kaisou | [treasure 7] and i'm feelin' like a ghost, and it's what i hate the most

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[treasure 7] and i'm feelin' like a ghost, and it's what i hate the most

WHO: Gilgamesh + the network
WHERE: the network and maybe Gilgamesh's Serenitea pot at Vergil's house if ya'll wanna swing by?
WHEN: February 1st
WHAT: sometimes, the ghost of you is more present than ever and you have a couple of good things and one really alarming thing to address.

un; AUO, voice post; network

Rejoice, mongrels, for the Wakawaka Zabuun waterpark will be open in a mere two weeks time! It's amazing what you can get done with monetary grease to both the modern workforce and the wheels of bureaucracy! What better place to enjoy a day with your loved ones than in a fully heated, fully functional tropical paradise away from anything tropic? Vergil Vittore's previously informed me that I could 'afford to be less of a skinflint miser' and I suppose I will consider granting VIP passes to the users of this particular application if you ask politely enough.

Secondly! Zulius, ever a visionary and genius ahead of his time, has stumbled upon the concept of a Kaisou Calendar for charity. As he's either announced or will announce, I didn't care enough to check, if you're over the age of 18 and willing to show a little skin for a good cause, feel free to contact either of us. There will be a men's and women's edition; I've seen what you people get horny about. Your taste is impeccable, even if most of your vibes are rancid.

[ he sounds so cheerful, and then he's silent.

there's a long pause, as if Gilgamesh forgot to stop recording his voice. there's a few chirpy beeps, and then he starts speaking again--but it sounds a lot more. stressed? not even slightly resembling his beginning boomingly playful tone, spoken at a normal person level of voice. like he's being held hostage in his own voice post. it appears Goldie has applied a filter to keep certain zealous eyes off of whatever else is happening in his Livejournal entry. ]

And now that most people have dispersed, my body has completely disappeared. Are dreams about whales portentous? [ he's trying to channel bemused ease, but it's probably not working. ] So, I don't have a physical presence anymore, and I feel oddly... floaty. I don't know how to get out of my teapot--it feels strange and staticky when I try, like I might get swept up into whatever magic makes the transition happen and fail to come out on the other end. I've passed through the walls of my house several times and it gets no less jarring each time it happens.

Any information regarding rampant curses or unexpected magic would be appreciated.

... I do have a more focused suspicion as to what my sudden weight loss might be attributed to, but I'd rather not entertain that right now if there's some plague of de-materialization sweeping the city. It would be. Bothersome.

... thank you for your time. I suppose.

Why must this be so difficult to end--

[ how do you poke the off button when you don't have hands?? slam your spirit against it until electricity does something and you're left in eerie, uncomfortable silence, feeling odd and fallen apart. do they make gloves that let incorporeal fingers work swipe lockscreens? ]

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... that's.

Absolutely inane. If I make it past the week I don't know that I'll ever hold a scrap of respect for the man again, regardless of his technically invaluable help in this overall situation. [ Gil would've figured it out... slowly. probably putting his back more to the wall than it is, but still. ] What a prick.

[ he's dwelling somewhere between angry and exhausted and it's making him just... candid, his mana-cloud of an existence spreading and then drawing back in as best as it can, leaving people stuck in the past where they go in favor of the

admittedly not that impressive
future ]

There's an impossible option, an unethical option, an unpleasant option, and an inevitable option. [ more than the three he posed, but he's remembering bits and pieces of what Waver Velvet told him as he tries to regurgitate his thoughts in something resembling order. ]

First of all, if we can manage to scrounge up the Holy Grail, I could make a wish on it for a body and an existence.
Second of all, I could feed on the souls and essence of the living. I remember something about a basement full of... donors. [ full of orphans. delicious orphans. ]
Third, I could just cease to exist. Call it a good run, put my affairs in order, and flip this existence off on my way out to the next one. If I don't do something, that's the way it'll end.

[ and he's still honestly considering it, fear of death aside. what's worse? being humbled or being dead. ]

And fourth. [ a long pause. the dreaded, the inevitable. ] I can bend to my previous existence's limitations, find a person of suitable magical energy and skill, and make a pact with them--becoming a Servant to their Master.

