towerofanimus | 002. ☾ Divisions

Entry tags:

002. ☾ Divisions

Characters: Diarmuid and Cecil
Setting: Floor 39, the gym.
Format: Prose.
Summary: The knights get better acquainted while reacting to the "PSA" passed around by Amberly and Commissar Cain.
Warnings: Diarmuid's blood tears, violence amongst new friends, anger management problems. Yup.

Cecil didn't know anything about the Imperium or who Commissar Ciaphas Cain was, but she got the impression from the flyers hung up around the Tower that they were not exactly the most friendly type, let alone the most forgiving. She supposed the... reservations whoever had put them up made sense to have; was it not an off-worlder who had plotted to take the Blue Planet by force from humans, dwarves, and eidolons alike? She could only guess that that meant these people also had suffered at the hands of "xenos", or what Cecil presumed meant non-humans, before, and she understood that. She did not blame them for that.

Still... it struck her as unwise to create more division among the residents of the Tower, given that everyone was trapped here, regardless of race or species. Wasn't it better to make peace with their differences and band together against the dangers than cause more strife and warring amongst themselves? The paladin thought so.

It didn't help her feel any better that she was stigmatized twice over in this matter. Half Lunarian and a magic-user, she was probably the last person this Commissar Ciaphas Cain and whatever Imperium followers he had present wanted to hear from, even if she meant them no harm. Cecil sighed and let the flyer flutter away from her as she watched it. There was a whole mess of them in any place that was safe, and it made her feel like she had nowhere to go for a reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the Tower.

Considering that her last attempt at training had led to an unexpected meeting, the lady knight decided to try again. This time, she chose a more practical space for her purpose and she wasn't disappointed when she came to the gymnasium floor. She didn't understand how one was supposed to use most of the machines that were set up, but it didn't stop her from inspecting them, albeit at a small distance, just in case.

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Cecil hears him approach before she sees him, but she smiles in greeting, unaware of his anger until he speaks. She can tell in his tone that he's upset and upon second appraisal of his demeanor, he definitely looks on edge. She straightens up, shakes her head, and still smiles at him with warmth and friendliness that's typical of her.

"No, I'm merely curious about these... contraptions," she explains, gesturing to the nearest machine that actually looks like it could do more harm than good to anyone who attempts to actually use it for whatever purpose it's supposed to serve. She turns back to Diarmuid and inclines her head thoughtfully. "...Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry I can't tell you much about most of them. When I come here it is usually to spar with another or do some spear work," Diarmuid addresses the easier thing first though it doesn't buy him much time to think about how to answer her question. He would really rather not bother her with his moods, but this...

...this is no small thing and it it comes down to it, who knows if he might need her aid against them someday?

"No, I am afraid I'm not okay. It seems my ability to deal with children who foolishly act to bring more danger to this already dangerous place is much worse than I would have originally anticipated," He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. Both actions usually help to calm him.

They do absolutely nothing to help with that now.

The answer puzzles Cecil initially and her first thoughts are of Tohko. Is that who he means? Is he against her and her plans? That could possibly make him the paladin's enemy and Cecil isn't prepared for the idea of losing a friend she's only just made so soon.

Perhaps fortunately, she's distracted from her suspicions by Diarmuid's worsening condition. His eyes are no longer the luminous golden orange they were the first and last time they met, and though Cecil isn't completely certain, the sight of so much red coloring the sclera unnerves her and she can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong.

"Diarmuid..." She takes a step closer and hesitates for a moment before she reaches out and rests her hand on his arm. "Your eyes."

"Hmm?" The questioning sound that slips from his mouth is followed by his hand raising to rub at his eyes. When he pulls his hand back to see the tips of his fingers stained with blood instead of tears, his face loses almost all color and a short bitter laugh breaks its way free of his throat.

"Well, I guess that answers that question. If I had any doubt that the rage I feel now is the same as what I felt then, that doubt is gone," Diarmuid looks toward Cecil, unaware that his early rubbing at his eyes has smeared blood across the left side of his face.

