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paradisalost2007-02-06 11:26 pm
griffith.livejournal.com) wrote in paradisalost2007-02-06 11:26 pm
[completed]
Who: Griffith and Gatts
What: Gatts goes in for the kill but things don't end up the way he expected.
When: Tuesday night
Where: In the hallway of the 12th floor and room 1215
Rating: PG-13? Some language and a bit of violence
Gatts threw the door to his hotel room open, it causing a satisfying crashing sound against the wall. Ever-the-considerate neighbor, Gatts hoped he had woken up everyone on the entire floor. Of course, he had already tried causing enough damage to the damned walls of the Castle-only to have them repair themselves quickly in front of his eyes. The large man threw an empty and torn pillow case over his shoulder, yawning, and rubbing at his eye with an iron hand. Walking in a tired daze, he had a goal set in mind. Not only was he in dire need of a new pillow (the deceased pillow on his shoulder had offended him), but he had also needed pajamas. No man was complete without them, and should Gatts learn how to ever get out of his armour, he promised himself he would wear nice, comfortable pajamas and actually bathe. A lost art to him, indeed, but hey he was from the Middle Ages. So shut up.
More than slightly concerned about the possibility that the Baron Gennon, a man Griffith distinctly remembered killing, was somewhere in the castle and out for revenge, Griffith spent most of the past few days in his room with a pile of books borrowed from the library to distract him. Though the golden nameplate on the door gave his location away, the castle's size was hopefully a safeguard against being found so readily. Now that it was late enough that most of the inhabitants were asleep, Griffith took the opportunity to venture out into the hallway and return to the library for more reading material. He was fascinated by the variety of subjects he came across ranging from magic, which he hoped would help him better understand the nature of this place, to modern science. After a description of a strange force called electricity, Griffith was unsure how to differentiate between magic and science at all. Books stacked high in his arms and tucked under his chin, he carefully shut his door and headed for the stairs to make his journey eleven flights down.
His steps slowing down to a complete halt, Gatts looked ahead at what appeared to be a fluff of white, wavey hair bobbing up and down behind a stack of books, heading in no rush toward the stairway. It's him, Gatts thought for a split second, hand roaming over the roughened, scarred skin of his neck and resting on the nape, caressing his seal. He knew that posture, stature, height, and smell. However, his seal had not began to burn nor even bleed, while Griffith stood right there. So, what else was a highly-skilled and trained swordsman to do? Scream the name of your enemy in complete and utter rage, and run at him like a bull after little Red Riding Hood! "Griffith!" Gatts shouted, breaking out into an unnecessary run toward the smaller (and much prettier : ( ) man, whom only was a few feet away, really. This is why Gatts isn't a ninja.
Many years as a general on the battlefield had taught Griffith that somebody shouting your name meant they weren't very subtle about trying to kill you, or it was a shout of warning that somebody was trying to kill you. Either way, it meant reacting quickly or be killed, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to test out the rebirth rumour without having it verified by someone else first. Judging by the sound of boots against the stone floor rapidly approaching, Griffith predicted he had mere seconds before the oncoming attack. The only logical conclusion was to drop to his knees and duck low, books scattering across the floor and sword withdrawn on reflex. At least he wasn't foolish enough to leave his room unarmed.
Gripping the handle of the DragonSlayer, Gatts drew his own gigantic sword in reaction to seeing Griffith duck, planting his heel on the floor to stop himself from flying over the small man and down the stairs. He smirked, swinging to meet blades harshly at the tip of Griffith's sword's length, cutting the edge off clearly with a satisfied laugh. Slowly, the laugh turned into a cackle, body shaking with anticipation and rage, wanting to feel Griffith's cold blood splatter all over him. He continued to laugh, reminded of a battle years ago that started this whole mess, thinking the repeating of events should be a poetic and befitting end to them all, blade sliding roughly up against the rest of Griffith's sword.
The clattering of metal a few feet away was enough for Griffith to realize the damage done to his sword, unable to tear his eyes away as he took in the sight of his attacker for the first time. The man was impressively larger than most, though no match for Pippin, but the seven-foot sword defied anything he had ever seen. Could it even be called that? Obviously the man was compensating for something. Probably sanity, judging by the unnerving laughter. But now wasn't the time to muse about the situation, just find a way out of it. Recognizing he was at more than a slight disadvantage, Griffith hastily grabbed one of the heavier books from the floor, aiming it in a throw at the unknown swordsman's head. Hoping it was adequate enough of a distraction, he quickly followed it by attempting to drive his severed sword through the man's armoured stomach.