[ can energy seethe? he's seething. ]

It is inane. Once again, I am familiar with seeing someone from a different life and being uncertain about how it affects me today. But without giving said person a chance to show me who they are now, I would not be... here. [ if he'd kicked out Dante and Nero for getting in his business-- ]

That's neither here nor there. It is not important to discuss right now. What matters right now is you. And keeping you from ceasing to exist. We can completely forget that third option, as I will not be settled with that idea whatsoever.

[ nixed. Absolutely nixed. ]

I am uncertain of my ability to get a holy grail either. I could always look for one, what we know about this world being different from yours however, it isn't strictly fact we could find one.

...I believe the second could be achieved, but after a while, you start getting into serial murderer for the sake of being alive territory, and Dracula did not end well.

[ so he sighs. gently, slowly. ]

The fourth is the most realistic.
That is something I can do.
While I believe the necessary prerequisite for such a thing is a high level of magic, I would assume my power as a devil would be more than enough to sustain you.

...

And you know that, despite a contract being woven like that, I would not assume control over you like a 'Master'.

[ he could talk more shit about Waver Velvet, but on one hand, the man did help him if somewhat stiffly

and on the other hand, Vergil's doing something unexpected, and it has Gilgamesh on the proverbial backfoot as the man immediately surges into here and now, and not letting Gilgamesh sacrifice himself in the wake of all of that. if he had a face right now, it'd look surprised. ]

It's always on the table a little bit. [ but there's no heat and conviction in it, letting Vergil take over the talking because he's too tired to lead the charge, listening to the man as he surges through the same considerations that Gilgamesh has already been picking through for the last hour. ]

Yes, but Dracula was only aristocratic old blood. I'm heinously wealthy. We could probably slap something together. [ he's not going to mention the basement here. Vergil will not take it as a joke, and the more Gilgamesh thinks about the basement, the more he starts to remember what was in the basement.

and then there's the fourth option. Vergil... continues to do nothing that Gilgamesh expects him to do, which is a testament to how bad Gilgamesh can be in understanding what causes change in a person--and his ability to adapt to people throwing curveballs at him is not part of Archer's skillset, that's a Caster flexibility. ]

You would have the option, though. Three 'command seals' that would empower me or bend me to do whatever you called for. I have vague memories of... Servants being given bursts of power, or forced to stop their attack cold. [ there's a quiet moment, where he thinks, and then he speaks again. ] There's a man in red in my memories. He was covetous of his command seals, because he thought he'd need all three to make me do... something. I had him killed by his own apprentice.

[ what Tokiomi truly wanted hasn't come to Gil yet, and when it does, who knows. he may feel sorry for the man, or he may feel justified--or perhaps both. ]

Aside from that, it'd be a constant drain on your mana, especially if I continue to regain my capabilities as the facsimile of a demigod hero king.. I'm apparently not for the faint of heart or weak of blood.

[ Vergil will absolutely not take a comment about his basement as a joke--he isn't about to start discussing such an idea, lest Gilgamesh decides that's the actual best of course of action.

He isn't going to have an orphan basement, Gilgamesh, and unlike Kirei, he's fully willing to give up most of whatever magic he has, if it means that Gil will be able to live. He isn't some crazy priest bent on ruining peoples' lives, after all .]

I am aware of the existence of command seals. If I were to... create a pact with you to supply you with life force, then I would agree to having them, as well. It is not as if I use my 'mana' for much other than battle with my family members whenever I have too much energy.

The way I look at this, I have been in need of some output for the demonic energy I have in abundance lately, and you are in dire need of it.

I do not feel I am the weak of heart or blood.

I could care less about having the option to control you.

As I have stated before.
You are my friend, Gil. Gilgamesh.

I am not about to try to manipulate this sudden life change of yours in order to better my life.

I simply wish to not see you die so tragically just because I was unable to do something like offer you a hand in your greatest time of need.
It would be a great weight on my conscience.

...And besides the fact.
I do not want you gone from this world. Despite how you incessantly wear on my nerves for your inability to wear clothes in my home, I do not want you gone from this world.

