ᴋɪᴅᴀɢᴀᴋᴀsʜ "shonen hero disney princess" ɴᴇᴅᴀᴋʜ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
adlantisag) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
epidemiology2016-01-13 09:39 pm
adlantisag) wrote in epidemiology2016-01-13 09:39 pm
Entry tags:
closed.
CHARACTERS: Kida (yob) and Gilgamesh (babbylon)
DATE: jan 13th
WARNINGS: gilgamesh
SUMMARY: continued from here.
[ He's not far; they're in the same district, and while the accrued guard presence makes movement difficult, it's not impossible with a little patience and quick thinking. For some reason, she hadn't been expecting him to be at the boarding house to begin with; perhaps it's just his temperament making her assume, or maybe she's right and this is part of whatever consequence has been levied against him.
She knocks with little fanfare. He'll find her drawn; her cloak is wrapped around her, a fur over that. The more winter advances the more she feels the cold. Maybe it's just his impending presence. Kida might say she isn't nervous, but she's never been more acutely aware of walking into a lion's den. She almost regrets not bringing Ninat. ]
yob) and Gilgamesh (babbylon)DATE: jan 13th
WARNINGS: gilgamesh
SUMMARY: continued from here.
[ He's not far; they're in the same district, and while the accrued guard presence makes movement difficult, it's not impossible with a little patience and quick thinking. For some reason, she hadn't been expecting him to be at the boarding house to begin with; perhaps it's just his temperament making her assume, or maybe she's right and this is part of whatever consequence has been levied against him.
She knocks with little fanfare. He'll find her drawn; her cloak is wrapped around her, a fur over that. The more winter advances the more she feels the cold. Maybe it's just his impending presence. Kida might say she isn't nervous, but she's never been more acutely aware of walking into a lion's den. She almost regrets not bringing Ninat. ]
no subject
Good enough defined his life lately, even if it really wasn't.
The door opens of its own accord, and there Gilgamesh sits on the bed, studying a worn tome in his hands. Occasionally he marks something with a piece of charcoal before flicking another page. At the very least he takes his time in acknowledging Kida, focused on his work rather than on his visitor.
And there is a certain calmness in his behavior that wasn't present before, a docility almost ill-suited to him. A tranquil air that dominates when it should be lively and fierce. As he looks up, his eyes aren't quite so sharp as usual. They study her, and then look back down again, apparently inviting approach.
Though it may be hard to tell, as Gilgamesh elects to say nothing at all.]
no subject
She steps inside despite his silence, as if this were a casual visit. She removes her cloak, her fur, and both go on the hook hanging by the door. It's decidedly spartan in here; even his meagre hearth looks deserted, though she suspects it's because he has no need of it.
He looks--washed out, somehow. Like he hasn't recovered from prison, even though she patently knows that can't be true. He appears relaxed, but she can't help recall the last time she saw him, on Death's riverbank. There's no urgency about him as there was then, but the oppressive feeling of defeat remains. She wonders what transpired--or what mask he's wearing. ]
What are you reading?
[ She crosses the few steps she needs to get to his side, stopping just short of actually being able to see what he's at work on. Her head is canted, her tone light. ]
no subject
Me.
[And at first, it seems confusing. Confusing until he flips to the beginning and shows her the text, where clear pictures of Gilgamesh and Enkidu have been drawn, side by side. It's his Epic he's working on. Perhaps not all was lost, then. Someone else may have spoken to him. Someone else may have inspired him.
Gilgamesh sets the volume and aside and attempts a small smile.]
It has been some time since I've seen you last, Majesty. Life keeps you busy?
no subject
But he has a way of surprising her, of taking the wind out of her sails. Her guard doesn't quite come down--she's no fool--but the anxiety that had inhabited her abates as he speaks, his voice smooth like a glassy lake.
She peers over the images in his volume, recognizing the figures there: a golden-haired king and a pale companion, not quite man but not quite woman. Her eyes catch on the edges of the letters, and her heart begins to thunder when instead of a jumble she sees words, true words--without thinking she reaches to intercept the volume as he puts it down, but her hand halts halfway, paused by his question. It falls to her side again. ]
Does it not always?
