towerofanimus | Dark Knight of the Soul...

Entry tags:

Dark Knight of the Soul...

Characters: Zero Lancer and anyone else!
Setting: Various locations throughout the week focusing on the ones listed below.
Format: Action brackets to start, but whatever you want after.
Summary: It's been hundreds, if not thousands, of years for Zero Lancer. That is, if there is enough left of the knight of old that he can even be called the same person.
Warnings: Okay, things have gone downhill enough in some of the threads that I'm completely revamping the warnings on this. So New Warnings/Potential Triggers on: Language, Suicide, Violence, Blood, Psychological Abuse, Depression, and Mental Self-Harm.

Room 4-16:

[He stretches, shoulders rolling and bringing life to the large bird of prey tattoo that covers most of his back. Black and brown feathers glisten, but seem dim when compared to the glow of the bird's golden eyes.

It's late by Lancer's internal clock, but considering when he'd come to bed, late is really a relative term. Still, he doesn't rush to get up and moving. Why should he? It's not like he has any plans for the day. Nothing new anyway. Just the same pattern he's followed for the last...

A sigh slips from his lips. How long doesn't matter anymore. He just knows it's been far too long since he's found something able to keep his attention. Even sleeping is more interesting sometimes which is why he's started doing it regularly when he doesn't actually have to.

Lancer runs a hand through his now very white hair and finally slinks his way out of bed. Much like the tattoo, he doesn't actually remember when his hair changed. Honestly, he doesn't care. There's nothing interesting in pondering the whys after all.

He gathers his clothes from the floor and slides back into them. Long gone is the armor he used to constantly wear. Instead, Lancer's outfit consists of a black halter top given to him by...someone who had once said it was a shame to cover up even a small portion of the work that had been done on his back and a pair of black pants that fit much better than they have any right to. His feet remain bare, though. For a servant such as he, shoes are hardly necessary and he enjoys the feel of the floor against his skin.

Another sigh slips from lips that curl into a slight smirk. The tower feels slightly different today. Maybe...just maybe he'll find something interesting out there after all.]

The Restaurant (Floor 21):

[Golden eyes watch as people move in and out of the restaurant. While there is a slight smirk on his face, Lancer's eyes show nothing but boredom. There had been a time when he had found some joy in this place. He had purposely eaten there so that he would have the chance to go hunting. There had been a thrill--a hope--that sometime they might actually give him an item to find he wouldn't be able to.

That thrill hadn't lasted long. Even once he had added in his own rules to the hunt, he'd never once failed to find what they wanted in the time they wanted it.

Though...he's almost tempted to try again. It's been a long time since he's gone on a hunt and the excitement of even a bad hunt at this point would be welcome.

And so he stands there and ponders just how bored he truly is...]

The Gymnasium (Floor 39):

[At times, he's moving so fast that all a normal person can see is a blur. Those who are better at following fast movement or just have advanced eyesight will see much more--a man practicing a complicated series of strikes and parries with his spear. Each motion flows flawlessly to the next and the next with no sign of slowing down or stopping. Most of the time, his feet have a very loose relationship with the ground.

Then. there is a break in the flurry of motion as Lancer launches himself into the air and comes to light on the tip of his spear, bare feet resting far too comfortably on its sharpened blade. While he balances there, his face for the first time loses its bored look--he can, after all, do these practices with his eyes closed he is so used to them--and gains a satisfied smirk. How many men had foolishly died trying to mimic this trick? Too, too many.

Lancer flips himself forward off the spear point and drops right back into his practice though a bit of warmth fills his heart at the memories. They had been stupid enough to try and mimic his walk across Moralltach's blade as well. How had Fionn ever believed that these fools could have brought him down?

He laughs and flips himself to rest on the top of the spear again arms out and head back. It had been glorious if he gave himself the credit he should. He had defeated most of their army with just a few measly tricks and they had not even known it was him until he told them.

Fools all they were and better off dead for it.

Lancer flips backward off the spear this time desummoning it as he falls. One hand drops to his waist and pulls the short sword bound there free. It had taken him quite a bit of time to fashion it in the workshop, but after how long he has finally managed to make something that is both strong enough to survive being used by a servant and well balanced enough to strike true when needed since the last thing he wants to do is be stuck fighting a monster that can nullify his abilities for very long.