Gatts squinted his one eye shut and brought his head forward, crashing it against the book, hitting it to the floor with force. He stopped his laughing, a small amount of blood trickling down his forehead (nothing new), and attempted to stare into the eyes of the man who had been known to cause his enemies to shake with fear just by catching their gaze. He had not even felt the dull sword hitting his Enchanted (what a gary stu) armour, but heard the pathetic clanking sound it made against the material. His entire body had burnt by looking into Griffith's eyes; everything from his legs to his groin, to his chest and head. However, the seal was still not reacting. Gatts knew deep down that this was not the Griffith he was fated to tear to shreds, but he held the glare anyway. The Hawk of Light would never...throw a book in self-defense.. had Gatts been capable of such a thought, he'd consider the action helpless, funny, and cute. However, this was Griffith. So, yes. Not so cute in Gatts' eyes. "Griffith," He growled in a more calmed voice, still shaking and eyeing him hungrily with anger. And really, he wanted to conclude that thought with a groundbreaking, earth-shattering and carefully articulated sentence that would strike fear into Griffith's heart. But nothing came out. Because those eyes were really pretty :< and not the ones he wanted to gouge out.
Not even a dent...? The useless blade slipped out of Griffith's shaking fingers, heart pounding in disbelief. Griffith wasn't used to losing and had no plans of beginning now, not yet. Not ever. Impenetrable armour was only a minor inconvenience, because using physical force wasn't the only way to get what you wanted, especially off the battlefield. Rising confidently to his feet, Griffith allowed a toothy grin spread across his face, fear melting away even as the size difference between the two became more apparent. "You still haven't introduced yourself." This must have been the man behind the threats in the magical journal. Not the Baron, which was a major relief. But that didn't explain his own lack of recognition. He tended to remember his enemies, and this swordsman definitely wasn't the type he'd forget.
What in the hell? Gatts refused to accept that the man he had been obsessing over for the past few years of his life (okay, longer than that, but he was in complete denial of how strongly he felt for him while he was under his command so yeah) was grinning obliviously at him and trying to charm his way out of battle. There was also no way in hell Gatts was going to stand for it- he knew Griffith too well. "Shut up before I crush your teeth into dust with my sword," Gatts grinned back, quickly pushing the blade up to Griffith's lips and taking a tentative step forward, reaching with his other hand to clutch at Griffith's chest, pressing his palm against the fabric of his shirt. "So you didn't lose that stupid thing?" This was obviously a different Griffith-no. He knew this one. Just..a younger one..? How could that be? Obviously, not too much younger, and not much different. All Gatts knew was that as long as Griffith had that piece of shit egg, he had a chance to send everyone in this place to hell.
The smile was quickly replaced by a look of annoyed defiance, growing impatient with the constant avoidance of such a simple question of identity. Why did this man know so much about him and what did he have to hide? All too aware that the stairs were barely a step behind him, Griffith made a two-handed grab for the arm grasping at his shirt, twisting it sharply and yanking to pull the huge man forward. With the books scattered across the floor, Griffith noticed Gatts managed to carelessly rest his foot on the edge of one when he stepped forward, trying to take advantage of the uneven footing to pull him off balance so he could send him tumbling down the stairway.
"Wha-" was about all Gatts could get out, eyes widening and the weight of his sword working against him, falling forward toward the stairway, KNOWING he should have grabbed Griffith with his Iron arm. Landing face-first on a step, his vision blurred as he felt himself tumble down the steps, gripping his sword tightly and getting ready to plant it into one of the steps to stop his fall. DAMMIT. Why was this fucker always embarrassing him!?
Though his plans typically happened to work in his favour, Griffith couldn't help his surprise as he watched the swordsman plummet. Even with his almost unshakable confidence, part of him wasn't expecting to get out so easily against such an opponent. That was the type of man Griffith preferred on his side, not against him. The kind that disregarded all danger and fought with everything. Gathering up the two pieces of his severed sword, Griffith hurried down the stairs after Gatts, not wanting to give him enough time to recover from the fall.