[ She has no real desire to recount all she's done and heard in the last few weeks. She knows enough, as does he. She arches a brow at him, her expression melding into something more cautious. ]
It has kept us both busy.
no subject
Without thinking, he offers the tome to her. Gilgamesh was hardly protective of his story; to the contrary, he boasted of it to everyone, spoke fondly of many of the adventures contained within, even if it all ended on sour note. Of course she was allowed to look.]
We are in for a very long walk today. You may read as we go along.
[Though he suspects she may find herself distracted by other prizes. Somehow, they understand each other without speaking of it, as he doesn't mind skipping over what's said and done. He settles back and looks a little uplifted for it; it seems for all he's been avoiding it, he's much brighter for the company than without.]
So it has. But it is better than the world I left behind.
[Honestly, it's about the same. He'd just rather not bemoan his circumstances at length to her. Or anyone.]
no subject
He says something about a walk. She's only half paying attention. She wrenches her eyes away from the book, with the kind of regret one reserves to departing lovers. ]
A walk? In your Gate?
[ His portal of weapons, she knows. His treasury. She would be at his mercy in there. ]
No. Bring them out.
no subject
[It's not even cutting as he says it, or in any way argumentative; rather, it's a simple statement. A line drawn in the sand. His eyes are perfectly neutral in how they glance back at her, but no matter how well-meaning his will, their redness will always prove unsettling.
Gilgamesh rises from the bed to stand apart from her, facing away.]
If I am to trust you with information, then you are you to trust me with intent. Your feelings, your prejudices, and your judgments are your own, but respect... respect is the currency in which we are dealing here. My archives contain literature numbering in the tens of thousands; am I to dump them all upon you?
[Gilgamesh shakes his head and holds his ground. He doesn't seem willing to concede the point.]
For who and what I am, I make no apologies. But as I told her, the truth can only be seen with one's own eyes. If you would wish for it, this is the only way.
no subject
He knows the name of her line. He knows the taste of her blood. Has she not shown respect? But it was different then: he was a husk, she could have snapped his neck. Now he is a sun again, and even if his countenance is calm she knows what lies beneath. He casts heat simply from existing, and she stands in it, is warmed by it, could be burned by it.
But she needs those books--she needs them and he knows it. She wishes herself more cunning than she is. She wonders what Pearl saw, his 'truth'.
Her choice was made before she even came here, wasn't it?
She holds his life, his story, in her arms. ]
Very well. Show me.
no subject
Gilgamesh gestures with his hand, and his armor materializes upon his form. A golden portal appears beside him, the gateway to another dimension. Another world. A lair of his own desire she might surrender herself to.
And in a rare moment of cordiality, Gilgamesh dips his head to her.]
So sworn upon the grace and glory of my crown, as I invite you to my home, may no dishonor be done to you within its walls.
[The corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly.]
Step through when you are ready.
no subject
Urukag Gilgamesh-top. [ --Gilgamesh of Uruk-- ] Duweros neb agtem mohin nagebekik. [ I enter thy abode as a mere foreigner.
If she will do this, she will do it correctly. She dips her head in return, brings one hand up to her forehead, palm perpendicular to the floor, like a half-prayer. A gesture of respect from a people more ancient even than he. ]
Neshingmokentem pageshenen.
[ Thou art thanked for thy hospitality.
She still hasn't let go of the book. It stay in her hands as she steps past him, back and shoulders pulled straight, into the Gate. The push of magic is strong, but she traverses it readily, not knowing what to expect on the other side. ]
no subject
First, there is light. There is an abundance of it, so much of it that Kida may never want for the sun ever again; it shines upon her, embraces her, and illuminates all around it in a heavenly sort of glow. This is the light born from the King. This is the territory of the truly divine.
