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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It is not in Cecil's nature to be an aggressive fighter any longer. Paladins defend, protect, but still, even she is not taking many risks, taking the opportunity to sense out her opponent's style and techniques rather than to try and land any damaging blows. It is comforting to see that Diarmuid is more in control of himself now and that he is no longer enraged as he was before. She's glad she's been able to help.

He attacks again and Cecil dodges, spinning away herself to come at him from his side. Block, counter; parry, deflect, dodge. She remembers this rhythm all too well and it has been far too long since she's had the privilege to find happiness in the slash and burn of battle. She's grateful for it. Though Diarmuid doesn't realize it now, he's helped her as well.

It's easy to get lost in the dance of battle. It's why Diarmuid had known he needed to find someone or something to fight so that he could push away all that negative emotion he had been feeling and just focus on what he knows so well. As their weapons meet again and again in that familiar rhythm, a light starts to glow in Diarmuid's eyes.

He's pretty sure he can see a similar light in Cecil's eyes. It makes him grin widely.

Lancer spins away from Cecil and takes to the air again. It's a move similar to a move he made earlier in the fight, but this time she doesn't have her shield to so easily block his spear. And there is another difference. He's being more aggressive this time. If she uses her sword to deflect his spear he will let it go--after all, it takes only a thought to bring it back to him--and his freed hands are going for her throat.

She's tempted, but with increased force comes other dangers and she's not extraordinarily confident in her ability to parry such a powerful attack this time. Cecil also decides on an unusual tactic, where normally she wouldn't dare do such a thing during a friendly spar. Still, though, she sees Diarmuid smile and because she feels a little lighthearted too now, she can't quite resist being playful.

Cecil concentrates to the best of her ability and at the point where it would be best for her to bring up her sword were she to block, she doesn't— instead, she lets go of the sword's hilt with her left hand, side-steps, and uses lightning-fast reflexes to grab the spear beneath its point, giving it a hard pull in an attempt to drag Diarmuid forward towards her to shorten the distance that she has to stretch her sword arm across just to tap him with the flat edge of her weapon.

It's a gutsy move even for one so skilled. And as such, it's a move Diarmuid can really appreciate. In fact, instead of unsummoing his spear or just letting it go and dodging, he lets her draw him in and tag him with her blade.

Some things just deserve reward, after all. And it's been a good fight.

He doesn't let her get away completely, though. Since they are so close, he leans in and drops a very light kiss on her nose. Diarmuid doesn't stay long just in case he's misjudged her good mood. It would be a shame if she decided to turn the business end of her blade on him after all.

Still, he's grinning like a fool when he lands on a few feet from her and bows signaling that their bout is at an end.

Good mood or no, Cecil is shocked and embarrassed by the kiss. She flushes darkly, but manages to think straight enough to sheath her sword and return the bow, albeit hers is much shorter and more rigid due to her embarrassment. The last time someone made her feel like this in the Tower, it was also a handsome man with a spear. Given that Diarmuid's teasing was more forward than Lancer's, however, she is even less sure of how to respond. Diarmuid has been so proper, this was one of the last things she expected of him.

"...Better?" she asks softly, returning to her shield from the floor.

"Yes, very much so," a bit of his good cheer fades, though, when he notices just how embarrassed she is and how rigid her movements are. "Have I upset you again? If so, I am sorry."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. At the same time, his spear vanishes from sight, "My roommate and friends, they tell me I should joke more with people, but I am terrible at it. I just wanted to thank you for everything and to let you know I was feeling better. Fellow knights, they give each other pats all the time, but since you are female..." Diarmuid pauses, blushing slightly, "...I didn't want you to think I was groping you or anything. I thought the kiss would be safer..."

