse her, though, and she certainly didn't go out of her way to manipulate or lie to someone.
What she can tell from this is that he's trying to offer a reason, an excuse, and she doesn't want to believe it. She wants to confer with Dorian, to seal herself off from him, to blank the kindness he had shown her even as she knows he may well be telling the truth. She's seen how cool and aloof Saber is, she's seen how Gilgamesh swings between a spectrum, as arrogant as a King might be to soft and tender in her company.
If she had been in a better state of mind she might well have just hung up.
Instead, she curls a little more. ]
If you're expecting me to accept this as some sort of... Reason or excuse, some way to argue against what Dorian's told me... It's not going to work, Gilgamesh.
[ Her eyes squeeze closed, tighter, harder. She's hurting, damaged, and she isn't sure if her heart can take this, not when she's having nightmares each and every night, barely scraping a few hours if she's lucky. ]
I don't think my magic would help you either. Would it?
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[This he snaps off with a bit more fire, but at least it's guaranteed to be honest that way. No airs, no maneuvering, just stubborn insistence that he could hold onto what remained of his sanity. Even as he rambled at length before her in the night, even as he's exposed for a fraud and a cheat, part of him refuses to believe he'd ever fall to the depths Rin claimed.
I am myself. I am beyond this. It does not affect me. He can reassure himself in private, but in public he must play this role and keep his head down. She won't overlook this easily, this he now knows, and everything he says to her may as well be said to Dorian, too.
Damn that insufferable little Victorian menace.]
Dorian tells you what he's seen. What I've felt reaches beyond any mortal magic you're capable of. But I've spoken enough of that and I will honor my promise. I will speak truth to whatever you ask, so sworn upon the highest crown I do bear.
[This isn't going to be pleasant. But it's necessary.]
Afford me this much. I know it is not your wish to simply tear down all that we've built so carelessly.
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Even now, having learned from all her mistakes, she still wants to believe.
Hermione lets herself be quiet for a few moments - she doesn't do it to torture him, of course, just to let herself breathe - before her voice comes through, a little more confident now. ]
The truth whenever I ask.
[ That seems like a great promise indeed, but one she would only be sure of if she actually trusted him to keep it. Still, he hasn't broken any promises to her so far and even if he had been using her she doesn't think everything he has said to her was a complete and utter lie.
How did she get into this mess? How did she end up feeling a mixture of betrayal, hurt and faint, tingling upset over this man? ]
Why did you propose to me? I don't want to hear about companionship or taking care of me. I just want the truth, Gilgamesh. Just tell me. I'm not going to be angry or hex you, I just want to hear what you wanted from me in your words. No stories.
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Gilgamesh hesitates. Does he attempt to pull the strings just a little further? Or does he honor the request? Ultimately...]
Desperation.
[...Gilgamesh gives in. It feels horrible. It churns his stomach. But hasn't he said as much to a few others already? Hasn't he confessed his weaknesses aloud before? Perhaps it's simply time for Hermione to hear the same from him. Perhaps it's simply another reminder that Gilgamesh remains King of everything in his own mind and nowhere else.
Saber's face taunts him and fills his vision and he grits his teeth terribly. Losing again, are we, Gilgamesh? Pathetic.]
Saber can be fixed. The good can be pulled out of her, the truth of this curse can be found, I know it, but... I cannot do this with the power in my hands. You are strong and persuasive and carry influence wherever you walk, whereas I am looked upon as some joke despite my titles.
[He gestures without realizing she can't see. Looks into the mirror without realizing she can't tall. He is, indeed, a desperate man.]
It is not false to say that I fell in love with your potential. I am a Servant. I am attracted to such things. It is my nature. Will you fault me for it? Have I lied before? Do I lie to you now? Was it not what I said from the start? That we look after each other, that the beast of possibility exists within both our hearts.
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If he knew how she had come here, how she had earned her position, would he still be so desperate for this, for her help? If he knew that she had failed, had handed over a power that he would have found far greater than her own to monarchs that used to murder innocents - what would he think of her then? It's almost hilarious to imagine the fact that she once had more power than he could imagine, hidden and locked away, until she had freely handed it away, unconcerned until she realised the damage she had done.
She also wonders what he would think, knowing that Saber already loathes her.
At least, Hermione thinks to herself, he was honest. She can hear it in his voice, in the admittance of his own desperation. That's not a lie; he wanted her because she was Marchioness, because she was Sorceress and Protectress, because she had been here for so long that she understood the Drabwurld and how it worked, what to do to earn a place here and settle in to it. It wasn't Hermione that he wanted; it was her potential, her mind, her prospects as Lady and nothing more.
It shouldn't hurt as much as it does, thinking that their friendship, the time they had spent together and the lessons they had shared (and the damn lance, still hanging on her wall, charms and ribbons upon it like her own gift-wrapped idiocy) had been because of what she had inside of her, not who she was. But what else would she expect? It's not the first time her heart has been stung like this but, maybe, it might be the last. ]
No. I can't fault you for wanting the power I have. This is the Drabwurld, this is a place where influence and power are some of the most important things. I can't fault you for wanting to find a way to get your own part in it.
[ She breathes out, swallowing, her throat tight before she shakes her head. She refuses to let this hurt now; she can't. She has to ignore it all and rise up and stand tall, a Marchioness and a proud woman. She had earned that. ]
You have Dorian. He has power, he's far more amazing than I could ever hope to be. [ He's immortal, for goodness sake. ] He's just as loved and cherished as I am. You don't need me now, Gilgamesh, nor the potential you saw in me.