And in this abundance of light, there is treasure, stacked high to a forever ceiling. Gold and gems, nested in veritable mountains. Swords and spears, gleaming on their racks, perfectly polished, impossibly well-cared for. Tapestries and paintings. Statues and monuments. All the human race ever accomplished, ever invented, ever dreamed of—it rests within this grand collection. One could sift through it forever and still find things to count, to covet. It is called the grandest of treasuries, and for good reason. It is peerless, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Endless onto eternity. A symbol of Gilgamesh's very soul.
Gilgamesh joins her a moment later, and for all the wealth that surrounds him he spares it not even a single glance, seen so many times before. He strides forward and expects Kida to follow, cape flowing elegantly behind as if he really were a brave knight and not a tyrant masquerading otherwise.
Shishi, napping nearby, soon stirs and prowls up to join them. Gilgamesh smiles and gives him a fond pat.]
Be good to our visitor, Shishi.
[The snowy lion rubs fondly at Kida's legs. Despite his size, he's clearly of no threat, even seems to expect attention. Someone's been spoiled.]
no subject
It's warm, warmer than the inn room. Kida blinks once, twice, then looks up, and up, and up--
There's so much. ]
I--all this...
[ Too much, maybe, at first. The gold, at least, is of no interest to her and blends easily into visual noise. For piles of treasure, Atlantis has its share; gold and trinkets hold no meaning to her. But the rest: the monuments, the paintings. Her mouth is dry.
If he's expecting her to stand there, mouth agape, she won't--the only thing preventing her from racing ahead of him outright is the respect she has declared him, and so she falls right into step next to him, neck craning to see it all. She runs her hand over the hard-stitched fabric of an ancient tapestry, admires the marble face of a statue.
Shishi is built so much like Ninat that she pats him almost absent-mindedly, plunging her fingers to the root of his mane to scratch. Under her other arm the book still lies tucked, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to divide her attention when she wants, she wants, she wants--
And up come bubbling the questions: what is this made of, who built that wall, who is that statue, what strange creature is in that tapestry? (A unicorn.)
Gilgamesh may yet regret this, as Kida is relentless. She's practically trembling with the effort of taking it all in, and yet all she wants is to know every bit of it. ]
no subject
He isn't surprised by her reaction, but nor does he laugh or mock her. He knew the tale of Atlantis well enough. He knew there to be many things she'd simply never seen before, would never get to see. He allows her to stare and to take it in without comment. He walks side-by-side with Shishi, master and mount, and he appears every bit the knight Pearl mistook him for. The handsome man that terrorized a nation.
For there were times he could be twisted and times he could be terrible, but there were also times that Gilgamesh was indeed the greatest hero to ever exist.]
You have questions.
[Gilgamesh interrupts only to keep her from... well, imploding. He does smile, though it is a little distant. A King's sort of approval. Faraway and untouchable.]
Speak. I will answer them.
[He invites conversation. He invites curiosity. After all, these were not just the treasures of Gilgamesh, but all his subjects. He was not so greedy as to discourage interest.]
no subject
She takes him up on his offer, and begins her barrage. Let him laugh if that's his reaction: everything is so new, so different, each thing evokes a bright surge of wonder. She doesn't shy away from demonstrating her enthusiasm; her questions are punctuated with wide sweeps of her arms, barely a pause for breath. It's not in Kida's nature to hide herself, hide her emotions, her nature. She is curious and she is appreciative, and whatever bad blood simmers between them, she can allow him this.
Long minutes pass before she quiets, having received the merits of arches upon Gothic architecture; the cathedral they walk past earns a solemn moment.
She turns her head, looks up at him, takes him in, the lines of his face and of his armour, the golden dangle of his earrings. His impassivity at the splendour of this trove confounds her. She exhales softly. ]
Does it not please you, Gilgamesh? Does it not bring you joy to have--[ She motions wide around them. ]--all of this at your fingertips?