[ if Gilgamesh has mentioned any of the king's atrocities to anyone, it was definitely Vergil. maybe in a moment of melancholy at his own past life's horrible misdeeds, in an attempt to--who knows? equivocate. relate. not to normalize, but to... show that everyone has something on their shoulders, some worse than others, but what does it mean in this lifetime anyway?

and to be fair to Kirei if Nao's reading this, Kirei was just a grail-corpse-homunculus thing by that point that was kind of living off of Gil's whole. deal. he wouldn't have been able to power the proverbial sun that is the king any better than a grid of triple D batteries would've.

and here Vergil is, saying a hundred words to cut off Gilgamesh's angry spiral and inevitable arguments, arms thrust into the morass that seems to surround the other, reaching down. ]

The option would always be there, though. Simply speak it with enough desire and conviction and I'm at your whim.

[ you are my friend. said so plainly, with no grudging admiration or unhappy, heavy sighs. if he had his facial features, he'd be... blank. confused. he's never been anyone's friend, really? people come to him for things, of course--he's been to parties, had relationships, kept social circles, but he would never consider himself close enough to any of those things to call them friends, so aware of how much of himself is tied up in the image of his wealth and connections.

the king had been a solitary judge sitting on high, so bound to a duty that he could neither understand the people who entrusted it to him nor the people that he was meant to lead. any gods that would employ someone like him as a measure to bind humanity to their will were unworthy, and so he refused to serve them, but at the same time, mankind was weak and frail and uninteresting with the exception of what it created and what it could be.

he'd never really belonged to anybody--with one exception. and that exception had been given to him specifically, and ripped away by the same hands that'd sent it in the first place. there's a long, uneasy silence as Gil thinks about all these arguments--about rebuffing Vergil again, about standing alone as he always does, about bearing his own demise because then it means that he's making his own choice and coming to his own end. he could be arrogant and cold and distant and all of the things that the king always was.

... but Gil isn't a king.
he's just a man. there are no distant gods laying a crown upon his brow, no bull-eyed mother with her sweeping horns to whisper her knowledge of his strange dreams settled in her ziggurat-temple; he's just Gil, and he hasn't spoken to his parents in the better part of twenty years, and he has no friends, and he is so tired of being alone and he doesn't want to die..

he should crash through things with the king's hellish dignity, but that would mean letting the whole dream come to an end, and that sounded.

boring. ]

... if you are certain, the professor taught me the incantation if I could find someone I could. [ trust ] find someone that could manage the strain.

[ When it came to winning arguments or offering fair, emotionally intelligent responses to a situation, Vergil Vittore always came in dead to last. He wasn't made for this sort of thing, he wasn't a man who was good at understanding others or being selfless.

Until nearly a year ago, he wasn't even partially selfless. All of his thoughts and idealizations were selfish, at best, wanting only to expand his hoard, his fortune, and enjoy his time alone in his little box where noone could bother him.

Gil had been one of the few to get into his bubble--and even then he'd held him at arm's length, like an associate, someone who you contacted on business affairs and that only. It'd become an easy enough partnership but there was always a wall between them.

A wall that, with his own words, Vergil had decided it was overtime to kick down.

He'd come to realise he needed people in his life. There was no denying that life had gotten better since he'd started letting others into it. The walls of his home no longer quiet and tired. His phone died a lot quicker these days, as he turned it off for less and less, and actually checked texts within the same hour he recieved them. ]

I do not need you at my whim.

I merely need you to continue living. If I truly need to use the command seal to compel you to live, then I will.

[ he's serious as the grave, as well.

Moving a hand up from where it was settled on the hilt of his ever-present sword.

He reaches a hand out--up to that pile of magic that is vaguely the shape of his friend. ]

Teach me the words, then.

[ gil is not a god, he is not a king
he's a man who's been burdened with the weight of power from a life he'd moved on from. It wasn't fair to put such expectations on himself--just as it wasn't fair to see him put himself up on a dias, lonely and distant when there were people willing to stand at his side.

Kings don't have friends, but this world has no need for kings. ]

Teach me what this incantation is, so I can keep you here in this world, you golden fool.