Edited (Because brackets ate my brain...) 2013-03-22 07:35 (UTC)

Once she reaches her shield, she unties the belt her scabbard is on from around her small waist and puts it down on the floor with the Lustrous Shield. She feels a little less awkward when he explains himself and can't help smiling at him softly. Pats on the back, hands clapped on shoulders... these were things that were not unusual to her. She was been surrounded by men in the military, and again within the Dark Knight Order. It really has been many years since the behavior of males around her has caused her to remember distinctly what an anomaly a woman knight is. She's never been kissed by another warrior before, save Kain and that was always a rather different sort of matter. That was family; it was never playful.

The paladin will not tell him this though. It's clear by how he's blushing too now a bit that he feels sorry for catching her off guard the way he did. "You have never upset me, Diarmuid," Cecil answers reassuringly. "Will you come here, please?"

Diarmuid nods his head yes and then starts toward her. His head remains slightly bowed, though, to hide the uncertainly in his eyes. It's an action that he can't seem to help, but at the same time mentally slaps himself for.

What is wrong with him? There had been a time when he had been so proud of his skills. So sure of his decisions. Now, he can't help but doubt all of his actions, even the most lighthearted ones.

He stops before her and raises his head, determination in his eyes. If she wishes to punish him, he will take it. Diarmuid just hopes that her words are true, and she really isn't angry. He steels himself and tries to smile.

The attempt is only partly successful and he hates himself for it.

"Yes?"

Cecil pulls the right sleeve of her white gambeson, tugging the end so she can tuck the hem into her fist. She gestures for Diarmuid to sit by her things on the floor and she rests her free hand on the side of his head to steady him, palm to his ear.

"We can't have you wandering around looking like this," she says as she begins to wipe the slowly drying blood from his face with her sleeve. Thanks to the sweat on his skin from their sparring match, it's easier than it would have been without it. She gives him a kind smile. "You'll frighten the children."

Edited 2013-03-23 06:30 (UTC)

For a moment, as he sits down, Diarmuid has this foolish thought that she is going to hit him and just wants to make sure he can't easily dash away from her, but when she starts wiping at his face with her sleeve, his eyes get wide. He jerks away from her, but for a completely different reason than he thought he would be.

"D-don't! You are going to ruin it!" It actually makes him a little sick to see his blood staining her outfit. What kind of...thing cries blood anyway?

"Please, it's all right. If I run at full speed no one will see me. I will just go right to the bathrooms," he looks away, shame in his eyes. "You should go wash that out right away."

The white knight is almost not surprised when Diarmuid reacts as he does. She is certainly not offended, but rather, frustrated. She puts out her hand again and takes hold of his ear, a lot like a mother would to an unruly child. She thinks of Edward, the Damcyan princess who disguised herself as a bard. The woman became an ally, but she, too, required some... tough love before she could believe herself worthy of such faith from others and brave enough, strong enough to be someone capable of supporting her friends.

"Stop that," she says, her voice firm and loud enough to be convincing as born from anger. "You are not the only one who has been covered in blood and dirt before. Suffer no illusions, Diarmuid-- you are not the only person here who has reason to be ashamed. This is not your fault. Do not further insult me by presuming you know you are not worthy of my compassion. You do not know me."

The tone of her words stops Diarmuid cold and he freezes, no longer trying to escape her ministrations. He pales in shame, eventually shutting his eyes as well. He hadn't meant to insult or upset her, but he has anyway and if he tries to explain it now, he gets the feeling he will only make things worse. So, instead of doing that, he takes a few moments in the dark to center and calm himself.

As he does, a memory from long ago flashes behind his eyes. Only instead of Cecil scolding him for being a fool, it had been Grannie.

Truly, how is it one so foolish as he has managed to survive so long?

A slight smile crosses his face. The memory is extremely calming and not long later he opens his eyes about ready to try that explanation to her, when something around her neck catches his eye. It's a small crystal with runes carved into it. He would recognize the work anywhere because he has one just like it.

"I see you've met my roommate..."