[ She can't imagine it. Having this, and not marvelling at it. But she's no divine being, has never been suffused with celestial purpose. She's spent eight thousand years in a cave, and the world continued without her. All she wants from the rest of her life is a chance that her civilization might reach these heights of creativity again. ]
no subject
He does not mind the silence when it comes. And when she asks again at last, does it not please you, Gilgamesh shakes his head without hesitation. Those startling eyes flicker over to her and at once he who was tireless falls prey to exhaustion millenia old.]
To collect, to hoard, to savor, to covet—these are fleeting pleasures. I did not seek these treasures out of any sense of enjoyment. They were a means to entertain myself, yes, but what use does a rich man have for more gold, a smith for more swords? I am wealthy, indeed, but what do I truly own?
[Gilgamesh makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, his expression hard. Unflinching as stone.]
Ultimately, they are just things. And things are boring.
[Over time, even something precious could become something dull.]
no subject
All around, heaps of treasure, priceless artifacts, art to make the great masters weep. But no life. What is a king with no people? None to look to him?
She thinks of how she would have felt, were she the last survivor of the mehbelmok, lording over a rotting domain, with none to share it with. Madness would have courted her. ]
You own this.
[ In her arms, the book. She leans by him, opens it to the image of himself and Enkidu, loaded with their weapons and off to fight Humbaba. Her finger traces the words with a reverence, before she closes it again. ]
Did you find the freedom you sought, last we spoke?
[ She's alluding to Pearl, yes, but there isn't any venom in her tone. It's an honest question: did it work?
She's made her peace with her friend's decision, mostly, though it remains difficult for her not to want to micro-manage what's beyond her control. Gilgamesh, of all people, might understand. ]
no subject
[It's as blunt as he's been with anyone here, but not in a cruel sort of way. Again, it's Gilgamesh seeking to distance himself from feeling and from pain. He glances at the pages only briefly before averting his gaze. She means well, he respects it and appreciates it, yet even if he isn't ashamed of his story he'll never forgive himself for its conclusion. For the tears shed on that terrible day, the day his brother left him to rot.
He finds the second question much harder to answer than the first. His fist clenches at his side. He tenses.]
And I found only regret, for being seen as a mistake. But it matters not. We are together now. We are bound. It is a matter of life and death, and I cannot escape it, even if I so desired. Do you understand now? What I have shown you, what I have told you. What this all means, in the end.
[It clenches, and then it lets go. Gilgamesh has clearly made his peace with this, as well, whatever that even entails.]
I am the one that bears the burdens of all the world. That is the path I choose to walk. That is the path I must walk, along this endless road.
no subject
You must miss him so.
[ No guess as to who 'he' is; her fingers skim the cover of the book, her eyes downcast, contemplative. ]
Did you know, before I came here, before I met Pearl, I had never truly--had a friend? Someone to share with as an equal.
[ This he would understand intimately: the place of the royal above the people, loving and leading them, keeping them in line--more like a parent to a child than anything else. But here, she was surrounded by people who weren't her subjects, who saw her not as their princess but simply as...Kida. She had her father to turn to, but she wouldn't necessarily call him a friend. A guide, a mentor. He'd been old already when she'd been born.
And Gilgamesh--Gilgamesh had no one, she supposed. Son of no mother, father of no heir. ]
To lose her would shake me.
[ It's as close to an admission as he'll get: hurt her and I won't forgive you. There is no threat she can level against him, no assumption she can make about his investment in her or in Pearl. 'We are bound', he says, but she has no magical sense with which to grasp the depth of that. But the respect she gives him, the trailing filaments of trust budding between them, those would be irretrievably gone.
Beyond that, the meaning is also: you must be unspeakably lonely. ]
no subject
To lose her would shame me.
[He speaks not of his brother but of his Master. It is a subtle way of confirming to Kida that, at least for now, her fears that Gilgamesh would bring her harm are unfounded. He may even sound slightly desperate in saying so, like a child clinging to its mother. Like he has nothing else to hold onto.
That may very well be the case.]
...but it seems I've gotten us off task. The library lies this way.