[ sometimes it didn't need to come down to a battle of words--if Vergil stopped at words, Gilgamesh would run circles around him. he's spent years and years talking to get what he wants, keeping things moving to his tune and his pleasures with little compromise or conflict. what charisma doesn't get him, wealth does.

so it's best not to make it an argument. rather, make it a decision, based from emotion--make a declaration, have an intention, do something that Gilgamesh can't argue his way around because it will be what it will be.

here Vergil is, hand outstretched.

"Soon you will meet him, the companion of your heart. Your dream has said so."

dreams murmured before a doting mother a dozen lifetimes ago seem to slip across whatever makes for his mind in his state, and if he had lungs to draw breath with, his sigh would be. heavy. final. resolved. ]

My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer.

... and I will respond in kind.

[ as a king, it is his duty to walk into the minefield.

as a man, it is his duty to do what he has to in order to see tomorrow. ]

[ run circles around him with words and he'll just lie down in the middle of the road with his sword set to trip you, motherfucker.
He's never needed charisma before, he's never put a single stat point into it. But he's trying--he really is truly trying. And where he lacks in charisma and kindness, he will at least try to make it up with honesty.

Slowly sowing a tree with a long and arduous struggle. Fruit finally began to grow. Dante and Nero had been the first. Zulius the second. And now, once again...

'And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright.'

Vergil lets free a breath, low and quiet out of his nose. Finally.

He nods his head, memorizing the words. Speaking them in the next breath with conviction. ]

My will creates your body.

And your sword creates my destiny.

If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer.

[ His hand remains outstretched. ]

[ the quick golden fox jumps over the lazy silver wolf. it's a funny image, the two of them pulling on both ends of the chain of their bond, trying to be the one to control it best

but for all of Gilgamesh's charisma, he has no idea what to do in the wake of raw honesty. all he can think to do is meet it in kind, and that's terrifying to someone who's always been obnoxiously clever with his tongue.

the farmer's honest toil will always bring fruit, even from the bitterest of soil; blood, sweat, and tears the sweetest nectar to Gaia's own tongue. the words call out to him and Gilgamesh can feel himself thrum in response. the magic that makes up his self glows bright, trying to coalesce, sensing an anchor to this world.

he speaks without thinking. ]

Answer me. Are you the insolent mage who seeks to latch on to the brilliance of a King? Are you the one who thinks himself worthy to be my Master?

[ he reaches out in turn, a golden, glittering hand thrumming bright as it reaches out to Vergil's, palm to palm. ]

[ Palaces of silver and gold--neither were built overnight. Just like a garden needed time, so did a person.

He wasn't about to let one of his few genuine friends fade away just because he didn't have the same amount of time to grow that garden.
Graft a branch onto his own tree, his fingers reach--

Gripping that magic as if it would become physical the moment their hands collided. ]

I am. With the power I have, I would attempt to lasso the sun simply because I believe I can--and so pulling you down into this world is no different.

Come down from your dias and back down to Earth.

[ and in a way, it does become solid--there's something there, something to be grasped, something burning its way onto the back of Vergil's hand

a hand in the nothingness, a chain around the width of the wedge, an axe that one cradles as a lover ]

Then your luck must've run out to have summoned me--but I shall accept your Oath, mongrel, and as Archer, I shall accept you as the Master worthy of serving me!

[ it's gold and glitter and power and heat and the magic that Was Gilgamesh's form in Vergil's enhanced eyes is coming together, binding itself around the anchoring core of Vergil's essence, and where the magic was solid enough to be held, there is now a hand, clad in a golden gauntlet, grasping his own

Gilgamesh is not taller than Vergil, and yet he looms in his armor all the same, golden and gleaming with his hair slicked up and back, a red cloth whipping around his legs despite the lack of wind in the house, familiar chain swinging gently with it as he grasps onto Vergil's hand, as if it were the only thing left to hold onto. ]

[ ...it's solid. There's a solidity to his fingers that feels almost jelly-like at first. Like if he squeezes too hard, he runs the risk of popping the thin vaneer of solidity over the magic underneath like a vine full of sticky sap.

But im moments--as gil speaks--there's something both cold and hard, warm and soft. A glove--a gauntleted hand that is unyeilding on one side while pliant on the other.

