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.]
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However as the blade was about to hit something changed, if Lancer could see them he would see a ring of red flash in Suzaku's eyes, he moved faster than he should have and dodged the blade before blinking in confusion, ignoring the memory loss for now because he was used to battles being littered with holes where he was not in control of his actions.
He rushed forward again, for another kick.]
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It is an ability he wants to see again.
Again, Lancer switches his weapon even as he is dodging the kick. His sword is sheathed and his reach suddenly expands greatly as his spear reappears aimed for Suzaku's heart.]
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He turned back to Lancer when his kick was dodged and found himself with a spear headed straight for his heart. His eyes flashed red again and he moved once more faster than he usually should be able to.
When he was a safe distance away the red faded and he went into a defensive stance, not attacking this time.]
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How interesting. You move quickly enough in that instant before a fatal wound that even I have trouble following you. If it is indeed movement and not some kind of instantaneous shift from one place to another, that is.
Tell me, what are you doing? That ability seems like one more suited for a servant than a boy like you.
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It... It's not an ability it is something called a Geass, it was cast on me.
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Geis. The boy says the word slightly differently from how Lancer is used to hearing it, but that doesn't change its meaning.]
You are cursed not to be injur--
[He stops and corrects himself with a shake of his head.]
No, you are cursed not to die in battle. That is why it only activated when I had you set up for a fatal blow.
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Or even one that called it a curse, even those from his own world would argue against him on that point.] Yes I was cursed to 'live'.
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[Lancer takes a few steps away from the boy. It's obvious that their little spar is over for now.]
Oh, outwardly it would seem a blessing. That is how they always seem, but inwardly? Not so much.
[Lancer looks back over his shoulder at Suzaku, his eyes distant.]
I am well acquainted with how much it hurts to carry such a curse. The heroes of my homeland far too often lived and died by them.
[He pauses and then adds softly.]
I lived and died by them.
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Then he blinked and brought his eyes up to meet the other mans.] You were cursed too?
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[Lancer finally fully turns back toward Suzaku.]
It was the way of our people. Warriors often took them as a measure of pride, though there were also those that were forced upon their recipients.
[His face darkens, both growing angry and sad at the same time.]
The one that eventually took my life was laid on me when I was just a child--the results of actions preformed by the man who I will never honor with the name father. I actually didn't even know the reasoning behind it until my lord told me everything shortly before my death. Of course, there were...others I had to deal with, so there was a reason I never really went looking for the full story behind it before then.
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He had been Geassed as a child and more than once? And a Geass had resulted in his death...] I am sorry to hear that.
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I think, though, they might work differently between our worlds. On my world, as far as I know, no geis ever gave a person abilities to force it to be upheld. It was always the other way around--the person had to use his own abilities to uphold the geis and if he failed, the geis was broken and he paid the cost.
Your geis can't be broken, can it? You simply cannot die.
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The only people who have managed to kill me are the administrators here, they can switch it off, but only ever do so on their will. It doesn't work on certain floors though sometimes it will prevent me from going on those floors.
[And there was that time in the labyrinth, but by the time he actually died there wasn't much to be kept alive, and it was a memory he would rather avoid...]
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Sometimes it is better just to be able to die.]
I'm sorry. Somehow your people have taken a horrible thing and made it even worse. Why was such a burden placed on you? Was it some kind of punishment? Or are you an unwilling victim?
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I accept it as a punishment though.
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[It's a rude, prying question he really has no right it ask, but he is curious.]
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A lot... I killed a lot of people. Betrayed a lot of friends.
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And you did these things, why? What was the reason for them?
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The Geass caused a few as well. But mostly it was just me...
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Reasons are reasons, good or bad. At least you did not do it on a mere whim. That is what makes you different from a murderer or a traitor. Whether the reasons seem right now doesn't matter. They were right then. Now all you can do is try and move on and do better. You have that much at least.
[A focus and a reason to continue. Lancer has been missing that drive in his life for a long time now.]
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I tried that, mostly made things worse.
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So you give up? Is that is? No! You try something else. If you truly wish to make up for what you have done and become more than the murderer and betrayer you feel you are, then you keep trying no matter how badly it goes.
[Odd enough advice coming from one like himself who had given up, but true nonetheless.]
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And without their goal what was he? He had fought for Japan, his people, Britannia, Lelouch, the world. He no longer knew how to be anything else. He was silent a very long time, because the fact he was the monster he had been thought of for so long was something that hurt for him to admit. And he didn't know why he was admitting it now, except that Lancer had understood, and Suzaku had sensed in him a familiarity, someone who had lost themselves completely.]
I'm not sure how to be anything else...
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So would you rather become this?
[He motions at himself.]
Lost? Empty? Broken? Bored? Only surviving from day to day because the damned tower won't let you die?
[His eyes narrow at Suzaku. Lancer knows well he is all of those things and he's not about to let another follow him down that road.]
Don't. Or if you have already started down this path, turn back. This is not a place you want to be no matter how horrible you think you are.
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