epidemiology | [closed] you're not alone.

[ Koltira's on his bed, whiskey in one hand, book in the other. He's not typically one much for reading, but it's something to do, so he'd just grabbed a pile of fiction from the library and walked off with it. The pile might include certain Azerothian romance novels. He might be snapping it shut as Gilgamesh and the cub walk in.

He takes a swig from his bottle, his expression confused; skeptical. That's a lynx--not the same as he remembers from Silvermoon, but a lynx, nevertheless. Alive and breathing and padding towards him. ]

Why?

[ He stands up, towering over them both, his head cocked to one side. Would this creature even tolerate him? Should it? Why would Gilgamesh bring it to him? The questions are endless. But at least it's more interesting than the book.

He kneels down as the little creature approaches him. She seems anxious, but somehow determined. Koltira, completely off his guard (and a little drunk), holds out his hand. The cub pushes against his palm, as though she had been seeking out this very moment, this very hand, ever since her arrival.

Koltira's dumbfounded. ]

Edited (PUTS IN SOME MORE) 2016-06-16 21:30 (UTC)

Because I've no more room for any more meddling balls of fur in my menagerie. That is why.

[Both true and false. Gilgamesh could care for as many animals as he pleased, with the infinite resources of the Gate, but as of now he simply didn't have the energy. The little lynx had been deposited on his doorstep along with the rest of the gifts, but rather than reluctantly adopted, he decided someone else could use its company more.

Someone else who was so clearly lonely, and in need of companionship, but feared by all he tried to touch. He had hoped this cub would take a liking to him, and sure enough, she's already bonding. Gilgamesh has half a mind to leave them be, but he figures a quick visit won't hurt, even if it's still a struggle to keep smiling for another's sake.]

And because I sensed this creature might form a special bond with you. And of course, I was right.

[...actually, looking at him now, Koltira didn't seem too well himself. Gilgamesh arches a brow.]

Are you inebriated? My... what a way to welcome me.

[ The cub, having established their relationship, now seems a bit unsure of herself. She flops down on the floor, rolling over, facing away from Koltira. His hand was cold, and though she was not shocked by this, Koltira's death aura was something else up close. Still, she is not far from him, and she does not run. Only curls up shyly beside his foot, her big paws over her face. Koltira is as yet unsure of what to make of her, or of Gil's response. ]

Not as much as I would like to be.

[ Koltira glances from the lynx to Gilgamesh. Takes a long, deliberate drink from the bottle in his other hand. ]

I was not expecting you, in any case.

[ The arrogance, the seeming indifference to Koltira--I brought you this so it would no longer trouble me--that's in place. But while Koltira is not the most insightful elf of Azeroth, he's no fool, either. There's something subdued about Gilgamesh, something muted.

Another drink. ]

Are you offended?

[Gilgamesh drops anything like arrogance at once, shakes his head and looks earnestly regretful for once to come across so callously. Also uncharacteristic of Gilgamesh, who never saw fit to apologize for whatever he did, no matter how crude. He steps forward and moves to join Koltira on the bed, though he does seat himself far enough apart from him, facing away and watching the thumping tail out of the corner of his vision.]

I can see that you are most unhappy. It was not my intent to worsen the mood.

[Gilgamesh glances to the bottle, thinks to offer him a better beverage, but then decides against it. It would not help, not as the elf wants it to.]

Speak to me, if you so desire; what ails? What crushes so brave a knight, and drives him to drink?

[Because Gilgamesh knows: this was not drinking for pleasure. Only drinking to forget, or rather, to suppress.]

[ 'What do you care?' is his initial response, though he doesn't say it. Gilgamesh had stood with him against the goddesses; they had fought together. As a warrior, these were things Koltira is not bound to forget. But as a man, he is not so foolish as to believe Gil really thinks of him as anything more than an interesting monster. ]

You did not.

[ He touches the tip of the lynx cub's tail, and she responds by curling said tail around his wrist. He softens. A little charmed. ]

She is lovely, and I thank you for her.

[ He's still holding his drink, though, and he stares into it for a moment before he goes on. ]

The events of Nalawi do not sit well with me. I drink so as to dull my senses. My reactions.

[ So he won't reach out and snap the neck of half the recruits. ]

You are still upset with the others.

[Which was, in all fairness, a perfectly reasonable reaction. Perhaps if Gilgamesh hadn't been distracted by more pressing factors, he would've held onto his own anger for much longer. But tragedy had ruled the day for him, so any grudges were left forgotten about.

And it isn't wrong for Koltira to assume the worst of him, either. His relationship with the elf certainly had originated from a twisted sort of interest, at least at first. But now, seeing him delight in Shishi's presence, in a walking memory of the animals he once knew and loved...

Gilgamesh had judged for himself there was more to Koltira than just a ravenous murderer. And a judgment from Gilgamesh was everlasting and final.]

They do not understand, as we do. They have not suffered. They have not been given cause to view the world through jaded eyes. If anything...

[Gilgamesh turns, a little, to Koltira. Looks to him with eyes as tired as his own.]

Pity them. For it is we who know the truth, and they who would refuse it, in their ignorance, in their pursuit of a false justice.

[ He doesn't answer right away. He looks to the cub, now half asleep, its breathing soft and even. His long, elegant fingers ghost over the soft fur of the cub's belly, and she shudders, but does not wake. ]

I learned a great deal from our time in Nalawi.

[ He thinks of how weak he was, how enervated. The field of poppies; the blood from his original death wound, blossoming through his tunic. He thinks of Shishi, warm under his palm. He thinks of Kida, and Ashraf, of so many others.

He stares into his bottle, now mostly empty. ]

I bore too much disrespect. Then, and before then. No more will I suffer it. No more will I remain subdued.