Such a feeling describes Gil perfectly, he almost muses, but that's when his sight nearly goes pure white.
The tampering Krusnik did with his eyes--how he could see magic better--Gilgamesh suddenly becomes such a beacon of power that he's damn near BLINDING to look at--

And then all at once, the man is... back. Physical. No longer a group of free-floating magic, but... whole.

...And wearing the most gaudy set of armor he's ever had to lay his eyes on.

He actually physically balks at the sight of it. ]

I would not speak of my Luck, Gil, when you have manifested in...

...

Can you even move in that. Mio dio.

[ it's something that seems like it shouldn't be contained--like it's too powerful to be held, here and now, like it should be more than it is and that it wants to pop, and all at once it does

and then it settles again and Gil breathes air into lungs that aren't technically real, but the motion is comforting and soothes him. he tries not to marvel over himself, over the resplendent set of armor he's clad in, more than a few of his memories making more sense that ever as he considers himself and Vergil Vittore leaves him no time to be impressed, immediately dragging him to the depths of humility.

or at least the shores of it. Gilgamesh will never truly be humbled. ]

I can move in this, but one trades mobility for being able to shrug off most attacks. This is why the King just threw magic weapons out of his Gates instead of bothering to fight.

[ ... this may have been the first time he's ever mentioned that particular fighting style. ]

[ gil is BRIGHT. Blindingly so. It's going to take a moment for him to adjust that power he has to make sure he can look at gil straight.

he also does notice that there's something in him that stirs in him--like a siphon suddenly being drawn to him, followed by a burning on the back of his hand.

It hurts, and he quickly reaches up to tear the glove off his hand.

Just in time to see a certain set of markings glowing on the back of his hand.

...He recognises it, as he remembers that both Takame and Waver have marks just like that, as well... ]

...An ineffective, and yet effective style of battle, so long as you do not run out of weapons, one supposes.

In such a case, then, are you 'Saber' class?
Waver told me the seven classes to which 'Servants' manifest.

I think I can feel it. My magic slowly trickling away, like a tap dripping.

...Don't fret, it's not enough to exhaust me. I feel what you take vs. what I generate is in a sort of balance.

[ he holds up his hand to consider his gauntlet--and therefore, himself, breathing slow as his senses seem to come back together and sharpen, watching Vergil scramble to remove his glove. he looks curiously at the sigils etched into his hand, knowing them for what they are--and part of him is tempted, so terribly tempted, to rip the man's hand off.

he breathes out and lets the feeling pass.

he wants, more than anything, to trust Vergil Vittore. ]

The King's treasury was truly bottomless. Every weapon every forged by human hands belonged to him, every godly treasure and magic desire... he collected items like most men breathed. [ he looks wry at the though, tilting his head as Vergil asks what class he is--and to be fair, he was saying it as part of the chant. a lot was happening. Vergil probably didn't hear. ]

No. I'm Archer. ... likely on account of the idea of throwing things to fight, and for my nature.

[ independent. prickly. dangerous. he can feel Vergil's magic bolstering his own, and he breathes with a sense of satisfaction, eyes closing as he listens to the thrum of his own existence with a morbid fascination. ]

I doubt you would start to struggle unless I tried to use one of the King's grand powers--and that would likely be done with your knowledge, were I to remember how to do it in the first place.

[ he's going to touch the back of his hand, look over those symbols that are just bursting with white energy as he tries to settle it--it's like the worst on-set case of arthritis, aching along the back of his hand but slowly fading.

He lifts his eyes up to look at the other. ...he had missed the class as part of Gil's chant--he was far more focused on making sure he said it right, focusing on pronunciation more than the actual words. Being that English isn't his first language, he's only now catching up with thoughts. ]

...Hm. I am not sure if 'throwing things' should count as an 'Archer' but I suppose it's as close as you could get. I would have assumed 'Saber', but... [ maybe it's best he was archer--the drain on his magic was going to be hard enough. ]

I will make you a promise. As it stands.

I am aware of these--command seals, and what they mean.
But I will not be using them unless it is under extreme duress and an emergency requiring it on pain of death.

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[treasure 7] and i'm feelin' like a ghost, and it's what i hate the most

nuggies pls

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