![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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)
no subject
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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.]