"Why do people have to do this? Why must they judge and create hate when there doesn't need to be any?" His voice shakes, rage mixing with sadness now. As he speaks, one blood tear tracks his way down his face, and he reaches up to desperately brush it away, tilting his face from her in shame when he realizes he's probably only making himself look worse.

"I'm sorry you are having to see this. Here I thought it only happened the first time because I'd just been forced to turn my own weapon on myself. I guess there is more messed up with me than I ever knew..."

Although his elaboration of the children he spoke of brings a wave of relief over the paladin, the comfort is short-lived. She's shocked by the blood and, regrettably, there's no way she can hide the fact. Cecil has always been honest to a fault and it shows in how expressive she is.

"What? Diarmuid!" Again, she pauses for a brief moment before acting, the realization that he's trying to say this is natural for him registering a moment later than her compassion dictates she help him.

The blood spoke of injury to her, of course, but if there is none to heal, how can she do anything for him at all?

"Stop—" Cecil moves to pull his hands away from his face. "Stop. It's all right. Put it out of mind. Focus on me. Breathe."

The paladin has never quite had the same problems with anger that other soldiers did, but she has struggled with grief and shame before. Guilt used to weigh her down immensely and at times, it feels like it still does. Gaining the abilities of a white mage, however, meant she had to practice controlling her emotions, so that they did not control her and stop her from using her magic to aid others. Meditation is a difficult skill to master, in her opinion, but one that certainly is useful, especially in times like these.

"I don't know how!" Diarmuid squeezes his eyes together as if he hopes somehow that that might help hold back the tears. He's shaking now from the effort he's putting out to try and restrain this unfamiliar emotion. After all, the last time he had been this angry, the only thing that had stopped him had been death.

That's not really an option he's looking forward to having to use now.

"I need to fight something. Find a way to channel this out," the words spill out of his mouth suddenly. "I should go to one of the floors with the more dangerous monsters on them, but I'm not thinking straight. That might get me killed."

He laughs suddenly, the sound slightly hysterical, "Though, that worked last time. Dying that is. I really would rather avoid that now. My friends would be very upset if I took that route."

"Death is not an option," Cecil agrees firmly, releasing his hands and taking a step backwards. "...need to fight something..." She struggles with her worry for him for a moment, but ultimately, she understands what has to be done.

She takes the shield from her back and raises her right hand, murmuring a prayer to herself as she focuses her energies. A sheet of white, translucent light appears and she waves her hand forward in an arc, letting the light flow over Diarmuid. She repeats the action over herself and the protective magic only shimmers once like the sun on the surface of water before it settles into their forms.

A simple Protect Spell for each of them. Cecil wants to help, but she doesn't want to hurt Diarmuid and she doesn't believe it would be of much help either should he gravely injure her in his rage.

She draws her longsword from its sheath and takes a defensive stance.

"Fight me, then. Take up your weapon."

Diarmuid is momentarily distracted from his emotions as she casts the spell. It is beautiful and something he's never seen be--

No, that's wrong. The spell isn't quite the same, but it does remind him of the barrier magic he had seen Sephiroth cast. However, after taking just a moment to scan her form more closely, he sees nothing on her like the Materia the boy had told him was needed for the spells. He shakes his head and his curiosity passes. His anger still too strong to let him focus on anything else for long.

"I appreciate your offer, but are you sure of this? My weapon's magic is such that it can dispel some magics like barriers, but I won't activate that ability for a fight like this. However, and I mean no insult, my abilities are superhuman and while I usually hold back when fighting those who aren't other servants, my anger is such that I cannot guarantee I will be able to now. You must promise me that you will take care of yourself above all else. Do not hold back."

"It will not be the first time I have faced an opponent whose strength seemed to outmatch mine," Cecil replies. She tries not to judge him on account of his warning, but it sounds too much like those she's heard from male rivals in the past who underestimated her because of her sex for her to not feel some sting at his words. She appreciates the concern, but feels it wholly unnecessary.

