epidemiology | PRISON CATCH-ALL

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PRISON CATCH-ALL

YOU DONE FUCKED UP NOW.

This is a catch-all for characters who are awaiting execution in Odette's prison and anyone who'd like to visit them. They're all stuck together in Ye Olde Gaol Celle; hopefully you aren't squeamish about sharing a latrine! ...or anything else for that matter. Ew.

It's going to be a long two weeks.

Reminders:
➜ Magic and powers are blocked.
➜ Some Order members are tossed in, too, but (so far) they can't be interacted with.
➜ Visitors are allowed, but interaction will be heavily monitored.
➜ Characters will be fugitives after their escape.

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[They'd dragged him in kicking and screaming, beat him unconscious, and that's when the fun really began.

Servants weren't just magical. They were magic itself, thus to deprive them of that connection was akin to depriving a man of air; so Gilgamesh awakens to choking and retching and reaching for something that's no longer there. He fights and he bites and he gets pounded on again for his efforts and he stops after that. He's too proud to keep going—or rather he's too weak to, so he claims a corner for himself and falls quiet.

Those who know Gilgamesh will therefore know his behavior as unusual. He says nothing. He moves only to snatch up his food and shove it in his mouth and then returns to staring out at nothingness. Every day, he gets worse. Every day, the rings under his eyes darken and he draws his legs a bit tighter to his chest and he tries not to think of death, even as it gnaws at him.

I will not die here, he vows; this will not be the end.

By the end of their imprisonment, Gilgamesh has become unresponsive. He will answer if hailed, but it's largely like speaking to the walls that surround them, unfulfilling and dreary and a stark reminder of their increasingly imperiled situation. Gilgamesh lives, but only just barely, only just enough to make it through one more night.]

_{[ The smell of gaols and the feeling of being cold— isolated— with only freezing air to soothe the burns from previous punishment.. it's all been there done that for Gintoki. He contained his demeanor impressively well, given the familiar kind of setting: a lonely place to face before an execution. It was cruel, wasn't it? It was only by a miracle he was pardoned back home— it was only by a miracle he was alive today and had made promises to the precious people in his life.

Flecks of dirt and blood from who knows what decorated his face— his silvery hair looking more like something empty and ash. Gintoki didn't give in so easily without a fight either, much like when he was imprisoned here before. It's different, though. The last time he was here, he saw Gilgamesh here, but he was on the other side.

As unfamiliar he is with Gilgamesh's being (other than the fact he evidently doesn't poop? what the heck, man) and what kind of powers he does harness in great detail.. he knows he is strong enough to not be here. It would be the perfect opportunity for Gintoki to scoff and jeer at him, but he doesn't. His expression is dull and vacant as ever. Did he feel a sense of hopelessness too? Highly likely.

What the hell happened? Gold is supposed to glitter, but he doesn't see that in this man he had met, bickered with, reconciled with and all around felt indifferent with. It didn't really matter at a time like this. He can tell this is the picturesque visual of a king who has dropped his crown and is trying to put it back up or one that has thrown in the towel all together. Gintoki knew well enough that the latter probably wasn't the situation even if he didn't know Gilgamesh as well.

Gin takes a seat right next to him on the icy floor. He reaches into his yukata and pulls out the issue of JUMP he was given last time he was here. Doesn't that look familiar? ]}

Don't look so pitiful like that. If I'm apparently supposed to answer and belong to some King, don't embarrass me, oi.
_{[ Alright. Gintoki is a bit harsh with his words, as typical, but this is his some weird way of beginning encouragement. Somehow. ]}

1. grain and taxes

[ The guards let her have a book. Two, in fact: the first is Millet Cultivation in Chantes and Its Neighbours and the second is Tax Reform in Early Chantean History; it was presumably what they had on-hand, though both tomes are about as dry as you'd imagine. Still, they're better than nothing. Kida hates feeling trapped more than just about anything else, and keeping her mind saddled to a task helps her remain focused, like she's actually accomplishing something, even if it's self-improvement. She tries not to think that it might be for nothing.

When the guards are away, she pulls out a lens a little smaller than her palm, running it over the words: it feeds her the meaning. Considering the length of time it takes her to flip over the page, and the expression of pure concentration on her face, it's clear that 'her best' isn't quite cutting it against these books.

Without the guards close, she's left dependant on her fellows, so it's with some trepidation that she shifts closer to her nearby cellmate, leaning the book towards them. Depending on who it is, she isn't sure if she's about to get mocked. ]

Do you know what this says?