[ His grip on the bottle tightens. ]

As I lay dying in that field of red flowers, I thought at first that it was good, and right. That I deserved such a death.

[ He takes a last drink. ]

But I know now: I do not want to die, however much I might deserve it. I know that one or two here speak true when they claim to care for me. And I know that I will never suffer such disrespect from the others again. Not without consequence.

[ He looks back at Gilgamesh then, his eyes hard, searching. He does not miss the weariness in the other man's face; his voice. Abruptly, and with no segue, he goes on. ]

You are not well.

You deserve justice, Koltira.

[And that is all Gilgamesh has to say about that.

Because what else can he say, really? Gilgamesh has known anger like Koltira's many, many times before in the past, and it does not fade from reassuring words alone. It burns and burns and burns, until it settles to a fine simmer, but even then it's not truly forgotten. Gilgamesh respects Koltira not to tell him such things as you will feel better soon, or you judge them too harshly, as he may feel better never and in his eyes they may not have been judged harshly enough. So be it; he has a right to demand this much for himself, and Gilgamesh would be the last to argue against it.

Instead, he stares down at his hands more than a bit awkwardly, and shakes his head.]

I am not. I have a lost a great part of myself, recently, and it weighs heavy upon me.

[...although, he must ask after one thing. Gilgamesh's gaze upon Koltira doesn't seek apology, but it is slightly milder than usual.]

Do I cause you grief, like the others? Would it be better if I might depart?

[ And I will have it, he thinks fiercely, his expression reflecting this for just a moment. He might have demurred even a week ago, even in the fresh, bloody aftermath of the last battle. Might have allowed the solemnity of the moment, the mourning, to soften his stance. But distance from Nalawi has only hardened his position. He let remorse guide his actions here for the last few months, let guilt for his past wrongs make him subservient; soft. The guilt remains.

The subservience will not.

He will be blunt. ]

You have, in the past.

[ He glances at the cub. She's now in deep sleep, wheezing softly, her tail twitching as she dreams of prey. ]

Less so now.

[ He reaches to set his bottle down on the bureau beside the bed. ]

Tell me what you have lost.

Everything.

[It feels like as much, anyway. But Gilgamesh can recognize he won't quite understand with just a single word, so he elaborates.]

My Master, the one who gives me life and energy and holds my reins, has vanished. As has my lover, my friend, the one I trusted above all others. Both gone in the space of a breath, and I was powerless to stop them.

[But even if he's upset, there's no tears to shed over it. Gilgamesh doesn't fall into depression, at least not before Koltira, and rather focuses on him. It's true that he saw him as monster from the very beginning, but knowing that some shred of life still existed within him, that he still had memories, that he could still smile...

Well, maybe this was why his loss hurt as deeply as it did. He'd grown too soft in his stay here, and pain was the result. Pain he deserved.]

I know... I have seen... that you can feel things. That you can remember things. Did you ever have a person such as that? A brother you cherished?

[ Koltira has learned enough of Masters and Servants to understand that being without one is a terrible blow to Gilgamesh. He understands, too, that is a tight-knit relationship (though he cannot fathom the particulars beyond that). To lose such a person--and to lose another one, one Gilgamesh actually called friend--Koltira doesn't have much empathy, but he doesn't need it to grasp the significance of what he's been told. ]

Ah. No wonder you are so unlike yourself.

[ He shrugs. ]

Yes. I may have mentioned him before.

[ He can't remember. As per usual, images of the past are lacy and incomplete, turning slowly and surely to haze in the back of his mind. He thinks on it, trying to grasp some recollection of what he might've said before, but he can't do it. Perhaps he never said anything. ]

I sacrificed my freedom for him. But I doubt I will ever see him again.

[Gilgamesh just shakes his head; for once, he can't remember either. And for a being of ordinarily impeccable memory, that was quite a red flag indeed.]

We may never be whole again. I have accepted that; I have embraced that.

[Not that it lessened the pain of having something precious given to you then take away. Gilgamesh was reluctant for any form of contact right now, but even so, he reaches for Koltira's wrist and grasps in a faint reassuring gesture. Whereas Koltira is cold, Gilgamesh is always warm. Even when he doesn't particularly feel like it.]

I wish I had better words for you. But I can tell you this: I will stand by you. When the others deride you, when the others doubt you, as they will inevitably do once more, it will be my hand on your shoulder. It will be my voice in your ear, telling you, stand strong. For you are so strong already.

[That isn't idle flattery, either. It was no easy feat, matching Gilgamesh in combat. At first, his frenzied attacks had made him mad, and he'd likened him to a beast, but then he realized: this is a worthy opponent, who faces me now. And any Servant could respect that. So Gilgamesh respects Koltira, in his own way.

He cares for him, in his own way, not as a friend, but as...]

You are my comrade. And I shall fight with you, from this day forward.

[ These are kind words; perhaps the kindest he's ever heard from Gilgamesh. His mind is only slightly muddled with drink; such things take a great deal of effort on his part, after all. As such, he listens carefully. As Gil talks, Koltira considers lynx; possible names run like a marquee through the back of his head (something positive, something to suggest hope).

When Gil takes his wrist, he doesn't tug away. The other man's fingers are comforting; soft. Not sensations that Koltira dislikes; that he has ever disliked. He relaxes in this grip. ]

... thank you, Gilgamesh. Your words mean much.

[ Particularly given the long road it took to get here. ]

I will do the same for you.

[ He can sense that there is a deep wrongness in Gilgamesh right now, though he doesn't know how to correct it. Perhaps he can't. But he can offer a true, simple response. ]

Do not hesitate to call on me, should you require it.

[closed] you're not alone.

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