Planting his sword's thick edge into the ground, he felt his body jerk forward one last time before stopping, landing across a few steps. His arm still clutching the sword's handle, he looked up at the ceiling in a daze, barely having time to react before hearing the soft sound of graceful, quick steps running at him. Huh, maybe he could just let Griffith kill him and he'd wake up from this dream. Though he doubt Griffith in his size could do much to him. Turning his head to look at the man approaching, he left the sword on the stone steps of the Castle, iron arm out and pointed at Griffith. Right in his pretty face.. Gatts thought, smirking to himself.
Believing he had already won, Griffith stopped two steps above where Gatts landed to stand over him in what he imagined was an intimidating and heroic manner, pointing his sword between Gatts' eyes. A triumphant grin curled at his lips, blood still pumping rapidly. "I like you," Griffith admitted cheerfully, not thinking the iron arm deserved any special attention. "Surrender now and I'll let you live."
The words echoed through the tiny shreds of sanity in Gatts' mind, an upset frown on his face. This couldn't be real. He wanted to believe Griffith was just taunting him, but he knew better. "I hate you." He growled in a low voice, quickly turning the crank on his arm, a couple of arrows shooting themselves at Griffith's shoulders. He then took advantage of whatever shock he predicted Griffith might feel, grabbing his sword and using it to push himself back, away from Griffith's severed sword, not wanting it through his skull kthnx.
By the time that Griffith realized what was happening, it was already too late for him to avoid the arrows embedding deep into his flesh, without armour for any amount of protection. A small, pained gasp escaped his throat as he stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the step and landing roughly on his back, their positions quickly switched. Impressed, wide blue eyes gazed up at Gatts with a mixture of fear and awe. "I want you," he breathed through the pain, pushing himself to sit up more. Fingers curling around the tail of an arrow, Griffith yanked it free with a wince.
Gatts felt his chest tighten at Griffith's words. Surely, the feeling that settled deep down was better than being told he was insignificant; in ways, he felt what he could only describe as a calming of his spirit, or warm rays of sunlight beating down upon his face (So not blush). Relaxing his tense grip on the sword, he stared down at Griffith for a moment before pulling out his own (but not really HIS) Behelit, showing it off to Griffith and flashing a sadistic grin. "Sorry, but I've got my own dream to achieve." He laughed insanely. Why? The events were just hilarious to him. He had wished day and night for years that he could do it all over again; sometimes making it right by never leaving Griffith. Sometimes making it right by taking Caska with him and never looking back. He had an urge to laugh this all off and just walk away, and he could only explain it as a feeling of discomfort in this man's presence, for whatever reason.
It took Griffith a few moments of confused squinting to make out the small object that Gatts was holding. A Behelit? It was the only other one he had seen since receiving the strange necklace from an old fortune teller when he was eleven. But this one was green, unlike the crimson one dangling around his neck. "The person who possesses this, in exchange for their blood and flesh, their fate will be to take hold of the world," he repeated the fortune teller's words softly to himself, unsure what this meant. Then why would there be two? Breaking out of his thoughts, Griffith locked eyes with Gatts, blood beginning to stain the front of his coat lapels. The more he knew of the man, the more mysterious he seemed to become. "Where did you get that? Who are you?" Not that asking questions seemed to yield results.
"I'm the man that's destined to kill you in your future, Griffith." Gatts pointed his sword at Griffith's chest, catching the front of his shirt on the tip of it and tearing the fabric, exposing Griffith's Behelit beneath. "Tell me, have you met Princess Charlotte, yet?" Gatts enjoyed the advantage he had over Griffith at the moment. He also felt pretty cool and mysterious.
"Destined or not, I will not allow it. Not until I achieve my dream." Blood splattered across the stone stairs as Griffith yanked out another arrow deep in his shoulder, the cold air hitting his open wound and causing him to shiver. "The Princess? What do you know of her?" Really, it wasn't a subject Griffith was that interested in. Especially when her influence mattered little here. This wasn't her castle. Despite what he was leading the naive princess to believe, he wasn't in love with her. She was just a stepping stone toward his goal. A means to an end. As sweet a girl as she was, her position as Princess of Midland was the only thing remarkable about her. So why was this man bringing her up?
