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)
towerofanimus2014-01-21 08:14 pm
fionnuisce) wrote in towerofanimus2014-01-21 08:14 pm
[open] // a single thrown grenade
Characters: Waver and open
Date: Backdated to January 16th
Location: dorm floors, laboratory, infirmary, lounge
Format: starting in brackets
Summary: Nyx Avatar aftermath.
Warnings: Just Waver's terrible language, scarring, and mentions of death.
[dorm floors]
[Fuck this. Fuck all of it. That was the bottom line of Waver's current thoughts. He hadn't slept so much as a second the previous night; instead it had been spent taking care of his injuries and cleaning the blood off the golden spear he held even now, as he walked through the dormitory floors. Just over four and a half feet long, Waver carried the weapon at his side, parallel with his arm and blade pointed downwards to avoid hitting anything with it.]
[It could have been the lack of sleep that caused the unusual look on his face--but that was unlikely. Exhaustion alone wouldn't cause the utterly indifferent expression, and it wasn't known to cause the completely dead and blank look in his eyes. He'd gone beyond even dismissal and sarcasm now, skating headlong into halting and suppressing all emotional processes. They just weren't worth it, and he didn't need them. There was no time or energy to waste on such things, not when there still remained so much work to do in order to stand a chance of getting out of here. As soon as he'd returned that weapon to its owner, Waver intended to head straight for the laboratory.]
[This place and the work that needed to be done didn't require Waver Velvet--it required a proper magus, cold and analytical. Devoted to work and nothing more. If he was so wrapped up in his own pathetic problems, no one would survive or escape this place. Simple.]
[floor twenty-seven; laboratory]
[As focused as Waver usually was on whatever he was doing, today he was several times more so. Every hour or so he switched between studying his own research on the collar fluid to the regained notes written by Kayneth regarding Volumen Hydragyrum. Working as much as physically possible seemed a viable option, especially when placed next to the choice of doing nothing. Though the pace at which he seemed to be working suggested something about him was not entirely well, the same impassive stare remained on his face throughout.]
[Working, it seemed, was his main coping mechanism and reassurance. If not his only ones.]
[floor two; infirmary]
[By late afternoon, it occurred to Waver that he'd recieved his share of injuries in the previous day's fight. Self-preservation dictated he tear himself away from his work at that point and make his way to the infirmary. Most of what he'd suffered amounted to bruises and scratches, but even that could be problematic without being properly checked up on and cared for.]
[He discarded his dark green suit jacket and black shirt, tossing both to the silver maid that stood behind him--scars from jagged stab wounds were visible on his shoulder, while a slightly more recent and neater one was clear on his right forearm. Regarding the utter mess he was with blank indifference, Waver glanced over the bruises and scratches from yesterday before starting to bandage up the latter. If he ended up getting some kind of infection, he might have ended up more annoyed than he already was.]
[floor four; lounge]
[Deciding to wander aimlessly and stretch his legs for a bit before returning to the lab, Waver found himself standing in the lounge staring out the window. By now the lecturer looked distracted more than he did blank and cold--it could have been that something outside caught his interest, but more likely was that he was utterly lost in thought as to what to do or where to go with his research from there.]
[Nothing else mattered anymore, did it? As long as Waver could work out a way for everyone to live through this place, his own loosening grip on sanity would be a small price to pay. So screw it all--he'd ignore everyone and everything, and devote himself only to research and working to escape. Everything else could take second priority.]
Date: Backdated to January 16th
Location: dorm floors, laboratory, infirmary, lounge
Format: starting in brackets
Summary: Nyx Avatar aftermath.
Warnings: Just Waver's terrible language, scarring, and mentions of death.
[dorm floors]
[Fuck this. Fuck all of it. That was the bottom line of Waver's current thoughts. He hadn't slept so much as a second the previous night; instead it had been spent taking care of his injuries and cleaning the blood off the golden spear he held even now, as he walked through the dormitory floors. Just over four and a half feet long, Waver carried the weapon at his side, parallel with his arm and blade pointed downwards to avoid hitting anything with it.]
[It could have been the lack of sleep that caused the unusual look on his face--but that was unlikely. Exhaustion alone wouldn't cause the utterly indifferent expression, and it wasn't known to cause the completely dead and blank look in his eyes. He'd gone beyond even dismissal and sarcasm now, skating headlong into halting and suppressing all emotional processes. They just weren't worth it, and he didn't need them. There was no time or energy to waste on such things, not when there still remained so much work to do in order to stand a chance of getting out of here. As soon as he'd returned that weapon to its owner, Waver intended to head straight for the laboratory.]
[This place and the work that needed to be done didn't require Waver Velvet--it required a proper magus, cold and analytical. Devoted to work and nothing more. If he was so wrapped up in his own pathetic problems, no one would survive or escape this place. Simple.]
[floor twenty-seven; laboratory]
[As focused as Waver usually was on whatever he was doing, today he was several times more so. Every hour or so he switched between studying his own research on the collar fluid to the regained notes written by Kayneth regarding Volumen Hydragyrum. Working as much as physically possible seemed a viable option, especially when placed next to the choice of doing nothing. Though the pace at which he seemed to be working suggested something about him was not entirely well, the same impassive stare remained on his face throughout.]