"I made you a promise that I would aid you whenever, however I could. You would not stop a fellow knight from fulfilling his duty, would you? I am not asking you to hold back, for neither will I. My magic will half any damage done to our flesh. If it does fail, I will heal us."

"Of course not!" Diarmuid answers quickly, more anger in the words than he would have liked. He pauses and takes a deep breath, holding a hand out to her for a moment, only to draw it back when he sees the blood smeared on it.

He winces. What a sorry messed up excuse for a man he is.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Nor did I mean to insult you and I get the feeling I have," Diarmuid straightens and summons his spear to his hand before motioning toward an open area behind them and away from the machines. He smiles faintly, "You can take it our of my hide while we are sparring. How is that?"

Honestly, he really hadn't meant to upset her. The warning is one he would have given anyone he might have fought in this condition, male or female. A warrior's sex means little to him. After all, he knows of quite a few stunning female warriors and no small number of men who name themselves knights and are really only cowards.

His blood father had been one such man.

Edited 2013-03-16 06:49 (UTC)

Cecil gives him a nod, but it's absent-minded as her eyes follow the length of the spear and she feels her heart ache for home suddenly. Diarmuid is a specialist of lances and his current anger, despite it not being his intention to direct it at her, brings to mind recent memories of clashing with her best friend, Kain. She would give anything to have the luxury of defending herself from Kain again, if only because she could be assured then that the other woman knight was still alive.

"It's not your fault. I did not think it was your intention," she explains, her eyes returning to Diarmuid's face. His eyes... She wonders if it hurts. "But fair enough. Now attack me."

He nods, but doesn't attack just yet taking a moment to wipe at his eyes one last time before darting passed her and into the open area behind them. One there, he settles into a fighting stance, spear at ready in front of him.

"Over here, Lady Captain! I tend to travel when I fight and I would not have our spar interrupted by the machines getting in our way," it's very slight, but the corner of his mouth turns up in a bit of a smile. There is still plenty of anger around him, but there is also something else beginning to push its way through that anger.

Excitement.

The paladin whirls around and prepares herself for a quick strike. She can immediately tell that she's not going to win this through superior speed. She may be smaller than he is, but he outmatches her in speed easily. Most of her isn't surprised; the dragoons were always incredibly fast warriors in Baron.

Thankfully, her strength is her endurance and she knows she can take a few hits without wearing down easily.

"I believe I failed to mention the last time we met that my best friend growing up was the daughter of a famous knight in my country," she answers. "He commanded the Dragoon Order, elite lancers."

The look of excitement in his eyes grows, "Excellent! All the more sad that I no longer have both of my spears so that I could truly face you at full strength. No matter, I will merely have to do my best with what I still have."

Diarmuid straightens out of his stance to bow to her and then falls back into it. He is only there for a moment, though, before disappearing into a blur. At first, it seems he is merely attacking her head on, but the attack is a fake out, as a few steps short of her position, he suddenly spins off to the side in an attempt to get behind her.

"Both spears?"

It works. Cecil isn't quick enough to catch the ruse in the split second it would take for her to react accordingly before it happens, and she realizes it too late to turn and deflect his spear with her sword. Instead, she lifts her shield to defend from any attack, planning to counter if her parry is successful.

Diarmuid doesn't risk his spear on the shield, knowing those who are good with them can disarm just as easily with the shield as a weapon. Instead, he continues to move around her, attempting to get to her other side fast enough to launch a strike at any openings her previous sudden attempt to block might have left.

As he moves, he laughs, "Yes both spears! I duel-wield them, Lady Captain. Did your friend do that? I duel-wield swords as well. It is just a shame I lost one spear in the war, and it was not returned to me when I came here."

The white knight holds off on returning the banter in favor of focusing on following her opponent as he moves like wind across the open floor. Cecil does eventually turn, leaving her back wide open. She knows it's a mistake, but she won't attack him without sufficient provocation and he seems enough of a tactician that he won't attack her without knowing he can land a hit.

"No, but we both were trained with all manner of blades— knives, axes, greatswords..." She pauses briefly again, then adds, "'Cecil' alone will suffice."