Since he's stopped resisting, Cecil chides him no more and her hand on his ear loosens, becomes gentle again while she returns to cleaning the blood from his face. She doesn't enjoy being harsh to others, least of all to friends, but she sensed that if she allowed him to shut her out now, he would always make a habit of it. She can't let him do that-- not even once. Cecil refuses to repeat the mistakes she made in her friendship with Kain, in her new friendships.

She doesn't think to ask him why he smiles, as she is just grateful that he no longer seems so upset. She does open her mouth to ask if his eyes hurt, however, when she's distracted by his remark.

"Your roommate?"

The paladin follows his gaze to her chest and she glances down at the crystal Lancer gave her for Valentine's Day.

"Yes, that is his handiwork," Diarmuid starts to point toward the crystal she's wearing, but then seems to realize what else he would be pointing at and stops, still somewhat worried about upsetting her more.

"I have one as well. He gave them recently as gifts...actually around the time you would have arrived," he reaches into one of his small pockets and pulls out a similar crystal on a chain, draping it across the palm of his hand so she can see it. "He is my very dear friend. In some ways, I would say we grew up together even though he lived several hundred years before I did."

Cecil inclines her head curiously. For a moment, the paladin merely blinks a little owlishly and brings her face closer to Diarmuid's palm, inspecting the crystal without risking overstepping boundaries and picking it up. There's no mistaking it though; Lancer made both of their crystals. All things considered, there's only one conclusion Cecil can make:

"Does Lancer believe you are a beautiful princess as well?"

Diarmuid just looks at her for a moment, not sure he heard her question correctly. Finally, he bursts out laughing.

"No, no. While we may share a bed, he is like a brother to me and I to him. At least, I hope that he doesn't see me as a princess. We might have to have words if he does," Diarmuid grins at her thinking nothing odd with his statement. After all, it was not at all unusual for knights to share beds and blankets, and she is a knight as well. This is something he expects she understands.

"Oh—!" Finished cleaning his face, Cecil's hands are free to fly to her mouth. She's mortified by her obvious mistake, to be honest, but Diarmuid's own laughter and smile convinces her that he's not offended. She slowly lowers her hands a little and says quietly, "I'm sorry. I misunderstood."

And then she laughs too, because... well, it is funny, even if she's still mildly embarrassed. Laughing with a friend is not something to take lightly in the Tower and Cecil remembers that Lancer taught her an important lesson that day, so she won't take herself too seriously now either.

"He explained to me that Valentine's Day is a day where men give gifts to the women they are fond of and, well... I suppose he thought me worthy of such a thing even though we'd just met." He is the first friend she made, after all.

Diarmuid shakes his head, "No, it's not your fault nor is it his. The holiday is one new to both of us, and he probably just didn't think to explain it better. And honestly, that was the original meaning of the day but since then it has grown so that anyone who cares about another enough is encouraged to give gifts regardless of gender."

A gentle look crosses Diarmuid's face, "But that is my hero for you. He cares a great deal for people even if he would sometimes rather others not know that. And he especially has a weakness for 'beautiful princesses' such as yourself."

Cecil flushes a little again, remembering Lancer's repeated compliments about her looks. Somehow, she's finding it rather easy to see the two spearmean as brothers.

"I believe I see now who suggested you be less formal," she remarks, her smile small and shy. Lancer... She supposes she must forgive him, seeing how he surely did not intend for this coincidence, let alone realize it would happen. "I explained to him that I am not a princess and that few would be so bold as to call me beautiful. It isn't wise to see another soldier as someone you must protect before the rest, is it?"

"Actually, it wasn't him. Sadly, the one who first suggested it...I haven't seen her for quite sometime. I am almost afraid she has been sent from this place," Diarmuid pauses a moment, closing his eyes. He might not have gotten along well with Catarina in the end, but she had been a good friend of his roommate's. The last thing he needs is to lose another important person so quickly.