[ Your pick: 'the benefits of soil moisture in millet cultivation' VS 'import-export taxation laws' VS 'other'. ]

2. gnawing

[ They get food, certainly, just not enough. Kida deals poorly with hunger, not because she's never experienced it but rather because she has. It makes her think of home, and nothing makes her more stir-crazy in this place than thinking of Atlantis, of her people. Her people who scavenge each day in the water and the caves, making meals out of what they find. Life continues, but with each passing year hunger becomes a more constant friend. A third of her portions get handed out; she figures she can manage.

But hunger makes for poor sleep and a worse mood, which is how Kida winds up at the front of the jail cell, hands fisted around the bars, teeth bared as she guns down a guard with her gaze. ]

We need more food!

Be glad for what you have! Or do you want even less?

[ Someone had probably better intervene before their rations get cut. ]

3. a song a sixpence

[ There's no 'night' if there's no 'day', though after some time they all begin to follow the same basic pattern of sleep and wakefulness. Kida is half-tucked against another ALASTAIR teammate, their body leaned equally into hers; at this point, bleary and exhausted, after days and days of wallowing in each others' filth, she can't bring herself to care much for propriety. They're all covered in the same blood, dirt, grass stains and whatever else they were dragged in with. ]

Teach me something. A song, from your-- [ she almost says 'your world', but revises herself thinking the guards might be listening in. ] --from where you come from.

[ 'A song' was the first thing to come to mind, but it's nominal only: she'll take a story, a history, anything. It breaks the quiet. ]

4. wildcard

[ Hit me. ]

Edited 2015-11-26 02:55 (UTC)

[Gilgamesh can't smell or feel much of anything anymore. It's like being in a dreamless sleep, which he's well-accustomed to already. Just never while being awake, and it both bothers him and doesn't that he's drifting so much, so far from the world. He should be humiliated but he can't feel that, either.

But he does hear something. Someone speaking to him. He turns his head and sees the vague shape of a person, and eventually a voice trickles in that he can identify, and he mouths the name Gintoki without ever saying it.

Then he tries again and manages actual sound.]

Gin...?

[His blinks are languid and slow. He sees the colorful magazine. He remembers.]

You kept that, still?

[The harshness doesn't reach him. He's just surprised by what he'd held onto, after all this time.]

[ Masamune doesn't say anything when he finally makes an approach. It may be the first time Gilgamesh even knows he's here, too.

( Who knows when it is or isn't, how many hours or days have passed in this cell? Who knows, they only have a countdown as their way to tell time, right?)

Gilgamesh may not hear anything before he sees something, depending on all circumstances, and what he would see is a fall into his line of vision is a plate offered to him with whatever poor excuse for food they're serving is. It's a few hours since the guards delivered whatever meal this was, so it's not that Gilgamesh has somehow spaced out and forgotten to even be able to rise for the meals offered.

...If he thought that, however, the young Date leader would prefer it over what it really is.

It's too complicated to deal with or think on in his condition; it would be far lost on someone even half as run down as the Servant. So, it's better if it's not said at all. Masamune does come to crouch down after a moment to follow the plate to come into sight without the other needing to make any effort to change his focus i...or total lack thereof). He will hold it out to the other persistently until its taken, even if he has to hold it until the next meal comes around from the guards. He's got all the time in the world—and he can't imagine this does much of anything if anything at all, but he's noticed Gilgamesh at least eats it. If it gives a few seconds of distraction it's good enough to go through the effort to hand it over. ]

_{[ Gintoki understands a similar feeling of being unable to smell to feel much anymore. The best way to describe it is that your soul is empty and no longer ignited into the flame it was before— like something precious has been taken from you. Even now, he has nightmares of his blade kissing the neck of his most beloved person, a stream of pale hair rolling through he sky and how empty he felt as the rain poured down in him, mixing with blood of his own and with his enemies. He remembers the feeling of waiting in the prison— taking the beatings and the interrogation and the emotions he felt during that time.

Gintoki wasn't sure how they could get out of this predicament, but something in his mind gave him an idea of what would happen.

The pages of the JUMP look worn out already. He has read this thing a lot— he's been missing home a lot lately and this helps him reminiscent about it. It's probably the best thing he has received at his stay here so far..
..And maybe one day he'll tell Gilgamesh that and properly thank him.

