Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oathshackledbird) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-01-13 11:12 am
oathshackledbird) wrote in towerofanimus2013-01-13 11:12 am
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.]
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.]
If I wasn't cackling I'd be crying
STOP IT!
[Maybe there was still something of the idealist left in him, but he didn't want to kill Diarmuid except as a very last resort.]
Laughing or crying. Really, the only two choices here at the moment...
[His voice is raw, cracking. Tears drip down his face, mixing with the blood that has splashed onto it from the cuts on his throat. staining it red. Everything red...
He doesn't know what else to do and the burst of energy he'd gotten before is rapidly starting to leave him again...]
I-I suppose it's only right that I fail in this too. I can truly do nothing.
[And that is it. He falls limp in his roommate's grasp, not for the first time that night, but most likely the last. Even if his strength manages to return, his will is shattered and broken.]
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[The grip on Diarmuid's throat loosens.]
But I won't kill you. Not right now.
[He lets go of Diarmuid's neck and wraps his arms around the other man's body in a loose hug.]
Come on, let's get you into bed or something.
[He really has no idea what he can do from thereon. Maybe, if Diarmuid kept pushing him, maybe he would kill him. Just to grant him some measure of closure. But what then? What happens when he comes back to life?]
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[The taunt is weak as there is no menace left in his voice. He just states it as if it's a sad fact that he can do nothing about.]
It will be just like it was with Ferdiad and with Connla...
[Lancer actually isn't trying to be cruel now. His voice, if anything, is concerned, even worried. He doesn't want himself to be the cause of another sad chapter being added to his hero's legend even if it is a chapter that no one outside of the tower will ever know.]
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[This was why he wouldn't let his temper get the better of him when it came to Diarmuid. Because if he killed him, it would be just like that time with Connla.]
I can protect Ayaka and knock you back to your senses.
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[He is grateful when they finally make it back to the bed. He crawls onto it curling into a ball on top of the blankets, his voice muffled as he hides his face against his arms.]
You wouldn't do it back then, when I needed you. You shouldn't do it now. Just...forget about me.
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Maybe. Who can tell?
[He didn't really try back then. He just watched the other Lancer decay. But now he was trying.]
And kind of hard to forget about you when we're in the same room.
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[Which is, sadly, the truth. Aside from the clothes he's wearing now, he has nothing. The things that had meant so much to him when he had first arrived--Oscar's torc, his daughter's cushion--he didn't even remember how he had lost them now. He just knows it was long, long time ago.]
Just think of it as an empty bed. There are lots of those in this place.
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[He wants Diarmuid in their room. Whether it was because he cared for Diarmuid as a friend of sorts, or because it was safer to keep something unpredictable and possibly dangerous in a place where he can see it, he doesn't know.]
Besides, I've had too much of empty beds.
Twist that little memory all you want. Someone is purposely forgetting things, I'm sure...
If your bed is empty is is only because you wish it to be. That has nothing to do with me.
[There had been that one time, though. Why he's remembering it now, he doesn't know, but there was that one time when he'd come back drunk and fallen asleep in the wrong bed. Usually, that kind of thing would have been an amusing story for most roommates to tell over the years.
Instead, Lancer had been rudely rolled out of the bed, yelled at, and then given the cold shoulder for god knows how long.]
You made that clear a long time ago.
Oh I will
[He scowls at his roommate. After getting into a huge fight with Ayaka, and then a bigger one with Saber, and then getting caught in between one of Rin and Archer's arguments, and then, on the way back to his room, running smack dab into the remains of the drunken mess Diarmuid had made (one that took him hours to fix), he really was in no mood to see Diarmuid slobbering all over his pillow.]
Next time don't leave a mess outside the door.
And he'll keep throwing the half memories at you to do with as you please...
[Lancer rolls over, dropping his arm over his eyes. He really doesn't remember any of that, honestly. Of course, there are a lot of things he doesn't remember anymore. Like what they had done to finally patch things up. It must have been a good memory if he didn't let himself remember it any longer.]
Father always since the tales painted you as such the gentleman when you wanted to be. I should tell him they are wrong...
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[He gives a snort when Diarmuid mentions the stories.]
When I want to be. And when the other guy deserves it. Gotta give me a reason for it first, you know.
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[He sighs peeking over at his roommate from under his arm.]