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[Gilgamesh keeps it succinct. Keeps it short. No extended explanations there, no further elaboration for the first few moments, and then a few more. I wanted you. He wanted Hermione and all she represented. A stepping stone. A step on the ladder. A means to an end.
But in that end, it was still Hermione, not Dorian or anyone else. Hermione who he gave the lance to and Hermione who he invested his hopes and faith in that he could be something more than a flower drifting in the wind. Now Gilgamesh sounds hurt and raw and exposed. This world isn't fair to him. It never was. He hates it. He hates her so much.
It just makes him want her even more than before, forever chasing after the prize someone else told him he couldn't have.]
I wanted you. I chose you. I knew it could only be you, so why would you tell me such things now? I need it more than ever, I need... I need a way back. To what once was. Don't you wish for it also?
[Here he laughs. Coldly. Bitterly.]
The wish for an impossible dream. Why not chase it? Why not you? Why not us?
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[ And it's true. If she had been any less of a smart witch, any less proud in her abilities, she's sure his eyes wouldn't have stayed on her for long. Her hand rises, brushing away her tears even as she swallows them back. It's pathetic, really, how upset she is over this, her sadness and his mingling together to make her ache, but she has to hold her ground. He has hurt her, he has made her cry, he made her believe and then ripped it all from her.
It isn't about Hermione Granger. It's about Hermione Granger's power, and she was an idiot for believing otherwise. He had taken every chance to reminder her of what her magic was, that she was magus, that she wasn't simply a human.
Does she want him to have a way back? To have all the things that he wants? Of course. She wants him to be happy, in her own stupid, selfish way, the way she wants for all her friends, past and present. Is she willing to give up her own happiness for that, to give herself to him and ignore all the warnings? She isn't sure, and that is what makes her silent for a very long time. ]
You don't love me.
[ It comes out with a laugh, hoarse and almost sadly bitter, before she takes a deep breath. ]
You can't just tell me that you chose me and expect me to think it's an honour. I'm not the type of girl to be overwhelmed with the idea of marrying a King and being a queen. I just wanted to go to school and learn about magic, graduate and help people, but then I was trapped in the middle of a war and then I came here. I don't want to get married, not right now, certainly not to someone who just wants my power, and we don't have to do that for me to help you. If you really want my help, really think that I can help you, then I'll do it. I'll do what I can to help you help your friend and find a way for you to get back.
[ But it will be on her terms, with Dorian at her side and her heart firmly locked away. ]
Gilgamesh... There's a reason they're called impossible, you know.
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He will have his hide for this. He should've run him through, should've taken his heart. He should take hers, too, for forcing him to such pathetic levels of groveling.
One thing is for certain: he is not done with her yet. They are not done with each other. She will weep and regret and wish to forget but she won't, she'll remember, and she'll keep holding onto that box. Onto that small wish that someone will love her someday beyond what she is rather than who.
But it won't be Gilgamesh and it won't be anyone else here in this awful world.]
They're called impossible because you've all eternity to chase them.
[The fire on his tongue dies with that last line. Gilgamesh deflates. What more could even be said? Already he's moving on from this, recalculating, reassessing. They're over and yet not at the same time. Fated to each other even as they seek to break apart.]
Keep the ring. I will not accept it back from you. I fulfilled my end of the arrangement. [But despite himself, despite everything:] I still wish to see you again.
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[ She isn't sure when the best time to see him would be. The Citadel itself knows she's been suffering, that Dorian has come to see her more often than ever since that day they returned home covered in blood - and no one had dared ask who it belonged to, not after Adela's body had been found and laid to rest. She knows that people whisper about her all the more now, the scarred, scared Marchioness that has taken to her rooms and wakes in the night with dreams she refuses to talk about.
It would be strange for her to entirely dismiss her friendship with Gilgamesh so quickly, sparking more and more rumours. She's learning about what it means to be in charge, to have a public image, and she has to accept that.
Finding her voice, allowing it to be more confident, as if she really is the one giving him orders, his Marchioness and Mistress, she sits up, standing, walking over to hover under her lance. Her fingers brush it gently as she speaks, absent in her link to him. ]
We can still meet for lessons and to talk, if you like. Not in your room, not for a little while, if you don't mind. I need to clear my head before things get back to... Normal.
[ What is normal now? Murder, death? Betrayal? It feels like it, in this world, in this place, cut off from all the things she knew. Her hand drops from the lance and she sighs softly. She's hurt, but she still has the warmth inside of her to be kind to him, to want to help him, even as she keeps a part of herself distant and out of his reach. ]
I hope you'll keep your gifts too, and that you'll use them. I, um. I really do hope you can figure this out, Gilgamesh, and that... That you find a way to be happy.
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Don't take it down. It was ours. It was, I did make that for you, I did not deceive...
[Oh, but none of that matters now. He's starting to babble and starting to slip. His claws are dug in so deeply that she won't ever be free of him, this stands as his sole consolation through all of this, but he's losing himself to that same madness he spoke of again. Maybe it wasn't such a joke after all. Maybe it wasn't such a clever stretch of the truth.
Maybe the Grail really was devouring him, little by little, even worlds away.
He senses that kindness, latches onto more from selfishness and need than any clever move. He's out of cleverness for the day. Out of it for awhile, most likely.]
It was me you hung on your wall all this time. Me who you gazed upon in times of doubt. Me who you trusted. Don't forget that, Hermione.
[...Gilgamesh hangs up first. He can't take any more of this.]