Gintoki turns the page. ]}

Why wouldn't I? Hey, throwing JUMP out is a crime. People who do shit like that need to go to the hospital and get a new brain. It's a great issue. It has Chapter 349 of Bl**ch in it. It always makes me cry.
_{[ A beat as he looks over at Gilgamesh dully. ]}

Friendship, Effort, Victory. That's the motto. You can't have victory without effort and friendship.
_{[ He's getting somewhere with this.. kind of. ]}

It isn't over yet— neither are the people here, and neither are you.

Edited 2015-11-26 03:25 (UTC)

[He knows it's Masamune. He's tasted the man's blood, so he'd know his presence anywhere. When Masamune comes close, his eyes flicker over like a cat's, pupils dilating and narrowing in the span of a second. There's recognition in his features and this, at least, is a positive sign. He knows Masamune and therefore still knows people despite his condition. He retains his sanity. He always will, no matter the circumstances/

Gilgamesh looks down at the food, though, and doesn't seem to understand quite what it is. It's so bland and so tasteless that it's barely sustained him at all; he picked over his last plate of it and left most of it untouched. But this must be a kind gesture, he understands that much, and so he hesitates to accept it.]

You don't want it?

[He hesitates because it's pity and Gilgamesh can't stand pity. He just can't summon up any anger at the moment and thus stares blankly at him instead, questioning.]

[If he were in a better mood, or any sort of mood at all, Gilgamesh would complain over the company being terrible and the food being even worse. He'd complain that he should've just thrown the stupid comic out already, and maybe he would've even offered him the next issue, maybe. As it stands, he has trouble sorting out what Gintoki says. He's already a hassle to listen to when he's lively and sober, so like this, it's something of a task.

He picks it out, though, the important parts. It isn't over yet, and neither are you. And he smiles, faintly, reaching to dust his fingers over that page that's seen so much use. Over the face of a brave hero. And he remembers. He's a little bit brighter because of it.]

Here, read it to me. Your favorite part.

[It gives Gintoki an excuse to narrate, as he loves so much, and gives Gilgamesh an excuse to just listen, a strange thing indeed for such a boisterous tyrant.]

No, I don't.

[ if only it was as simple as pity, really. masamune could handle that sort of thing a lot easier. But, he decides to clarify a little bit, since he can't imagine it will matter one way or the other even if Gilgamesh retains it and processes it further than its surface meaning. ]

...It reminds me of bad times in Oshu. If I eat it, I'll just be sick anyway. But if it's not eaten the guards could have an excuse to deliver less.

[ so... (who even knows if the latter part is true, but it's a good enough deflection for him.) ]

[...is that how it was? Gilgamesh's more than a little slow right now, but even he can piece together the implications. He laughs and it sounds terribly hoarse.]

Are you guilting me into it? How cruel. Even a dragon couldn't possibly have fangs this sharp.

[Even so, Gilgamesh accepts the plate. There's no point in arguing with him so he just reaches down for the stale roll and sort of forces it pasts his lips. Even chewing is painful but he won't have someone else worrying over his expense.

Or worrying about everyone else. Whatever excuse he chooses to use for the sake of offering help to a downed rival.]

Delicious.

[Not. At least he hasn't lost his sense of humor.]

Do I have to actually sing it?

[ he's less energetic in his words than usual, but there's a light bit of humor there in him making the effort to still tease over the request. he's tired and worn down but just falling apart isn't much his style.

neither is waiting, though. ]

Because I don't think that part is such a good idea.

[ yes, yes he is. because it's way better than looking like he's pitying him. it has to be understood if their roles were reversed and someone pitied him he would throw a fit (and unlike Gilgamesh he'd make the effort to throw the said fit at his own expense because he's like that). ]

You sure? When's the last time you met one. [ if someone's really your rival, the last thing you want is some other asshole or two getting the pleasure of getting them to this point, right?

it's an excuse he's often used when randomly interfering with Yukimura's amazing track record of getting himself into some real goddamn tough situations.

but whatever, he'll just...justify his weird ass decisions however it's necessary to not have to question them.

it's only awkward if he lets it be. ]

Yeah, remind me to get the chef's recipe before we leave. [ he tosses the plate rather carelessly off to one side of them now, not caring as it clatters and scrapes, sliding itself across the jail cell floor towards the cell bars. ]

[ it becomes clear enough that this confinement is different than the last, after the brawl in the square. that they’re going to be here longer, that the imagined crime is of a higher severity.

