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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[Diarmuid's face darkens, suddenly as memories he would rather forget resurface.]
The man responsible for my birth.... He was one of them. Thankfully, I had Aengus and Caer to take up his slack. Many many others were not so lucky.
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[His words were awkward, but the sentiment was honest enough.]
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Don't be sorry. I think I turned out pretty well. But...why are you so uncomfortable talking about this? Is it because you lost your parents so early?
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I guess it's just a little awkward for me to try to discuss family, where I've not had one in at least twelve or thirteen years.
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Do you ever wish that they hadn't died so soon? Wondered what you would have been liked if you hadn't had to be alone for so long? I know I would have been a lot different if my father hadn't always been so close to me. I...probably would not have survived to have my own children without him. I might not have survived childhood if I am completely honest.
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[Waver paused, thoughtfully toying with the silver chain around his neck.]
Odds are I might've been a little better prepared for the kind of people 'real' magi are. There was some optimistic ideal I'd built up in my mind back then that was completely idiotic in hindsight.
[Lowering his hand, Waver shrugged dismissively.]
It hardly matters. Things were as they were, there's no changing it now.
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[Diarmuid laughs bitterly.]
Of course, then I remember how foolish is it of me to think he would have ever actually taken the time to raise his child. If not Aengus, he would have found someone else to do it. All he cared about was the glory that came with being a knight. He never actually was one which is why he looked so hard to me to make his name when he could not.
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[Diarmuid signs.]
It is a bad habit of mine. One I would like to be rid of, but it is not an easy thing to do since it has developed from my habit of trying to think of all the ways a battle or fight could go while I was in the Fianna. Not expecting the unexpected could easily lead to death. I saw it happen to many times on the battle field. I made that happen many times if I am honest.
However, searching for everything that could happen means thinking about all of the bad things too, and I am afraid after I arrived here the thought process spread to other things besides fighting while I was not looking.
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[His eyes dart to that spot by the bed for a moment and just as quickly dart away again.]
I don't feel so safe here anymore. Now I just feel like I am on full alert everywhere.
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I don't suppose it would help if I invited you back to mine? [A laugh.] Not to sound too forward.
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I appreciate it. I thought of that, but I hate having to bother you so much. I know you say you don't mind having me around, but at the same time I can't help but worry about bothering you or causing you to grow tired of me.
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Well, from the conviction in those words, I am going to guess someone is feeling better now that he has some food in him. How about we get some sleep in you too?
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[Diarmuid grins at him.]
Shall I spare you the trouble of walking and carry you again?
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I don't know. I don't make a practice of studying your legs. Should I start watching them more carefully?
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