Okay, that is a lie. Now that he has such a trustworthy non-magical blade, fighting these kinds of monster has become a game for him just like fighting anything else in this place.

A smirk slides across his face as he starts into another set of strikes and parries, this time with the blade. Perhaps tonight he needs to test it yet again--play the game yet again.]

Any floor/hallway where monsters can be found at night:

[Lancer leaps backward slightly opening the distance between himself and the monster. He doesn't know what it's called and doesn't care other than it's one of those who are able to cancel out abilities. And this particular monster has a couple of friends who aren't too far away and are closing in on him pretty quickly.

The smile on his face is entirely too happy for the situation he's in. Most people would be terrified. Him...he's just waiting. Waiting for them to gather all in one place. Waiting for that moment...

He suddenly dashes forward. A quick set of twists and slashes later and the monsters are dead at his feet, their blood dripping down his face and staining his hair.

Lancer is quiet for several moments before throwing his head back and beginning to laugh. The laughter is sad, though. Even without his powers they were no challenge. None at all.

So much for having chance to play tonight. Perhaps if his is lucky on the way back to his room he'll find someone interested in a different type of game entirely...]

Anywhere else:

[During the day or night Lancer can be found prowling around the tower just about anywhere looking for something--anything--that might spark his interest.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes, Master, that long.

[Lancer's voice is gentle, not the mocking tone someone might expect in this situation considering his recent behavior. Instead, he almost sounds concerned.]

The others, they are alive because the tower wants them to be. I'm even starting to think that they are altering their memories so that they believe it's been less time than it really has because it would be hard for them to accept having been alive so long.

[He pauses, considering what he just said and worry fills his eyes. Might his roommate have suffered a similar fate despite being a fellow servant?]

How long does it feel like it's been for you? How long have I been...like this?

I...

[He sighs.]

I don't know. I know it's been a pretty long time and Ayaka is an adult now. You've started changing around the time with Rin and the Lesser Grail mess.

[And Lancer knew he should have helped. He would have helped if he wasn't busy focusing on Ayaka.]

You've been acting like this for some time.

[Long enough for Lancer to get used to it somewhat.]

[Lancer closes his eyes and an odd smile curls the corners of his mouth.]

So very long ago, dear master. So long, I don't even remember how I was before. And so, already I am a failed servant to you. You asked me to be myself again. To be how I was back then and I cannot. I don't recall how.

[He opens his eyes and looks up at his roommate with a steady gaze.]

Shall I be punished then? For daring to fail the great Cu Chulainn so completely?

Punish?

[There is a second of silence, and then Lancer bursts out laughing.]

Aren't you punishing yourself right now? Degrading yourself like that. Alright, new order. No more fucking yourself over.

Degrading myself? What am I doing that makes you believe I'm degrading myself? I am merely treating you as a knight should treat their master--with honor and respect.

[Lancer blinks at his master in confusion. He honestly doesn't know the answer to that question.]

And I'm afraid that I am going to have to ask you to rephrase your order. I-I have no idea how to begin filling it otherwise.

Exactly. You're a knight, so you shouldn't be saying things like "I don't know how to be the way I was" or "I failed you". What I'm saying is, have some better confidence in yourself and what you're doing. You did take the challenge, after all.

You say those things as if you think I'm lying!

[Anger flashes into his eyes.]

I don't remember what it is to be a knight! That I call myself that now is nothing more than mockery. Do you want to know what I can remember? I remember the pain--the agony of having all that I was cut out of me bit by bloody bit. But can I remember what those bits were? No, I cannot. Every time I try, the pain rises and I lose everything but it!

[His eyes narrow and gain a challenging gleam.]

I took that challenge knowing full well I would fail. If you don't want me to so badly, be a proper master and tell me what I have to do to avoid it!

[Lancer can't really put into words how he feels about Diarmuid's reaction. He knows that Diarmuid probably isn't lying, but at the same time, the other Lancer certainly believes the wrong things. He can't really say what all the things Diarmuid lost were. If only because Diarmuid was the only one who knew how much he himself had lost.]

To start with...

[He trails off her and has to think. He might be a knight, but his code of honor is too rough for someone like Diarmuid.]

