towerofanimus | [open; dated 4/20] // dream fades before dawn

Characters: Waver and open!
Setting: Floor 25
Format: Action, but I will try to match.
Summary: Someone doesn't cope well with screwing up.
Warnings: None yet.

[Since his revival, Waver hadn't slept. He certainly hadn't eaten, considering the miserable state of the cafeteria's choices. Not that he thought it mattered; there were more important things to do.]

[Twice, twice now he'd failed and gotten himself killed. This time it wasn't the death itself that bothered him (though painful, it had at least been quick) so much as it was the circumstances surrounding it. If he hadn't hesitated, if he hadn't faltered, if he hadn't been terrible with one of the most basic forms of magecraft...a thousand 'if' possibilities had run through his head countless times over by now.]

[Waver could be found sitting in the meadow on the twenty-fifth floor, and in time he'd surrounded himself with scattered and discarded notebook pages--upon which were drawn sigils both magical and alchemical in nature. It was clear he'd spent hours there (if not a day or two) doing...what was he doing? There was a small knife in his left hand, which Waver seemed to be using to cut various parts off flowers; sometimes focusing on only one, and occasionally several at a time.]

[However many he'd damaged, the green-suited magus would then hold out his hand and appear to be in deep concentration. If he was lucky, a pale green light would flicker and crackle around his hand, and the flowers would appear to slowly repair themselves.]

[...But he usually wasn't lucky. Waver estimated that even after endless hours' practice, his healing magecraft would only work approximately five times out of ten, and would only heal effectively three out of those five. No matter; he had absolutely no intention of leaving this floor until he got it right. What had begun as a harsh realization of the need for practice had rapidly spiraled downward into an obsessive task of repeated motions and stubborn fixation.]

[For him, healing was a difficult thing, one which all his thoughts had to be focused on. Unfortunately, he was thinking of far too many more troubling things; his obsessive practice had turned to an exercise in futility.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The voice snapped him out of what little concentration he'd been able to keep, light around his hand cracking and fading. And if looks could kill, Lancer might have died (again) on the spot.]

In a manner of speaking.

[His patience was at its limit with all that had happened, but Waver was making a concentrated effort to be civil.]

[Lancer was well-accustomed to deathglares, having received a fair number under Misaya.]

That's some pretty basic magecraft.

[He was just a little worried about Diarmuid and Waver if Waver's magecraft was really only at those levels.]

What of it.

[Tread carefully, Lancer.]

You've got some specialty to make up for it, right? Like being better with attacking rather than repairs or experiments?

[He can remember the mercury. Maybe Waver was just one of those Masters who could fight at their Servants' side instead of supporting them with healing spells and whatnot.]

I've managed this long, haven't I?

[good lord, someone's snippy today.]

[He takes a step toward Waver.]

While protecting somebody? While trying to take care of somebody?

[Waver stood up in a second, barely managing to not outright explode.]

Just what are you implying?

My brother, Waver. How will you be his Master? You know how he is and what he gets up to.

[What goes unsaid is "How would you do anything if you can't even handle the basics?"]

Don't you dare. Don't even think about patronizing me as though I don't know what's at stake.

I'm not!

[That comes out much snappier than he intended. He growls and shakes his head.]

I just...Waver, do you even know what happened a few days ago? Back when I was that...thing?

I died trying to save that idiot, that's what bloody happened!

[And there went the last bit of patience.]

I'm a terrible magus--is that what you wanted to hear?! I always have been and very likely will be horrible with magecraft for the rest of my life; that, I can accept. What I can't stand for is that my own stupid lack of talent in something as simple as healing got my only goddamn friend killed!

[He freezes as he hears this. He had meant to ask why Waver hadn't come soon enough. Why he had to wait for Lancelot to put an end to it.]

Is that so...

[He mutters.]

I don't think...he wanted that.

[Hell, Cu Chulainn didn't want it either.]

...

[Waver took a breath and made a conscious effort to calm down, crossing his arms.]

I could sense he was in trouble. By the time I got there he was in terrible shape and there was someone else looking for a fight. Diarmuid couldn't move, so I was trying to help him escape with a Command Spell.

...The last thing I remember was getting cut practically in half.

[He grimaces as he hears that. He had a very good guess who gave Diarmuid those wounds--Lancer himself.]

Why didn't he escape? Did he fight so hard against the Command Spells?

...yeah. I was about to use a second one when that kid attacked me.

And if you're going to lecture me on using them, I'd like to cut you off with a preemptive 'kindly shut the hell up'.

...I guess it really isn't a Servant's place to tell a Master how to use his Command Spells.

But try to use them to keep him by your side next time.

[That was all he wanted out of Waver. To know that the man would keep an eye on Diarmuid.]

I'm not proud of using them. But what else was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch him get killed by someone I couldn't fight?

...At the beginning. You got my letter, right?

[Couldn't Waver have ordered Diarmuid away from Cu Chulainn? Or made him stay close to his Master?]

I wasn't exactly glued to my mailbox.

[You only sent it the day before they both got killed, murderhound.]

Check it better the next time I disappear.

[He doesn't care about that logic he only cares about his brother.]

Pardon me for being a little preoccupied.

[He makes a scoffing sound and sits cross-legged on the ground.]

Whatever. Just get stronger quickly, okay? So we don't have any more tragedies next time.

Right back at you.

[apply cool water to area of burn.]

...Hey, I don't need to get stronger. Jason just fucked with my head.

And you don't see a problem with that?

(no subject)

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