"And if you've met her, I'm assuming you've encountered Zodd. Or maybe have had the Count and his son murdered." Staring into the closed eye of the Behelit, then up into Griffith's eyes again, Gatts couldn't understand why he had wanted Griffith to remember him so badly. It wasn't any big loss, in the end, but this was the man he had revolved his entire life and new goal around. He'd be damned if Griffith achieved so much without him. He wanted to know he had once been as important to Griffith as he had felt, as Caska and all of the other Hawks had spoken of.
Griffith could only nod numbly in reply, his thoughts blurry as he tried to recall the named events. "Nobody knew about that. The Count. Just..." His memory at that point kept coming up blank, though the rest of the details were clear in his mind. Somebody killed the Count for him, because he certainly didn't do it himself. Somehow the Count's young son ended up dead as well, not that he ever questioned it. It was frustrating, because the harder he fought to remember who did it, the more difficult it became until the rest of the memory began closing off as well. Confused, Griffith turned his eyes on the swordsman, looking for answers and not realizing they were right in front of him. "I don't know," he finally admitted to himself.
"Of course you don't." Gatts sighed in frustration, drawing the sword back away from Griffith and turning in annoyance. So why of all places was he stuck with a Griffith he could hardly hate? At least, so venomously? He briefly wondered if this was the Beast's way of testing his anger and hatred for Griffith, to see if it was strong enough to withstand this mindfuck. He looked over, turning his head to catch another glance at the man, when suddenly he realized he still had the pillowcase draped on his shoulder. And it was pink and had little birdies on it. "I don't know why this needs repeating, but I was once in your army and under your command. My name is Gatts, and you fucked me over, friend."
Something in his chest tightened in response to the name, though nothing about it seemed familiar. "I see. You must have gotten in my way," Griffith replied neutrally, eyes lowered. He would never apologize or feel guilty for what he had to do for his dream, especially not for something he never remembered doing. "Then is this what I lost?"
He tried to hold down his rage at Griffith's words. Gotten in his way? At times like this, the only person he hated more than Griffith was himself. For being weak and affected by everything the man said, for getting upset like a fucking girl at some stupid words. "It's not really a loss if you never cared for it to begin with."
Part of him wanted to voice that he was glad but the thought was kept silent. If his memories of this man were important enough that they were taken instead of his dream, perhaps he was correct that it wasn't a loss at all. Maybe a blessing. The freedom from caring about anything else. "Were we friends?"
"Yes." NO. NO. NO. Gatts hated you, Gatts' mouth. He hated you more than anything ever right now.
"Oh. What was it like?" Funny that his only friendship was one that he couldn't remember. Or did Gatts only think they were friends? He had deceived many people before, so that didn't seem unlikely. But it certainly made it difficult to determine how much of what Gatts said was accurate, whether he was lying intentionally or under false information.
"It wasn't like anything I can describe. And it wasn't even real." He turned to stare at Griffith.
Griffith knew this situation all too well. "I used you, then," he stated plainly, no remorse evident in his words. So not a friend. A tool. That was his relationship with everyone. Why did he expect this one to be any different. Getting to his feet, Griffith swayed lightly from the blood loss, catching the wall with his hand to hold steady.
Why did he let him live just now, again? Gritting his teeth, he felt his eye burn. "Griffith..." he muttered in a low growl, glaring at him. "You... you would hate yourself if you knew what you've done." He took a few quick steps forward, grabbing him by the neck and pushing him against the wall he was leaning on. "If you ever get out of here. Ever. Don't you dare lay a hand on Caska and you better stay the fuck away from me."
"I am a bad person, aren't I?" Griffith whispered in resignation, eyes searching Gatts' face. What could he have possibly done to hurt somebody that was supposedly close to him? He had a sinking feeling that it was worse than anything in the past. Worse than killing the Baron, ordering the Count's death, or even burning the Queen and her inner court alive. But they deserved it. It was always somebody that deserved it. Even his soldiers that died in battle... they chose to fight for him. They chose to die for his dream. He refused to hold himself responsible. Griffith swallowed past the growing lump in his throat, trying to control his light shaking.
He didn't like that look Griffith was giving him, or the tone in his voice. He didn't like the way he smelled just like he had remembered. There wasn't one thing Gatts liked about Griffith, so why...did he want to suddenly repeat what he told him so long ago? "...Now? No." Why was he saying this? He had learned that he couldn't change anything about Griffith. Everyone had always told him that Griffith was 'different' around him, but in the end Gatts was just another soldier to him. He had been given the same fate and the same brand. "You...you see this!?" He yelled, hand tightening at Griffith's neck but slipping down to press against his collarbone, turning his head and pointing to the nape of his own neck. "You did this to me!! You doomed me to hell!! To be eaten and mauled by demons!"