To start with, try remembering you're not the only one hurting in this Tower. There's a lot of other people here too who are hurting. I guess you should comfort and protect them. Or at least, don't mock them.

As you wish, Master.

[His voice is low, defeated. Already, he's preparing himself for failure.

The funny thing is, Lancer does remember a time when he had been able to do the things just asked of him as easily as if he had just been asked to breathe. He doesn't remember what he was like at that time, but he does remember doing them. Being told to find specific people who could help him do more. Wanting to do more.

He tries to push forward. To make himself remember what he had been like then. To remember the knight everyone so wants him to be again...

...And has to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out when the only thing that greets his efforts is an overwhelming tide of pain.

His brow wrinkles; his breath hitches and when he speaks his voice is much weaker than he would like.]

And your next order?

[Lancer can't tell if the change is good or bad. Whether he's made some sort of breakthrough or if he's just caused the other Lancer to suffer more needlessly. He just hopes that any pain is temporary and can be worked through.]

The thing with Saber and Illya still stand. Also, there's the newbies. Take a look at them and then come back to our room. I'll have more orders for you then.

Yes, Master.

[Lancer shakes off his pain and instead focuses on the order he's been given. This, at least, he can do. This is why he loves having a master. If he has an order to follow, he doesn't have to worry about anything else.

He disappears in a flash from where he's kneeling and is off to start checking on people. The eternal child he finds sleeping peacefully in the lounge on the 38th floor. Lancer drops a blanket over her and then leaves her to her slumber. Several people in the tower watch over her and he knows one will be by shortly to take her back to her room.

The dark king, he doesn't find so much as sense. She is spending time with her beloved and he knows better than to interrupt them.

The light king is setting up for one of the weekly card games she so enjoys with the many other inhabitants of the tower. For a few moments, he's tempted to stop and talk with her, but in the end, he resists the temptation and continues on.

For the next hour or so, he roams the tower from its very top, to its depths, and back again checking on those he and his roommate know, but also noticing those who seem to be new and in need of help.

Once he's done, he returns to his and his master's room to report his results.]

[By now, Lancer has returned to the room that the two shared. Like Diarmuid, he had peeked into a couple of spots during that hour. He had seen quite a few entertaining and strange things. He gives Diarmuid a lazy nod when he sees the other Servant returning.]

So...how was it?

[Lancer crosses the room and kneels at his master's foot, head bowed.]

It was mostly as I expected. The same as it has been for hundreds of years. The dark king keeps court with Catarina; the light oversees her game of chance; the eternal child sleeps and waits for her prince to come.

What exactly did you expect to have changed?

[He shrugs.]

Nothing, really.

[His fault for knowing a bunch of people who weren't very prone to change. And hey, no change was better than some catastrophe. Like what had happened to Diarmuid.]

But it's good to see they're alright.

[A moment of silence.]

So, how'd you feel looking at them?

[Saber, either version of her, had been a good friend of Diarmuid before his change. Illya was a child. Maybe watching over them might help him rediscover his spirit as a knight?]

[Lancer looks up at his master and blinks in confusion.]

H-how I felt? I don't understand. Was I suppose to feel something? Y-your order didn't say anything about that.

[He pauses a moment and then adds quickly.]

The child was cold, so I covered her with a blanket. Both of the Kings were busy, so I didn't bother them.

[Though, he had thought about talking to Arturia...]

I can't tell you what to feel, Diarmuid.

[He smiles as he hears about Illya.]

Good job! See? That was pretty knightly of you.

[Baby steps, but an improvement nonetheless.]

Knightly?

[The confusion drains out of his face and is replaced by anger so strong that he has to fight to keep himself from striking out at his master.]

Is that what this is all about? Some kind of test to see if I would do the right thing or not? She was cold. I put a blanket on her. It means nothing! She means nothing to me. I've never even talked to her!

[But suddenly, the pain is back as something in his mind tries to push itself forward. The child... He'd had a child once. Several. And one had been a daughter. So precious... So very importan--

He bites back a gasp and curls his hand against his chest as the pain tears threw him.]

S-stop trying to make me remember. It hurts!

[Lancer freezes when he sees Diarmuid's pained expression. Then, he rushes forward and tries to support the other Servant. Yes, it was a sort of test to see if Diarmuid had any of his old knightly impulses left. Or if placed in a situation to stimulate his knightly feelings, whether or not he could feel them again.]