when the law enforcement had come through the forest, she had been sitting by the fire she had kindled, which in retrospect is probably what drew them to her. by all accounts she should have heard them coming, the crinkling of foliage under boots, the snapping of twigs— but her own thoughts were loud enough to drown them out, and before she had a chance to react there were hands encircling her forearms, pulling her up and away— and the words you can’t do this were barely out of her mouth before she realized that they could.

that she wouldn’t be able to stop them. thinks she wouldn’t have tried, even if her gun hadn’t been taken away from her on her first arrest. she has enough blood on her hands, enough to last a lifetime. many lifetimes over. so she didn’t try to scramble for a rock on the ground to hit the guardsmen with.

did nothing but drag her heels into the dirt as a feeble protest. she had been thrown into the cell with only the ache of a bruise on her upper arm, a reddened manacle around her wrist, and scrapes on her palms from the impact of the cells floor. other’s fare worse, in injuries both, and in imprisonment. while she only marks a spot as hers, is a point of silence within the constrains of the cell, others cope differently. become louder, abrasive, and she watches them wearily. marks when the guards come and leave, the days as they pass.

finds her eyes slipping to a man on the opposite side of the cell, slumped and curled in on himself, as if willing to disappear. it worries her, and she finds herself glancing his way more than once before finally deciding to stand, move towards him with footsteps heavier than necessary so she doesn’t startle him, before sinking down to sit, leaving about a foot of space between them. ] Hey.

You were hurt, when they brought you here. [ understatement, of course. she looks at him sidelong, brings her own knees to her chest, folds her arms atop them. ] Any broken skin runs risk of getting infected.

I can look at your wounds, if you want. Just to make sure they aren’t.

[ she tries to make the words nonchalant, though there is concern underneath them. ]

[ The magic block means that, for once, Gilgamesh is in worse shape than Kida when the lot of them get tossed inside. For the first few hours Kida is too filled with adrenaline and rage to back down, and she prowls the length and breadth of the cage like a captive tiger. Gilgamesh goes unnoticed, pushed back under the weight of her anger at their predicament.

It's only on the second day that she starts watching him. He's uncharacteristically quiet, downcast. Between the pages of her books she gives him glances, keeps one eye on his golden hair. He's been divested of his armor, and the bruises on his skin are unusually slow to heal. She's ashamed to say the sight of him still affects her, makes a shiver of disgust--of fear--crawl up her spine.

It would be easy, she thinks, to kill him now. He is weakened, and vulnerable, operating on a paltry fraction of his resources. She's weak herself, but not enough that she couldn't snap a man's neck with enough desire to do so--and she has the desire to do so. She finds nothing to pity. Let him rot.

After three days without a word, her worry begins to fade. It's only after a week, when she wakes to find him curled and immobile, pressed against a wall, that she realizes it has gone.

Death is both familiar to Kida, to have watched the slow, slow decline of her people over the centuries, and achingly distant, to someone who has lived so long. To be faced with it now--she isn't certain how to express what she feels, if she can even pinpoint it at all.

She moves to his side, one hand to his shoulder and the other to his chest; his heart beats faintly. What rises: disappointment or relief? ]

Ishek. [ Atlantean. Her voice low and soft. She switches to Sumerian as she encourages him to straighten. ] Gilgamesh. Rouse yourself.

[ What motivates her to help him? An ancient story she knows, perhaps? The smile of a pale-haired young man she met in the woods, who caught fairy slime with her? Or maybe it's just that it's human nature to despair at the dimming of the sun. ]

Oh, I've never met one before.

[Also a sign of their present circumstances, as Gilgamesh would never admit to that otherwise. He leans back against the crumbling wall he's shuffled himself against and tips his head to the side—more like it lolls—thinking.]

But... I did meet some other peculiar creatures. Like a half-man, half-scorpion tribe, a great ogre that guarded an enchanted forest, a massive bull that could trample an entire city flat. Those were the sorts of adventures I had.

[And he sounds less boastful of them he would be ordinarily. More reminiscent. Nostalgic. Fond.]

Because I was an adventurer as much as I was King. That was the sort of life I led.

[ He makes her smile; that's good. Smiling is good, rare. She feels like she has every crack of every stone in every wall burned into her mind.

Since when did two weeks become a long time? Why is hope so difficult to latch onto? Maybe it's from seeing her comrades battered so. Seeing her pendant's characteristic glow dulled, its warmth gone. Like she's been cut away. ]

Mmm, no, you do not have to. Do not wake the others who sleep.