His once purple shirt now drenched completely crimson, Griffith leaned heavier against the wall, eyelids drooping and the colour slowly draining from his face. If it weren't for Gatts pinning him up... Fingertips brushed hesitantly over the brand, unable to resist despite knowing he probably didn't have permission. "Why?" That didn't sound like something he would do. Even Griffith had his limits. He killed plenty of men in the past, and likely would continue to kill many more. But demons? Hell? He was never involved in such things. There must have been a long explanation he was missing.
That's what Gatts would like to know. He had blamed himself for leaving his friend, sure. But as Corkus had said, it was just a miscalculation in Griffith's plans. It wasn't his fault Griffith did something so stupid. It wasn't his fault that Griffith went insane and became so weak. Had it really been Griffith's fault, either? That answer did not matter to him, for he knew what was his fault-and it was the event that still felt like a bad dream to him. "Because I left you. Because you wanted to achieve your dream. I don't know why." he frowned, a shiver trailing slowly down his spine at Griffith's touch. With an annoyed grunt, he bent down a bit, iron arm now around Griffith's waist, wrapped securely. "Let's get your wounds cleaned up or some shit. I'll return those books for you," he said, while lifting Griffith up over his shoulder, standing tall. He really didn't want to get too emotional on him and risk looking like an idiot for the second time today.
Though proud to a fault and usually preferring to do things on his own, even in rare moments of weakness, Griffith wasn't about to protest as he draped over Gatts' shoulder tiredly, quietly amused he was bleeding all over the other man. This probably wasn't what the swordsman had in mind when he attacked. "You hate me." Gatts had said as much on several occasions, and if what he said was true then he had more than the right. He always knew he was heading down a darker path to get what he wanted, but Griffith somehow hoped he would know better than to cross some lines. "If I betrayed you. Why didn't you kill me?" Griffith wasn't going to deny that Gatts still had the chance.
"Tch. Do you mean now or in my time? You..." Gatts said, walking them back up the stairs, finding it odd how light Griffith was. He had supported Griffith many times in battle, but the armour had always added to the weight. The only time he remembered truly holding him weighed no more than a child. "..have done nothing to me, yet. Right now, we're..probably best friends, and you're probably one of the things that makes me happiest. Because I'm a foolish imbecile." He said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, trying to veil any glimpse of hurt in his tone. "And I have yet to kill you in the future, because I am training for it. And need to protect people in the meantime."
"Does it matter in which time? If I did it then... isn't it better to kill me before I have the chance?" Not that he was encouraging, it just puzzled him why somebody would allow a known enemy, future or not, to live. Gatts was more forgiving than he suspected he would have been in the same situation. "You smell," he whispered rather honestly, taking in the heavy scent and wondering when the last time the man bathed. That was more than a week's worth of sweat, and Griffith was more than used to being around dirty sweaty men to be able to properly judge.
"Killing you now wouldn't be permanent, idiot." He sneered over his shoulder at Griffith, stepping over the scattered books and continuing down the halls. "And yeah, so!?" he raised his voice a bit, blushing and getting defensive, very aware of his own odor. "I can't get this stupid armour off," he muttered in annoyance. "Geez, do you always have to state everything so blatantly? You're supposed to be charming. And where's your fucking room?" Trying to put on his tough guy act again, Gatts knew he was around the area he saw Griffith step out, but didn't know the exact location of his room. (yes, I know he has a golden template/name on the door, but Gatts is a retard)
"All the more reason to do it then, wouldn't it? Being able to take out your anger with little to no consequence. I wouldn't mind terribly," Griffith suggested cheerfully, pointing him in the direction of room 1215. It was an odd offer that he didn't suspect Gatts to take seriously. But. It felt maybe that would somehow make it up to him. Being able to come back to life afterwards didn't sound like a major loss on his part. "How did you put it on if you can't take it off, anyway?" Knocking his fist against the back of the armour curiously, Griffith frowned. "What is this even made out of?"