"My roommate really has just tried to support me and my actions. I think the last thing he wants to do is put anymore pressure on me than I have already put on myself. Somehow, I find that view hard to argue with.

"Speaking of views, though, just because you are beautiful doesn't mean that you will be protected above others in battle. At least, no good soldier would do such a thing. I hope you know I would never treat you like that and for all his pretty words, I don't think he would either."

The white knight hums softly in contemplation at his words. She seems not to have realized that Diarmuid has just agreed with Lancer's opinion of her looks. She frowns.

"I'm sorry to hear that, about this friend of yours. I cannot imagine that is easy." She settles down on the ground beside Diarmuid, crossing her legs at the ankles and positioning herself so that she is facing him. She gives his hand a comforting squeeze and she is mindful to use her left hand, the one whose sleeve was not currently stained with his blood. Her lips curve gently upwards again in another of her smiles. "Though I am relieved to hear that he will treat me equally and not as though I am fragile and incapable of protecting myself and my friends. He seems to be a man truly worthy of being your hero. Despite the... poetry he likened my, ah... bewilderment to, he was gentlemanly. And very kind. He seems to have a big heart."

Diarmuid can't help but laugh. Oh, how right she is!

"He has a very big heart and it has led to a great deal of pain, but yet he still keeps trying. Still keeps doing his best to help others. It is what made him a hero, after all. I will be greatly saddened if that ever changes about him," Diarmuid pauses a moment his good humor fading slightly. "Sometimes, I wish I could be more like him. I would like to be able to recover from pain as quickly as he does."

Diarmuid pauses again for much longer time before adding very quietly, "If he does. I think he is far too good at wearing masks sometimes."

Cecil is quiet for a moment, mulling over Lancer and his supposed masks. Well, it doesn't seem farfetched to her. Granted, she doesn't know all that Lancer has been through in his life, let alone the details of this pain that Diarmuid speaks of, but if she thinks of him long enough, Lancer does remind her somewhat of a certain flirtatious ninja from home. Edge carried a lot of pain around too...

"That may be," she finally answers at length, "but that is what he has you for, isn't it?"

"I hope so..." Diarmuid suddenly looks unsure and somewhat worried. "I tell him he can talk to me, but I know he worries about me and my mental state. I won't lie. My stability has not been the best since I arrived here. I am trying to make it better, but this place is not very conducive to that kind of thing. I have talked to him about a lot of my problems...perhaps too much."

He suddenly looks away, ashamed, "We are from similar worlds, he and I and he...he was my hero growing up. As a result, I latched onto him perhaps more than I should have. Now he thinks he needs to be strong for me even when he is hurting. I'm trying very hard to make sure he talks to me now that I realize what I was doing. I can only hope it is not too late."

The young woman nodds understandingly. Listening to Diarmuid speak of Lancer in such a way causes her thoughts to wander back home again. She thinks of Rose and how the white mage never gave up on her when she was troubled about the crimes she committed as a dark knight. She thinks of Kain and the dragoon's often silent manner of coping with her emotions. Cecil cannot say it was always the right choice the dragoon made, considering what it led to recently, and so, she certainly knows how Diarmuid worries.

"He told me that he did not think he fit the ideal of a knight. But he was the first person I met here and he was the first person to offer me his friendship. He did not have to. Indeed, it would be easier to not offer friendship to every individual one meets in this tower. Those children you spoke of earlier... the ones passing out those advertisements for the Imperium and this... Commissar Ciaphas Cain, whoever he is, certainly believe so, at least. The fact that Lancer does not think that way in spite of his personal hardships is admirable. I do not think he would listen to you as your friend if he ever thought you were sharing them with him too much.

"He may not lean on you willingly as often as you wish he would or in the same manner that you wish he would, but that does not mean he doesn't depend on you. Sometimes... simply knowing that someone cares for you enough to test the walls you build up around yourself... is all the comfort that you need to continue moving forward."

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