It hurts physically?

[Not even Saber seemed to experience this sort of pain.]

[Lancer somehow manages to turn his eyes toward his master, but it does him little good. Everything seems to be swimming in a red haze.]

Y-yes, like a knife. T-twisting. C-cutting. Cutting what isn't there anymore to cut!

[He squeezes his eyes closed again, curling in on himself and rocking as much as he can in his kneeling position.]

P-please, master. Make it stop!

Dammit!

[Lancer swears as he kneels next to Diarmuid, trying to pull him up, trying to get him into a bed. He had always thought that Diarmuid's issues were mostly psychological. That if Lancer talked to him for long enough or tried to get him back in the habit of doing the things he used to do, then Lancer could somehow bring Diarmuid into an approximation of himself.]

[He hadn't expected literal, physical pain, especially not one this intense. What was even more disturbing was that he was finding out just now. Be it ten or twenty or hundreds of years, he had never noticed, never tried to find out, even though the two lived in the same room.]

Stop think about it if it hurts you, alright?

M-master...

[The word is weak, but the best response he can give at the moment. His head falls limply against the other man's chest while his hands shift to curl too tightly around his arms. Lancer allows his master to pull him toward the bed, though how they get there doesn't record in his mind. All that registers is the pain. The waves of it washing over him. Blood red. Thick. Heavy.

He shudders, his breathing becoming ragged. Stop thinking about it. Had that been an order? Had he missed it?

Blindly, Lancer reaches out to mentally wrap himself around that order. He has to obey his master. He can't fail another master. Not this master...

Another shudder tears though his body and then he falls still. Even his breathing is silent. He is much too silent for someone who was just in so much pain only scant moments ago.]

[Lancer gently helps Diarmuid onto the bed. He steps back for a moment, but leans over the other Servant again when he notices that Diarmuid had gone silent.]

Hey! Oy! Are you alright?

[He throws out a trail of Gaelic swears as he tries to check for Diarmuid's vital signs. If it got bad enough, he'd try to use his runes to do something, but he has no idea if Diarmuid's magic resistance would keep it from working.]

[Without anything to hold onto, Lancer's hands curl in on themselves, settling against his chest. It's the only outward sign of him still being alive he gives for the longest time, though. This kind of fit has taken him before, but it's been a while...

...and it's never been in front of another person.

As his mind clears, he starts to realize this. To realize who just saw it.

And he goes stiff with a very different emotion. Shame.

Fear.]

I-I'm sorry. Ma--

[No, he can't even say the word. He has no right to. This game...it's over. And he's lost in a way worse than he could ever imagine.]

[Lancer places a hand on Diarmuid's brow, first feeling for his temperature (even if Servants didn't get fevers like humans), and then sliding his hand back to Diarmuid's head and ruffling the other man's hair awkwardly.]

Nah, I'm the one who should be apologizing.

[He was the one who neglected Diarmuid's condition as well as the one who triggered it just then. Honestly, right now, he would rather see Diarmuid blame him than turn away in shame.]

Hey, can you...can you let me take a quick look at you? Nothing much. Just make sure your body is working correctly.

[It's a request, not an order. Any bets have been forgotten in the wake of the other Lancer's fit.]

Y-you don't need to. It's not necessary...

[Lancer tries to pull himself up on the bed, but it's been so long since he had such a fit, that he forgets how much it wipes him out. His arms refuse to hold up his weight, and he falls back against the bed again. Even so, he just sighs and shakes his head.]

I'll be fine in a little while. It's not like this is the first time this has happened.

[His voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper.]

Or the worst it's been...

[It's not like he's lost several days at a time before... And there was a week once... Fortunately, no one had been around for those times, though he always knew his luck would run out sometime and someone would see him. He just wishes that someone had been anyone but his hero.]

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Welcome to guilt trips are us. We.....

Lancer's good intentions always fall flat

It's not his fault. The pain IS psychological. It's just Lancer's felt it so long, it's become real.

This Tower needs a shrink

A shrink? It needs an ARMY of shrinks!

Quick! Get Rider to use his Ionioi Hetairoi

I don't think even that would be enough...