"It's enchanted armour. And it's fusing..with my skin. I'm sure there's a way out of it. I'm just..new with it. That's all." He sighed, looking around for the room. "So where's your room?" He asked again, intentionally ignoring the killing offer. Gatts didn't want to take the chance of not being satisfied with this Griffith's death; that could dampen his incentive to seek out revenge on HIS Griffith. "I'm assuming you have towels in there, and a bath. We can use this useless fucking pillow case to clean those wounds up if you don't." This Griffith really wasn't the one he hated. He wasn't the cold, unfeeling one. The one that just started all over again, a happy and successful, worshipped man. With a complete clean slate-no one knowing of what he did, and with his dream in reach again.
"Enchanted? Really. If I weren't here, I wouldn't be very likely to believe that," Griffith replied playfully, flicking Gatts' ear. "I could help you figure it out, if you need. Otherwise you'll be able to take out entire armies by your stench alone. Hard to make friends that way." What a strange, grumpy man, but he could see why he might have been important to him in the past. Or maybe he only felt obliged to think so, Griffith couldn't be sure. "1215, on the right," he instructed, realizing he was previously pointing in range of the man's missing eye.
"Ghn-" Gatts growled at Griffith, glaring over his shoulder at the ear flick. "Don't do that." He half-pouted. "I'll rip your hand off. Test out if it will grow back here, or something." Just because you cannot hate this Griffith does not mean you have to like him, he thought angrily to himself. He wouldn't allow himself to ever grow attached again. This man was fated to destroy his life, and destroy Caska. He crashed his foot roughly against the middle of the door to Griffith's room, it making a hole through the door and pushing it forward. Pulling his armoured foot out, he gave Griffith's butt a pat before walking over to the bed and dropping him on it. "I'll go start a bath or whatever. Don't get all girly and homo on me and complain about the sheets being bloody. And you're just gonna have to deal with my stench, so too bad!" He yelled in Griffith's face, pretending he wasn't totally embarrassed of his smell. Puck said it was manly..
Expression completely innocent, Griffith leaned forward and observed the yelling man, waiting until he was finished to put a finger to his lips. "I'm not the one with a pink pillowcase," Griffith kindly reminded Gatts that he had no room to speak of masculinity. "Make sure it's warm," he added, lazily sprawling out comfortably in the plush bed. It was a lot nicer than anything he was used to, he had to admit. Sleeping in tents during war campaigns wasn't always entirely pleasant. He could just rest his eyes for a couple seconds...
"Alright. But don't you fall asleep on me, otherwise I'll let you bleed to death." He talked against Griffith's finger, then grabbed his wrist and pinned it down to the mattress. With that, he turned toward the bathroom, walking in and closing the door behing him ajar. Turning on the water to the bathtub, he ran his hand under it carelessly. "Warm enough.." he said to himself. "GRIFFITH. Get over here."
With a small yawn and a stretch, Griffith rolled out of the bed reluctantly and began stripping out of his clothing in preparation for the bath. Unlike Gatts, he valued his hygiene. Examining the coat, he doubted the stains would ever come out and tossed it carelessly aside, following it by his loosely tied cravat and torn shirt. At least there was more in the closet. Entirely nude by the time he made it to the bathroom, Griffith pushed the door open without shame. "That was an impressive trick. With the arrows. I never expected it."
As soon as he heard the sound of the door opening, Gatts turned his head away, knowing the man would be in the nude. Sure, he was comfortable with that before. In fact, all of Midland had probably seen Griffith naked at one point or another; but you just didn't do that thing with your enemy, anymore. "Geez, Griffith. You're always doin' that naked thing like some homo. Get in the tub and stop showing off." He swiped the water once more with his metal hand, then turned his back a bit more to the tub, sitting cross-legged. "And yeah, well. Element of surprise and all. You're the master of that."
Always the homo comments. Griffith suspected the man had serious issues with his own sexuality or lacked any more creative insults. "You can hardly expect to bathe while dressed," Griffith rolled his eyes at the turned back, lowering himself into the warm bath and stretching out. "Not that you have any experience with bathing at all," he added. The filling tub water slowly turned a soft shade of pink as his blood diffused through it in small rivulets. Swirling the water idly with his fingertips across the surface, an idea struck him. Scooping up a handful of water between his cupped hands, Griffith lifted them above Gatts' head, parting his fingers and soaking the dark hair with a gleeful giggle.