"Cecil it is then. You will have to forgive me if I slip, though. I have been told I can be over-polite to almost frustrating levels sometimes," a small smiles crosses his face as he falls back a few steps away from her. Diarmuid could go for her back with it being such an open target, but it seems dishonorable to take such an action during honorable combat, especially when they aren't fighting to the death. If he'd had both of his spears, Diarmuid would just be attacking her head on--one spear to attack and one to defend--but since he only has one, he plays things just a little safer.

Not that the sudden leap into the air and the downward strike at her head that follows seems all that much safer considering it's a move she might be familiar with from training with her friend, but Diarmuid tries it anyway. Every fighter fights differently and he is no exception to that rule. To assume his attack will follow through the same way as her friend's might have would be a bad idea.

"Of course."

Normally, Cecil would roll away, dodge and counterattack, knowing the dragoons hit hard and fast, but the cool-down period required for them to return to an offensive/defensive stance leaves them wide open for several seconds. However, since she isn't completely certain what Diarmuid will do when he doesn't take her bait exactly as she had hoped he would, she stands her ground and raises her shield again, bracing her strength firmly when the spear connects. She puts all her weight behind it, pushing off the ground herself with her legs, and attempts to throw him to the ground as gravity takes its toll in the clash of an unstoppable force ricocheting off an immoveable object.

Diarmuid rolls with the momentum of their clash knowing better than to try and stop such force. While his strength as a servant probably would allow him to, it would leave him unbalanced and unable to attack the way he would like to. Instead, he pushes away from her in the direction they are already moving. For just a moment, his spear vanishes from his hand, dismissed to leave them both free for use. He back flips away to gain a little distance, only to wheel around and come back at her only seconds later, spear back in hand.

She should still have her shield and weapon raised from blocking his blow since his movements before only took a fraction of a second, and he hopes she will remain tied up in that block just long enough he can get his spear in under her out of position protective wall.

Fortunately for the Lancer, his estimation is right; Cecil is too busy correcting her footing to move again. Still, it wouldn't be a big handicap for her if she wasn't also distracted by what she can only explain as strange and unexpected magic when Diarmuid's weapon disappears for a moment. She saw it happen once before, but she's still caught off guard, not having anticipated that he would use the skill during their skirmish.

Diarmuid is about to come in to land the blow under her defenses, when he realizes her distraction isn't just because of his quick actions. Not wanting to end their fight because of something other than skill, he veers off course at the last moment, spinning away from her and stopping a few feet way.

"What's wrong?" He looks around the room, trying to see what might have caught her attention and is confused when he sees nothing. "Something has pulled your attention from the fight..."

That jolts her out of her thoughts and she quickly shakes her head. "No," she assures the other knight, "It's nothing. 'Sorry."

She is still privately wondering, but instead of interrupting the flow of battle even further, the paladin discards her shield in favor of increasing her speed and maneuverability. Tightly she grips the hilt of the Mythgraven Blade and takes a deep breath, then smiles across the floor at Diarmuid.

"I see you are feeling better. Let us finish this, friend."

He nods dropping back into a ready stance, "And then you can ask your question, yes?"

Without waiting for an answer, Diarmuid dashes into action, probably little more than a blur in her eyes. He doesn't try for any fancy maneuvering, though. With her shield gone, he instead is aiming for her blade wanting to hear the clash of metal--to feel the vibrations of the weapons meeting move through his spear.

If the clash provides an opening he will go for it. If not, he will just circle around again. For that is an important part of battle, after all. Trying again and again until one inevitably succeeds.

Cecil grasps her sword with both hands when Diarmuid rushes her, expecting that she will need the additional balance and strength in order to keep her weapon. She swings in an arc to meet his spear head on, the blade singing in the wind as its sharp edge cuts through the air so cleanly. The clang of charmed steel on holy mythril is loud and echoing in the gymnasium and Cecil feel the reverberations of the strike tremble down her weapon. Instead of deflecting and moving again to strike, the paladin applies the force of her strength behind her sword, hoping to break his defenses and unarm him.

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