[closed] you're not alone.

[babbylon]

CHARACTERS: Gilgamesh and various characters
DATE: throughout the team's stay in Oska
WARNINGS: None anticipated, besides some angst; will update if necessary.
SUMMARY: Gilgamesh has gifts to give! And though he's not really in the mood to do it, give them he shall.

[This is a catch-all for Gilgamesh's purchased gift-giving extravaganza! Individualized starters are below.]

Comments

[heelies]

[He now understands a sliver of what Automedon must have felt as he watched him pour the hearth's ashes over his golden hair, knelt before the ruined body of Patroclus: for to see one so glorious so fallen of spirit, one who usually stands so sturdy so shaken, one cannot help but share in the sorrow. The greatest of heroes are not spared the heaviness of loss, nor are the gods. His hand is again upon Gilgamesh's shoulder, simply because he cannot be left alone now.]

I knew that no matter the noble cause these men proclaimed, they could be no more than the lowest of cowards who honor not the warriors who take the brunt of their battles upon their own shoulders. Was it not you who lent the might of your thousand spears and swords to the fight against wave-ruling Ryba? Then was this your reward for such glorious bravery? For your dear companions to be torn from you and brought elsewhere, as if they are no more than slaves? Indeed does my heart churn to hear of this vile injustice.

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh could break down before him. He could burst into tears and demand comfort, though he had no tears left to shed. He could lie with Achilles, all day and all night, lounge in the security of strong arms and pretend the world doesn't exist. He could bury himself in another man's body and all the primitive indulgence it provides. Achilles could and would give him all of those things, if he asked. He knows this to be true.

Indeed, Gilgamesh could have whatever he wanted of this man, but it is in turbulent times like these he exhibits something rare—selflessness.]

Achilles, are you unable to read?

[It isn't phrased like an accusation. He genuinely wants to know, casting a glance at that book he's left behind.]

Perhaps that might be the real shame, that no one saw fit to teach you letters. Would you care to learn?

[heelies]

[Indeed he would provide such solace, as Gilgamesh has so given him before. Yet the king of Uruk asks not for the salve of pleasure, and nor had Achilles had any appetite when his heart was carved hollow by the loss of his own companion. Thus he will let him steer the evening in whichever direction he pleases.]

I fear that I cannot. In my dear native land we have bards to tell stories and messengers to deliver news. The only practical purpose for letters is in ledger keeping, that a man might keep record of his herds and his gold. I however spent much of my adolescence away from my father's house, first atop Mount Pelion and then upon Scyros in the house of Lycomedes, and so I never learned. I suppose that now it matters not, as I have been denied my homecoming and never shall take Peleus' place of eminence in his house. But if you so wish to teach me, then gladly I should learn.

[babbylon]

[There's a small couch in the corner of the room, so Gilgamesh grabs the book and takes him there rather than the bed—doesn't like the implications of it, and it's messy besides—and sits down. It feels almost childlike, the idea of reading to someone. Like he's with his brother again, like he's home again. He smiles for it, but it's a little sad, a little bitterly nostalgic as he opens the colorful pages.]

I loved to tell stories, too. It was expected of even a King, in my culture, that our legacies were carried through this way.

[And of course, the Epic itself was conveyed first through spoken word before it was written. So to mention bards has him in a mood of pleasant recollection.]

Though admittedly I do not find much opportunity. Servants are creatures of war, not wordsmiths. Like you, I would sooner pick up a spear than sing.

[heelies]

[Achilles follows him to the couch and there he settles into the soft seat beside him - close enough that he might offer reassurance, yet not so close that his presence might be cloying. It was Patroclus, not he, who could so naturally discern the needs of others, but Achilles tries his best to anticipate what might bring some small scrap of comfort to Gilgamesh.]

Right you are to say that the spear is my true calling, for which skill I have won renown, but so too am I skilled with the lyre. I am no stranger to weaving together song and poetry, although I seek no wide audience as would a bard, nor as you have so reached, Gilgamesh, shepherd of the people.

[Again he sips from his wine and in his mind he turns over the word with which Gilgamesh had so inexplicably painted himself: a king made a servant. He knows not if he refers to his bitter servitude within the ranks of ALASTAIR, or another matter entirely as he has before hinted, but now is not the time for such questions. Instead he shall ask another.]

What is the tale that you shall tell me tonight?

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh, reticent but not entirely lacking the qualities of a good host, nudges himself closer still to Achilles. There was no threat from this man, never had been, never would be. He would not press where it was not his place. He sought only to comfort, and Gilgamesh in turn could find solace in that. So he's allowed nearer than the others, as Gilgamesh skims through the book.]

Mm... let us see... given your heritage, something Greek would do.

[Gilgamesh finds a certain spot towards the end of the book—which he had already in entirety himself—depicting a mighty bearded figure wielding thunderbolts, one Achilles would surely recognize. He points to the title, written in Greek characters, with his finger, and reads:]

Zeus.

[And so Zeus was the very first phrase Achilles would learn. More text follows, but Gilgamesh turns to Achilles before trudging ahead.]

What kind of story would you like to hear? Zeus was quite the illustrious god; there are a great many tales about him.

[heelies]

[He peers down at the page and the primordial soup of characters therein, and with his eyes he follows the guidance of Gilgamesh's finger. Zeus - it is indeed a fitting word to grasp first, firstborn of the gods, the almighty king of the divine. His own great grandfather, the fruits of whose blessing he has received time and time again. Achilles nods his assent.]

Very well - indeed will I delight in hearing of how Zeus who bears the aegis overthrew the power of his father Chronus and sealed him forevermore in the black pits of Tartarus, or of the many lovers he has pursued with his passions so ripe. Tales of awesome might and tales of ardent love are both very much to my liking, and so you should find it easy to locate such a one that will be pleasing to hear.

[babbylon]

You are quite the lover, Achilles, so I shall tell you tales of how Zeus loved in turn.

[A compliment Gilgamesh offers without so much as a blush or a stammer; they were similar in many ways, one of which being that neither of them saw any shame in lovemaking or descriptions thereof. Gilgamesh turns the page, this one depicting Zeus entangled with a giant snake, and begins his narration.]

Zeus' sexual prowess was well-known, so much so that it was prophecied even before his birth. His mother, Rhea, forbade Zeus to marry, hoping this would negate the issue. Instead, it infuriated Zeus, and he threatened to violate her. Rhea transformed into a great serpent to deter him, but...

[Gilgamesh taps the picture with a chuckle.]

As you can see, that did not go over too well, and he had his way.

[heelies]

[The compliment he takes graciously, no differently than he would a compliment granted to his prowess in war: his countenance warms with pride, and he nods as if to both accept Gilgamesh's words and turn them back on him.

Quickly he is drawn into the story which the king of Uruk weaves. It is rather a rare one from the vault of tales which proclaim the triumphs and tribulations of the gods, one glinting with scandal and the promise of shock, for such acts would fast bring judgment upon the head of a mortal - but the gods are impervious. And so Achilles' eyes light up as he listens. While Gilgamesh's words pour over him, from the page he plucks out the same shapes of the letters which form Zeus' name.

When Gilgamesh pauses, he chimes in.]

I should tell you of how it was that my father Peleus conquered my mother Thetis, the silver-footed goddess, despite all her devious tricks which he devised in resistance to him.