[ Her face turns up to his, expectant. ]

But I will remember you said that. One day you will owe me a song, Masamune Date.

[ Her tone is filled with levity, even as her expression shifts to something more contemplative. ]

What song is it?

[ Masamune shifts from his crouch to lower fully onto his knees against the ground with Gilgamesh's own movement. He considers his words for a moment, actually finding somewhat interesting.

He sounds like an old man, definitely, but it's way easier to actually listen to (and these comments sound way better than anything any other old geezers have talked his ear off about. ]

Sounds pretty fun, actually. They just let you go out and wander whenever you wanted?

[He is not alone here. He's maintained awareness enough to realize this, that he's sharing this cell with other people. Many people, people just like him who'd gone to that meeting with good intent or else got caught up in a bad place at a bad time, all thrown together into a pit and treated like dogs. He'd be angrier if he had the energy for it. Instead, he can only wallow and hope for the end to come—just not death. He refuses death, the very notion of it, and all that it entails.

Still, he looks the part when he looks up at the woman who's approached him. The softest hey stirs him from nonexistent thoughts and his eyes glimmer with faint life. They are deep and red and damning even like this, even hollow and cold, but there's no malice in them when they gaze at her now. Only vague curiosity, enough to drive him to ask:]

Why?

[Why are you helping me? A tyrant earned his dues. Gilgamesh did not pity himself for it; he simply understood the situation for what it was. He'd fallen into this out of weakness and so deserved what he got. He does hurt, because he is, but he's reluctant to show it even now.

I am better than this, he wants to say, better than you, but can't.]

_{[ Read it to him? Oh, right. Is it cause Gilgamesh can't read Japanese? Either way, Gintoki is more than happy to indulge whoever in his interests— even if it was some rich guy that was part god; that literally had everything in his finger tips. It's a life that Gintoki would die for— but at the same time it is a life that Gintoki would die so somebody else could live it. It is hard for him to put himself in Gilgamesh's problem, as he has never been at a high pedestal as far as wealth and riches go to feel what it is like to have it all stripped away from you.. even if it is just for a short amount of time ( and then they'll die. It's depressing. )

But he does know what it feels like to have something important— something beautiful— stripped away from him in an instant. ]}

Aaa? A bedtime story? Hmmmm.

_{[ Gin skirts his tongue over his thumb to turn the pages once more until he gets to the portion of the issue that clearly is for One Piece. It's actually this chapter he reads, though it isn't anything with much animation in his voice; just the occasional yelling now and then. Some parts that seem to drag on, he actually prattles off with a few yadda yaddas, but as he continues with this story, he gradually gets more and more enthusiastic.

A bit of the dullness in his eyes has faded and they shine a bit more by the time he is end of it.. because he is actually a giant child whose passions haven't grown up and have nestled themselves in fictional characters and the consumption of sweets.
When he's done with it— hopefully uninterrupted— he closes the JUMP issue. ]}

—A perfect example of Friendship, Effort, and Victory. _{[ His ankles spread as his head tips back to rest against the wall behind them.
We could work on the friendship part, you know, is something he thinks about saying— but doesn't. ]}

[Gilgamesh is barely even aware of Kida. Of her disgust. Of her watching him. It would indeed be too easy to take his life here, rendered as weak as a mortal man and so short of breath he wouldn't put up much of a fight besides. Gilgamesh is barely aware of her and so is barely aware of these darker thoughts, how much danger he truly was in absent his magic.

Let me rot, he thinks as well, but I will survive this.

Gilgamesh does not keep track of time. Maybe minutes pass. Maybe it's hours, maybe it's days, he doesn't really know, nor does he care to. Time had long since ceased to matter for the likes of an unaging Servant. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, millenia, it all pales before the world he left behind, the distant reality of Uruk. Let him rot and let him decay but he will not yield not to death. This he vows.

Warmth jostles him from yet another sleepless night. He startles, eyes going wide like a cornered animal, and glances quickly to the source. Even in this state he deduces she poses no threat, and so as she had stared at him he stares back, mouthing soft words only they will understand in a language long since forgotten.]

Kagin yesek. [Gilgamesh defers to her title, either out of respect or out of exhaustion.] You yet live. I am surprised you did not tear down the bars with your teeth.

[He has been roused, for however long he can manage it. The light of the King has grown dim, but it has not yet been snuffed out entirely.]