[Gilgamesh quickens his pace, hoping to shed the discomfort of the current conversation behind it. Kida had struck true with her words and he is loathe to admit it.]
no subject
I shall follow.
[ A beat and she's by his side again, letting the silence overtake them. His glum mood doesn't suit him at all, but while he simmers in it she takes in the last of the treasure piles they wander through, cathedrals seguing into clocktowers and many-storied pagodas.
She still holds the book, and it's not that she slides it open. This, she thinks, is what reading must be like, the truth of it. The illustrations are dim in comparison to the words themselves, which leap from the page to form pictures in her mind. Great forests, valleys, long winding roads. Things she's never seen. She breezes through page after page in the time it would normally take for her to read a full sentence, the familiar words leaping to her mind.
Only wariness keeps her from reading it front-to-back. With every page she raises her eyes, watches the 'rooms' around them change. ]
no subject
The Gate descends into a downright labyrinthine maze at certain points, winding around and almost seeming to circle on itself. For a time it even feels as though they're getting nowhere, that they're simply retracing steps. The deeper they go, the more disorganized it grows. The further they get, the clearer it becomes that not even Gilgamesh can claim to know each and every piece of his own treasury. It's just so much, and it never ends.
It may even be too much, as he hinted at earlier. When did something stop being beautiful and start veering into excess? Gilgamesh makes no comments on this matter other than to occasionally mutter to himself, so that's where I put it, I thought I lost that, this could use a bit of dusting...
Kida may note the mumbling's slightly distracted. She may have hit him harder than he chose to let on, prodding at that loneliness.]
Ah, here we are.
[He pauses before a heavy set of doors, then throws them open with a push. Whereas the rest of the Gate filled out like a landscape, the library curls up like a tower. Shelf after shelf of literature line walls which once again appear illusionary at best. The entire area smells of ink and dusty pages, with knowledge sufficient to keep even the most dedicated scholar occupied for centuries. This is what Gilgamesh meant when he insisted she come along—her request was simply not possible to fulfill otherwise.
A fireplace crackles beside a desk and a sitting area, almost as if this place were intended for visitors despite the fickle nature of its host.]
Now... Atlantis... that would be in the upper reaches. Mostly theoretical material, but I believe it will sate you nonetheless.
[Gilgamesh glances over at her a bit concernedly... hopefully she wouldn't outright overheat with all his stimuli.]
no subject
There is too much. Too much to see, an assault of foreign scents and sounds and...what had begun as fascination devolves into an almost nauseous oversaturation. And when he pushes open the door of the library--she needs to stop.
She needs to not look. Her head is spinning from it all, the dizzying height and the oppressive smell of paper and ink. Kida's eyes water and she isn't certain if it is simply from the twisting discomfort in her chest or from the emotion welling up within her.
Knowledge all around her, vast as time itself. And all her people, living without it for centuries. The people are content, her father had told her, once. She knows now with greater certainty than ever before: they are not content. They are ignorant, and it is not the same.
Her throat is dry. She can't look at Gilgamesh directly, not wanting him to see the shock of pain in her expression. ]
You will have to go get them.
[ Her voice is small. She isn't saying it out of an admission of weakness but of a purely practical nature: she would be lost in a moment in a maze like that. She's looking up, up into the shelves, dazed by it all. She could climb, but she would surely knock these shelves over, or split them, burying them both under piles of paper. ]
no subject
It was enough to drive him to the ultimate reaches of despair in the absence of the greatest treasure of all.
Gilgamesh glances over at Kida and does not appear particularly sympathetic. He can see that she's bordering on nausea but this was what he meant when he offered the truth, another shade of it that he'd shown to Pearl. Now she knows, though perhaps it is too much to ask for that she might understand. Few ever did outside the boy with the bright eyes and the messy hair.]
Mind yourself in the meantime.
[He offers this as a gentle warning as he lifts himself off the ground, floating rather than climbing, flying up, up, up along the shelves until he disappears somewhere in that endless ceiling. Shishi nudges at Kida's hand in concern and looks at her with soulful eyes, as if to ask what's wrong when his master would never bother.