[Working, it seemed, was his main coping mechanism and reassurance. If not his only ones.]
[floor two; infirmary]
[By late afternoon, it occurred to Waver that he'd recieved his share of injuries in the previous day's fight. Self-preservation dictated he tear himself away from his work at that point and make his way to the infirmary. Most of what he'd suffered amounted to bruises and scratches, but even that could be problematic without being properly checked up on and cared for.]
[He discarded his dark green suit jacket and black shirt, tossing both to the silver maid that stood behind him--scars from jagged stab wounds were visible on his shoulder, while a slightly more recent and neater one was clear on his right forearm. Regarding the utter mess he was with blank indifference, Waver glanced over the bruises and scratches from yesterday before starting to bandage up the latter. If he ended up getting some kind of infection, he might have ended up more annoyed than he already was.]
[floor four; lounge]
[Deciding to wander aimlessly and stretch his legs for a bit before returning to the lab, Waver found himself standing in the lounge staring out the window. By now the lecturer looked distracted more than he did blank and cold--it could have been that something outside caught his interest, but more likely was that he was utterly lost in thought as to what to do or where to go with his research from there.]
[Nothing else mattered anymore, did it? As long as Waver could work out a way for everyone to live through this place, his own loosening grip on sanity would be a small price to pay. So screw it all--he'd ignore everyone and everything, and devote himself only to research and working to escape. Everything else could take second priority.]
[Dorm Floors: Not far from 4-16]
That is why Mac an Chuill's happy 'look it's a friend' bark makes Diarmuid actually cringe when he hears it. When he turns back to see who the dog has run off to meet, his heart stops in his chest.
Waver...and he doesn't look very good. Not that Diarmuid can blame him after...
He shuts his eyes for a moment, pushing down all the pain and regret, and the near overwhelming urge to rush forward to pull the magus into his arms. Waver didn't need him emotional now. He needed him in control. They all did. Emotional had gotten them into this mess in the first place.
Diarmuid opens his mouth to apologize, but no words come out. He tries again and again he fails. In the end, he just shuts his mouth and waits for his partner to speak first.]
no subject
[Waver's voice was completely flat, and not the usual sarcastic deadpan. From the look and sound of him, Waver was less 'in control' and more 'completely dead inside'.]
[He calmly held out Gae Buidhe, careful to make sure he didn't mistakenly nick himself with the blade.]
This would be yours.
no subject
[Diarmuid struggles to even get those few words out, shocked by the tone of Waver's voice. Though, in the end, the words sound foolish and the effort wasted even once he gets them out. Despite the fact that its ability to create wounds that can't be healed is inactive, Gae Buidhe is still a weapon and they all need to be treated with care.
Still, that is less important to him than the dead feeling around Waver right now which is why he takes the weapon without another word and settles it onto his back. Besides him, Mac an Chuill whines softly, not sure why there is so much unease in the air between them. Diarmuid can at least understand it...somewhat. He knew talking to Waver again would be hard. It had been hard enough just talking to him again after he had died protecting him, but to die at his hand in a way so similar to the war...
He draws a long breath in through his teeth and the sound is loud in the silent hallway. What does he say?]
I'm so--
[But the words cut themselves off and he falls into silence once more.]
no subject
[Hands moving to his pockets, Waver walked past Diarmuid like he wasn't even standing there. From his perspective, he'd done what he had set out to do--now he had actual work to accomplish. That was more important than standing around talking and exchanging sentimental apologies.]
[Even if they did do that, Waver wasn't sorry. He'd accomplished what had to be done. There was no need to apologize for that.]
no subject
[Diarmuid's isn't sure if he is more shocked or hurt at the moment. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither and the emotions fade into something else too quickly for him to get an answer.
Numbness.
His mind jumps to a hundred conclusions as Waver walks passed him. 'He's angry with me.' Of course, he is. 'He hates me for being so weak. For causing trouble yet again. For being weak. For being pitiful...'
And then the numbness sets in because if it doesn't he will fall apart, and he has too much to do for that.]
We should talk.
[Funny how similar to Waver's voice Diarmuid's now sounds.]
no subject
[He stopped walking with his back to Diarmuid, voice remaining cold; he didn't even bother to look over his shoulder as he replied.]
no subject
Mac an Chuill whines, louder this time, but Diarmuid ignores him.]
We need to talk...later.
no subject
[There couldn't possibly have been less Waver wanted to talk about. Maybe he could just avoid conversation altogether until Diarmuid gave up any attempt.]
no subject
[The words carry the weight of finality. There will be a discussion later. When later might be is still in question, but that the talk will happen is not. He's never let Suzaku get out of it and he isn't going to let Waver either. Not when so much has to be said.
However, for now, the talking is done. Diarmuid gives a soft command to his still confused dog and then starts off down the hallway. Mac an Chuill looks back at Waver, whines softly and then, reluctantly, follows his master.]