ic inbox/voicemail

[brainiest]

 
"Hello, Hermione Granger here. I must be busy, so please leave a message. Thank you very much!" 

 

ic contact for hermione granger at eachdraidh.
(text, voice, video, action;
locket, compass, bone charm, letter, owl)

Comments

[brainiest]

Thank you.

[ 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.

[babbylon]

[He hears her walking, can't see but can guess where she's at, and blurts out without thinking:]

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.]