Her voice is small and she is small in this infinite collection of the King. The world itself was so very small next to the grandeur of Gilgamesh.]
no subject
It's quiet here, Gilgamesh disappeared so far above. A part of her fears he might leave her here; a part of her wouldn't entirely mind. She leans against Shishi, her heart calming, her nausea receding. She demands serenity from herself; if she allows herself to be bowed by knowledge in excess, how can she claim to bring any back to her people? She wants to remember this, everything she can: the sound of paper pages turning, the soft hum of Shishi's breath, the play of dust among the shafts of light. Eventually the weapons-book is set down, wedged back into the crevasse she pulled it from, one creaking leather spine among so many. If this is the centre of the king's knowledge, it is a beautiful place--perhaps she will build one like it in Atlantis, one day, a tall spire. It will not be as grand, because it couldn't be, but it might serve as a reminder not to let illumination slip away.
She wonders on what she has seen. Gilgamesh has all of this, and yet he has nothing, truly. Kida aches for her people, to show them this, to make them see--see how blind they have become.
By the time Gilgamesh has returned she is in much better spirits, her eyes clear, and she shuts the book of weapons to watch him. Her gaze doesn't ready excitement so much as purpose--this is what she came for, and now that the moment is near she finds herself wonder what answers he will bring her. ]
no subject
His eyes scan over the vastness of it all. He does not feel overwhelmed, as Kida does, as nothing and no one could ever swallow his consciousness up, but he does feel an overpowering sense of emptiness. Having so much of so little. It was, in truth, why he rarely paid the inner dwellings of his Gate a visit. It always sunk in just how isolating riches could be, how it was possible to be very wealthy and very poor all at the same time.
He does not feel lonely. He refuses the notion. He refuses the idea. The King's path was solitary, so he'd say now, so he'd say again and again to any detractors. This was delivering on a promise, not genuinely desiring company. He looks down to the tiny spot upon which she stands and thinks of how easy it would be to defy his word and crush her, just because he could, just to show her see, you never really had any hope at all.
But he also thinks of Pearl and thus immediately discards the prospect, searching the shelves instead.
It takes a few minutes. It surprises him and it doesn't that many of the titles prove unfamiliar. Atlantis was a forbidden whisper even to the likes of the King of Heroes, buried in myth and legend so mysterious he could not claim to know of it. So he glances through the titles and eventually decides on a book filled with more pictures than words. An artist's rendering of Atlantis, of its caves, its structures, its culture and its people. It would stoke her imagination and satisfy her longing. It was one thing to read about your city, but to see it... Gilgamesh understands very well the difference.
As elegantly as he rose, he eases back down to her, lands perfectly on her heels and presents the book—a hardcover piece that, in comparison to much of his collection, appears nearly pristine.]
This may suit you. The author claimed to have seen Atlantis for himself, however...
[The corners of his mouth crinkle somewhat wryly.]
Whether or not that is even a possibility, I leave for you to decide.
[He holds out his other hand expectantly.]
My Epic is a story best sung together, not read alone. Another time for that.
no subject
Gilgamesh warms the space he's in with his presence alone. The book, when she takes it from him, is cold in contrast, and meticulously clean. The trembling of her fingers betrays her. ]
It will suit.
[ She won't stare a gift horse in the mouth. He extends his arm and, with reverence, she gives him back the Epic she'd held so closely all this time. She feels strangely bereft without it. Her head cants, considering him and his words. ]
Are you offering, Gilgamesh? To sing it with me.
[ She could, but ability isn't truly the question. Now in her hands lies only the book on Atlantis, stark and thin in contrast to the organic, living Epic. It sounds strangely like an invitation to return here--would she take it? Does it get easier, navigating this endlessness? There are more books here than she could read even over her entire Atlantean lifespan, but her enthusiasm doesn't quail. She has never held anything but time.
