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

[throwmoreswords]

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? ]

Comments

[throwmoreswords]

[ 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. ]

[kowase]

[ 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. ]

[throwmoreswords]

[ 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. ]

[kowase]

[ 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.

[throwmoreswords]

[ 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. ]

[kowase]

[ ...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.

[throwmoreswords]

[ 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. ]

[kowase]

[ 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.

[throwmoreswords]

[ 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.

[kowase]

[ 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.