Why do you even bother? Just go. I'm never going to deserve it. I never have.
[Lancer sighs again and rolls his head back, closing his eyes.]
And it's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself.
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You deserved it once.
[Why does he bother? That's actually a pretty good question. Maybe it was just because he had lost too many people and thus clung to the friends he did have. Maybe it's because he can feel some sort of kinship for the other Servant. They were both heroes, so they could automatically bond over that. More than that, they had both come from the same land though they were generations apart. And then there was the fact that the other Lancer had admired him as a hero. He felt a certain sort of responsibility for Diarmuid's well-being because of that.]
I ain't blaming myself for what you are now.
[He just blames himself for not noticing sooner.]
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[Lancer would have liked that to come out sounding a lot more angry that it did, but he just doesn't have the energy to make it so. He doesn't want the other man's pity. He doesn't need it.
What he needs is something he'll never allow himself to have again.]
Hey.
[His voice is soft and suddenly, slightly curious.]
Do you happen to remember what happened to the things the tower gave back to me from my family? It's been so long that I can't remember.
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Actually, I think I have your cushion somewhere.
[And that wasn't much help seeing as how his area of the room was a pigsty.]
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Y-you do?
[He falls quiet a moment, desperately trying to remember when and why he would have given it to the other man. Maybe as a remembrance of the children they both missed so much?
Lancer winces as the oh so familiar tide of pain rears its head again and forces him to let it go.
It's enough to know everything isn't lost after all.]
It might be safer with you, but if you ever do see it somewhere when you're looking for something...do you think you can set it aside for me? So I can see it again?
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Yeah, I'll do that. Don't lose it on one of your drunken benders, though.
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[And he really doesn't deserve to have it back, Lancer knows. But it does help to know it is still around so if maybe he changes his mind someday....]
I really messed up, didn't I? And I have no idea how to start fixing things. If they even can be...
[He pauses a moment before adding, softly.]
If it's any comfort, I left before I said anything else to her. Tell her I'm sorry the next time you see her. She was right, I had no right to say anything. I've just never liked how you weren't ever good enough for her.
[It's just too much like how he had never been good enough for his master.]
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[He slowly shakes his head.]
She's right about that, you know. I've told you before. I'm not her original Servant.
[Hell, he hadn't been good enough, even for his original Master.]
It was supposed to be a temporary thing at most, but since Saber's not coming...well, she's kinda stuck with me.
[He liked her as a person and as a Master, and there were times when he felt bitter that Saber was the only one she could devote her heart to, but he had to admit that he would never be her first choice for Servant or lover.]
Fanboy alert...Go!
[Lancer finds the strength somewhere to pull himself up so he can meet his roommate's eyes.]
No master has the right to make their servant feel the way she is making you feel! Especially not considering who you are!
[The energy doesn't last, though, and he's forced to lay back down before he falls.]
You're a better servant than anyone. Even the great King of Knights....
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No, I was only with her for my own matters. Remember, I needed to take care of my first Master's final request.
[To put her at peace with a final death...that was why he had let himself continue to exist for so long in the first place.]
And thanks for the vote of confidence.
[Though it didn't mean nearly as much coming from the mouth of a man who had lost his honor.]
But while I'm the best of Servants, I'm a Servant.
[All things considered, he was lucky to have two Masters who valued him as a person and not just a weapon. Even if their moods were unreasonable at times, he knew that they still cared. Still, he wouldn't mind being Ayaka's tool.]
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[The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he's saying them. He had originally just meant to comment on his roommate mentioning how he had just done things for his own end, but once Lancer starts on the other topic, he just can't seem to stop himself.]
You have more reason and more right to be a master than any of the arrogant assholes that were in my war! Even Rider's master showed his true colors in the end. He's a magus just like the rest of them! He only cares about himself and being right.
At least....at least you admit when you are wrong and you treat people right. You don't give up on them either.
[I wish you could have been my master. You would have understood or at least tried if you couldn't...]
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Master? No thanks on that! I don't even have a wish on the Grail. Even if I have the skills of a Caster, why would I ever wanna drag someone into that mess? Besides, I'm the sort of guy who likes to be up front and fighting, not huddled up in a room drawing up battle plans!
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You do realize that this will lead to something horrible, right?
Of course, they're LANCERS!
Re: Of course, they're LANCERS!
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