I could do anything.

[He sounds blissful to speak of it now, when he can do nothing. It brings a small smile to his face, and though most of his memories are weighed down by the dying face of a dying man who made him swear never to love again, he's happy to think of it.

Well, happier, in a sense. There's no such thing as true happiness for the old forgotten king anymore.]

And I could be almost anyone. I was adored. I lived, I thrived, I inspired. That is what it means to be a Hero.

[Gilgamesh glances back over to Masamune, regaining a bit of snark for just a moment:]

Apparently, you are one, too. That's how I recognized your swords. That's how I know your name. I have always known it, you see.

[Gilgamesh has grown very old in a very short period of time—Uruk aged him past his prime and then some—but perhaps shockingly, he shares a certain interest with Gintoki: the interest in a good story full of memorable characters and excitement and enthusiasm. That's what's missing in Gilgamesh now, who would've been cheering along with the man and leaning over to try and get a better look at the pages were he in better spirits.

But Gilgamesh can only sag in place and vaguely follow what's going on. It's an effort to stay awake yet Gintoki's voice centers him, obnoxious and grating thing that it is. It's so loud he can't help but listen and he's so caught up in the plot he can't help but laugh by the time he proudly announces a perfect example of Friendship, Effort, and Victory.

He'd applaud if he could. He really did tell a good story.]

Not bad.

[He cracks a crooked half-grin, because even like this, they have to tease each other. He can't wholly approve of anything Gintoki does. That just ruins the dynamic.]

Is that the sort of man you'd like to become? Like the heroes in that story?

[ her head is tipped back against one of the cell’s walls, and her eyes are fixed towards the celing when kida shifts closer to her, and after a second of instinctual tensing she relaxes, lips quirking into something of a smile when the book is tipped her way—because if anything she’s grateful for the distraction. from her thoughts, and counting the cracks in the stone overhead.

she’s no stranger to imprisonment, once in space for months that stretched in a way that made each day feel like two—the walls of her cell seeming to encroach on her as she decorated them with drawings. charcoal scratches of earth. trees. rivers. mountains. until there wasn’t any space left. there she wasn’t clarke griffin daughter of an esteemed council member but only 319 awaiting trial, likely to be floated, rag dolled into space. she wonders if this is the same, if they’re here waiting to be floated. excecuted in some manner befitting their crime of trying to help the people here, but she clears her head of the thought. not because it isn’t valid, but it wouldn’t do any good to announce it, cause a panic.

instead she leans off the wall, towards kida, so she can lean closer to the book, squint at the lines of text in the low light. glances back to kida after a moment : ] Nothing interesting.

[ she regrets the words, as soon as she says them, because sure the book isn’t riveting. but it’s what they have. she takes a breath. starts over. ]

Millet is one of the many seed grasses that can be used as a food source. The grain, similar in nutrient composition to corn, is richer in protein. It’s believed to be one of the first grains harvested by humans for food.

_{[ Gradually, Gintoki's finger goes to his nose, ruby colored eyes flickering over the dirty, dim lit ceiling that reflected the flickering flames of lanterns. It's obvious he is in his serious contemplation of this question. JUMP was filled of all sorts of heroes that carried the same kind of values ( and honestly, if we wanted to fourth-wall break, he's already considered a J-Hero ) that he agreed with, but he has a hard time answering this.

He flicks a booger off to the side, half lidded eyes not seeming too excited but the question at hand. ]}

What does it matter? _{[ Gintoki would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit envious of somebody like Ichigo. He'd do anything to have his own zapankuto— or of his wooden sword could do something like bankai. Whatever. He tries not to think about that too often.

He wipes some snot residue on the ground. Even with his first response, he actually goes ahead and answers Gil's question: ]}

I want to be somebody who fulfills promises— and if a promise is to be like these people, then be it. Oi, that is good enough for me if that is good enough for the people I care about.

Edited 2015-11-26 04:59 (UTC)

Is that so?

[ the snark gets him to tilt his head just a little bit—or is it more the content? Who knows. ]

Can't deny that you did recognize them... can't deny you definitely have them in your swirly pool of glitter lights. And you knew where I was from by my name. [ it still really makes no sense to him, though. he doesn't get it at all. but then again, he really doesn't get what gilgamesh even is, so why would he expect to know something like that? ]

I don't quite think I meet all that criteria yet, though. [ as much as he super hates to admit he may be lacking in something gilgamesh has, yikes. ]

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