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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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."

Just the mention of those people again spikes Diarmuid's anger, but he pushes it back down, with a sharp laugh, "They called themselves heroes. They have no idea what a real hero is. No hero would create such divisions when it's obviously so detrimental to everyone! Maybe it would have been acceptable on their world, but this isn't that. It's not okay here."

He pauses, letting the rest of his anger bleed away. Diarmuid would rather talk about his roommate than those fools anyway. Even if the subject is a difficult one, "He thinks me a much more ideal knight. I...don't agree with him. We both have made so many mistakes and many of them were mistakes we had no control over. The world we come from really seems to enjoy creating heroes so that it can turn around and break them. He and I, we are equal really. We both did many things in our lives and made many mistakes. He won't let my mistakes change how he feels about me. I won't let his change how I feel about him. I really wish I could get him to understand that."

Cecil says nothing as Diarmuid muses over the mistakes he and Lancer have made in their respective lives. She remains silent because from his words, she gathers that those 'mistakes' were not as grave as her sins. Unlike them, she could have controlled the fate of many and yet she chose to follow a corrupt monarch and slaughter dozens in the name of Baron. Perhaps she had done so unwillingly, but still, she was weak and she committed those crimes of her own free will.

"...Give him time," she says finally at length. "He may trust in it one day. Change is a slow process. What matters is that it is a steady one."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Diarmuid looks up and meets her eyes. "Here I am telling you all about my problems but you were upset about something when I came in even if you denied it. After all you have done for me, would you please let me lessen your worries even a little bit? What was troubling you?"

The younger knight looks a little surprised to have the subject changed so bluntly and she sheepishly lowers her eyes to the blood staining the sleeve of her gambeson. Diarmuid doesn't strike her as someone who would judge her for her heritage, but she's still unaccustomed to thinking about herself as anything other than completely human. Now there's an entire legacy she never even knew was possible to have associated with her and the propaganda that upset Diarmuid so much has upset her for these personal reasons.

"I... Well, it was honestly the same matter that had angered you. I didn't see who was putting the papers up around the tower, but I saw the papers, of course. It was... disturbing. It's obvious I am a magic user, but I have also learned recently that my lineage is... more unearthly than I ever expected was possible."

"So they judge you doubly and they don't even know you," Diarmuid sighs and shakes his head. This is why their actions anger him so. So far, Cecil has shown nothing but noble intentions and kind actions yet those two would count her as evil as one such as Ganondorf just because of her magical skill and circumstances of birth.

How is that in any way okay?

"How much did my roommate tell you about what he and I are?"

Cecil is silent, her eyes downward cast. "So they judge you doubly and they don't even know you." It's true, yes, but...

"I suppose I can't bring myself to be very angry with them," she says quietly. "I will not lie and say I do not understand their fears, yet I feel pity for them still. It saddens me that they or their ancestors have suffered so much at the hands of those like myself that such prejudice is instinctive for them."

She shakes her head sadly, but says nothing more, choosing instead to focus on the question Diarmuid has posed to her. "What you are? He did not say anything. He only introduced himself as Lancer."

Diarmuid looks at her, admiration in his eyes, "You are a better person than I am. I cannot feel pity for them or even begin to understand them. All I can do is feel anger at their stupidity and worry for the potential harm that might come from it."

For a moment he falls silent, thinking, but instead of talking further about them he moves onto answering her question, "He and I are magical beings. Originally, we lived and died as heroes of our time. When we died, our souls were recorded onto something called the Throne of Heroes. It allows heroes to be called back to earth during times of great need or great danger. One of the times during which we were allowed to be called back was during a series of wars over an item called the Holy Grail. The Grail is suppose to grant the greatest wish of those who win it, both servant and master," he pauses and looks away for a moment before continuing. "That is not how it worked out. The grail, it's corrupt. And we servants are never meant to be more than tools no matter who we once were. Our wishes mean nothing..."

Or perhaps I am simply too weak... Cecil does not meet his eyes. After all, her own father was murdered by people such as these, was he not? Perhaps she should be angrier. She feels she should be at least...

She doesn't argue with him; she is grateful for the subject change.

"So that explains how you can summon and dismiss your weapon at will," she remarks with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. Now it makes sense to her. "You are a hero of legend and you serve others even in death, then. I am sorry that it seems to be for naught. That is regrettable. You and Lancer both deserve better."

"Yes, my weapons are literally part of me. That is why it was so hard for me to destroy my spear during the war. It was like cutting off one of my arms. However, it had to be done and I don't regret it in the slightest."

Diarmuid pauses suddenly, eyes dropping and voice softening, "I'm no hero, Cecil. Not compared to the others and especially not compared to him. Though not my will, I betrayed my lord. I took from him something that was his. What part of that is deserving of the title hero? None of it."

Took something that was not his? Cecil looks across their legs to Diarmuid and studies his face for a moment. He clearly holds onto a lot of guilt still for whatever it was, and while she cannot say she is entirely free of her own guilt, she wonders if telling some of her own story will ease his shame some.

"Everyone makes mistakes," she tells him. "You obviously are not free from remorse for your actions and I don't doubt that you have done your best since to atone for your wrongdoings. We cannot change the past; we can only change the future. You think me a better person than you, but as I said earlier, I, too, have done things I am ashamed of. You would not think so highly of me if you knew my past sins in detail. I betrayed my country. I failed Baron and her people by following a corrupt monarch."

Edited 2013-04-06 09:46 (UTC)

002. ☾ Divisions

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