Lord El-Melloi II [AU] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fionnuisce) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-19 05:48 pm
fionnuisce) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-19 05:48 pm
[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.]
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.]
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I see. You are indeed a practical man, Waver Velvet.
We must all of us play to our strengths.
[Lancelot studies the flowers interestedly.]
If healing is not among yours, then what is?
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My strength is intellect, not combat. I can fight, and fight well for my part most of the time. But my specialty lies with strategy, or what to say to avoid a fight rather than start one.
...Usually.
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Lancelot's elbows are already at rest on his knees. It is only a little effort to seat himself across form Waver Velvet. He does not wish to talk down to the man's head.]
Though I do think you were unaffected by the Curse, we were neither of us at our best when we met last.
For a man whose strength is not in combat, you fought well-- and courageously, for you were overmatched.
It is obvious that your power lies in the Mind, Waver Velvet. When I was living, I favored Strategy myself, though I did use that skill in Battle.
Though I brought it upon you, I did not seek your death. For this, I offer my apology.
[Lancelot removes a glove, passes his bared hand over the green grass.]
Your familiar is an impressive weapon. You wield it well.
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[He shrugged, willing to let that be the last word on matters of blame.]
Volumen Hydragyrum, you mean? I don't like to fight with it, but lately I've had to fall back on it pretty often.
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Then we shall speak of it no more.
Ah, I had not known its name. It does Live then, after a fashion?
It seemed almost to have a will of its own-- outside of your command.
It must Serve you well enough, if it preserves your life in this place.
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I prefer fighting my own battles when I need to, but considering how few people and things I can stand against in this place, my choices are limited.
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It is a fine weapon. You wield it well, and it does not seem to drain your strength-- as my Master's familiars drain his.
[Lancelot has made a small net of grass, absentmindedly knotting green stems as he speaks. He gently stretches the thing between his bare fingers.]
You have a strong and courageous Servant, Waver Velvet. I am certain he would stand between you and any danger in this place.
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You are a much-- finer Master than the one he had in my War, then.
Doubtless you know this for yourself.
I know that my Master would prefer to be more able, but his state prevents it.
He does at times make sacrifices without thought to strategy.
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[Sigh.]
What exactly happened to him? I wouldn't have expected him to be in a state like that outside of my own world.
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[Lancelot's tone is rather dry.
He pauses a moment, smoothing one hand over a crease in his slacks. He has set the net of grass aside.
His Master's condition is a private thing-- a thing the man doesn't like spoken of, truly. But Waver Velvet is a Magus, and knows their ways-- even if he is a Waver Velvet from another Time and Place.
There is no War here-- and this Magus is not of their War at all. Lancelot cannot see the harm (and sees possible benefit) in disclosing information about his Master to this man.]
My Master had little training and few "circuits" when he wished to enter the War. Though it cannot be strictly said that he did freely wish, since he had no love for his family or gifts and only agreed to fight on behalf of one he wished to spare a dire fate. But he did agree, and so he sealed his fate.
The family Crest is a Worm, and my Master is filled with them-- they do his bidding and open his circuits, bestowing power, but they eat away at his flesh all the while. They have scarred and crippled him-- and will kill him.
This is the same fate he wishes to spare another.
He may appear quite infirm to your eyes, but he is in better health in this place than I have ever known him to be. I have no need to drain his prana here-- though we do share a bond, of course.
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In his youth, he refused to train as a Magus. Now these-- familiars, though he is more their Host than Master-- augment his Power by force.
As I said, it is not something he wished to do, but for a child he wished to spare the same fate.
I cannot say I approve. I favor that we put the head of the Family to Death upon returning. Thus would all be set to rights.
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There is no doubt the Old Man is both Clever and Powerful, as well as Evil-- but I myself have few peers among the Servants in sheer Strength and Cunning.
I believe I could triumph.
I do not believe the Old Man will honor his promises to my Master. This was is the only other.
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[This is said in a dry tone of voice that indicates a jest. Lancelot's sense of humor tends towards the eccentric.]
I have no reason to trust the man, as he had my Master summon me chained. Which-- is not always to our benefit in the War.
I do wish to know, somehow, if I could triumph without the aid of Madness.
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I wouldn't know. Although summoning a skilled and clever knight as a Berserker does strike me as a limiter of sorts.
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Both you and my Master are unusual among Magi.
[Having retrieved the net of grass he fashioned earlier, Lancelot proceeds to shred it.]
It is-- limiting, yes. I have my own mind more than another Berserker, but my faculties are stunted all the same.
Could I aid my Master more in his strategy, I could make quicker work of this War.
Tell me, as you are a Magus, does there exist a way to remove the spell of Madness from me, when we return to our World, to our War?
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[Waver trailed off, thinking very carefully before he answered. Was it possible to counter a Servant's inherent class abilities? Sometimes. Mystic Eyes could be halted with Mystic Eye Killers, and Magic Enhancement broken through by skilled enough magecraft. But this, a Berserker's defining skill and trait?]
I'm not sure. But I also can't ignore the existing possibility, however slight it could be. If there is such a way, I can't with any certainty say what it is.
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You are, as you say, different from your fellows, after all.
I have thought to ask the other Magus of my acquaintance here, as she has already once aided me in a separate matter--
but I do not fully trust in her. Nor do I think that she wishes me to do so.
[Rin Matou has her charms, however. Lancelot does enjoy the company of Powerful Women-- though he doubts very much if his Master's beloved "niece" is all that the man thinks her to be.]
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[The quotes around the word are audible.]
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