And--before her is a King, a tyrant, a man forged in ancient fire, a exceptional being. She feels certainly more positively for him now than she did prior, her worries for her friend assuaged. She wants to know the Gate, and to do so she must know the Gate's master. That, too, will take time. ]
no subject
Slipping his Epic away in yet another pocket of indeterminable space, Gilgamesh beckons to Shishi and folds his arms. He truly looks a figure of majesty, the King alongside his faithful pet, wearing that ever present invisible crown. He considers her for a time and then simply says:]
When you are ready.
[Which could mean many things, or nothing at all. The King's whims came and fled with the wind. But there's a hint of a smile in his tone even if it doesn't show in his face, a mild lilt in his voice that suggests that as she has softened towards him, he has come to see her in a slightly fonder light.]
When you are finished with one book, you may ask for another. When you have finished a few more, when I know you will not lose yourself within the depths of my Gate and when we have come to a better understanding, I may allow you to spend time here as you please.
[Gilgamesh has not lost his sense of ego, however. He lifts his head, brows arching.]
I grant this with the expectation of mutual respect. Do not mistake this for an act of compassion; I am simply sharing knowledge with a fellow ruler.
no subject
It would be easy to feel insignificant next to him, but Kida doesn't feel anything like it. There's a familiar gravitas to Gilgamesh that she recognizes, whose weight she knows. His tone is condescending, but she bears it: a king is not so flexible a beast, and certainly not one of his caliber. She accepts his conditions as wisdom. He says he affords her no compassion; she declines to reveal the lie. That, too, is a form of respect. ]
Wil Urukag Makitenmok Gilgamesh-top...
[ Great King, she calls him. Great King Gilgamesh, of the City of Uruk. When she addresses him next, it's in Atlantean. Her chin lifts, mirroring him, and she gazes at him, blue on red, silver to gold. ]
Thou hast done me great honour. Thy generosity bolsters Atlantis.
[ And then she bows: one knee to the ground, the book placed reverentially on the floor before her, both hands coming up with palms pressed together flat, over her bowed head. A ritual gesture, older than him by millennia, intended for a lord in his demesne. Making this not just an exchange between individuals but an exchange between rulers, and the knowledge that their tacit understanding is mutual. ]
no subject
At least until the moment he does, on a whim, drawing himself down, eyes staring intensely into hers as if to hold them hostage. The words that follow sound more like a prayer than anything, like an earnest wish. Like the real cost at play here, what he truly seeks to gain from this benevolent exchange.]
I will show you both. You will see. I am not a mistake. I am not cause for regret. Indeed, am I not great? Who else could say they are like Gilgamesh?
[It's a little like a child trying to convince a parent they were all grown up, that they could handle more responsibility. Maybe he even looks the slightest bit pouty for it. He's got something to prove, not just to Pearl or to Kida but to himself. To a better chance at a better Master, and maybe even a taste of freedom. Of contentment.
Gilgamesh would never allow himself to remain prostrate for long, so he rises and once again shakes past the moment of weakness. Kida may start to recognize them.]
Well, then. That's that. We should return.
no subject
His voice is strained. She isn't sure how to interpret what he tells her, only that it fills her with a kind of dim hope. Perhaps he will do as he says. He has her respect, but she'll believe him when she sees the fruits of his labour. He has already taken the first step.
He rises, and she rises with him, following the trail of his warmth. She says nothing; no words of encouragement, no sympathy. He has no need of it.
The walk back seems less involved than the walk to, perhaps because she recognizes some of the landmarks they passed on the way. By the time they have emerged from the portal into his room back at the inn, she feels a chill take over her, despite her renewed purpose. It was no much warmer in the Gate.
She turns to face him, golden and resplendent. What is there to say? He has received her formal thanks. Instead she offers him what heretofore she had kept from him: a smile. ]
I look forward to our next meeting, Gilgamesh.
[ Neither Sumerian nor Atlantean, not spoken as the Queen of Atlantis but merely as herself, as Kidagakash, speaking the truth. She takes her leave shortly thereafter, plucking her coat from the rack and disappearing into Chantes' eternal night. ]