Somehow, Gatts should have expected that, he thought to himself. Perpetually frowning face transforming into an angry pout, he turned his head to look over at Griffith, bangs dripping water in front of his eye. "You- ... ugh." Gatts grunted. He knew Griffith was just being his charming self- but this was a lot more painful than fun for him. He was not going to engage him in a water fight, again. Gatts firmly believed he was brought to this place to redo his relationship with Griffith. Without ever getting attached. "Just wash yourself, Griffith." He turned his head again, not wanting to look at him.
The laughter cut short, not expecting such a negative reaction. Maybe a protest and a splash back, anything more than a complete cold shoulder. Opening his mouth to retort, for once none came. Defeated, Griffith turned his attention to prodding at the deep holes in his shoulders. As much as he wanted to write it off as Gatts being a huge grump, he had to remind himself that he betrayed this man. Of course he wouldn't appreciate his attempts at friendliness.
"We used to have dumb fights like that all of the time while we showered. It's just different, now. It's nothing against you." He paused. "Well, actually it is. Just, not you. The other you," he said lowly, gripping at the armour on his neck and pulling. The teeth of it had become embedded slightly into the skin of his collarbone, and he had not remembered it being that way prior to arriving at this place. He guessed this must have happened when he first saw Griffith just a few moments ago. Or perhaps because he didn't have the woman that was keeping him human with him. Groaning in frustration, he pulled more at the armour, feeling the teeth finally separating from his skin a bit. "Nngh-at least it doesn't burn to be around you." Well..IT DID IN HIS HEART but that was for Gatts to emo about in the rain, later.
"There is no other me," Griffith disagreed, annoyed at the comment and jabbing his wound harder in frustration at the situation. There was him in the past and in the future, but he was always Griffith. There was no use comparing him to himself. Most of all he was feeling uncomfortable with the feeling of being prejudged by somebody he never knew. Or remembered knowing. As far as he could recall, though he didn’t trust his memories fully anymore, he never had a water fight. With anyone. And here he was repeating the same actions without even knowing and the possibility of friendship already tainted. Really, it was rather unfair. Like an enemy already knowing your battle plan.
He grew angry at that statement. Irrational as it was to think, it felt like his Griffith admitting that every action was his responsibility. His doing. And while Gatts believed that in his angriest moments, he...well, he really didn't have a consistency in anything he felt or believed, any longer. "Then you and I have no business with each other," he brought himself to his feet, hearing a voice distantly in his head. A voice he was all too familiar with. And while he had no problem brutally murdering Griffith, he'd like to be in control while he did it, and not under the spell of that thing. "If we never were true friends, then we never can be." You had saved my life countless times in battle. You gave me those smiles, wanted to know my thoughts... "Try not to bleed to death or drown."
As much as he would like to deny it, if what Gatts said was true then he had no choice but to take full responsibility for his actions. Even if he technically hadn't done anything. There was still the matter of yet. There was no use pretending that potential in him didn't exist. The deed was destined, so it was already as good as done. As long as he could admit it to himself, perhaps that made him slightly less of a bad person. Maybe the acknowledgment could prevent him from doing worse in the future. "If?" Griffith repeated, almost too quietly to hear. "I cannot prove otherwise, and you will never be the proper judge on how I feel or what I think. Perhaps neither of us will ever know how it truly was."
Gatts immediately drew his sword out again, slamming it into the side of the tub, damaging the structure and collapsing one wall of it. Water immediately poured out and on to the floor of the bathroom, Gatts took another step forward and brought his sword down on Griffith's shoulder, letting it rest on top of it. "Fuck you! You can't even at least pretend you'd feel bad about this happening? You disgust me. I can't believe I felt-..." The armour began closing in around his neck again, teeth sinking in to the sides of his neck. Gatts tried to calm his breathing, closing his eye so he wouldn't have to look at the source of his anger. "I never meant to leave you. But it gave you no right. You're so pathetic, Griffith..." he said, trying not to give away whom exactly he felt was the pathetic one.
Anger drowned out any fear he felt, eyes narrowed sharply up at Gatts as he crouched naked in the empty tub underneath the weight of the sword. "I cannot pretend to apologize for which I do not understand, but I take full responsibility. If that is truly what I am, I have no choice but to accept it. It would be unjust to you otherwise." He lowered his head, feeling the irony of the sword over his shoulder, mirroring the time he was knighted by the King of Midland. Then he was praised for his actions. Now somebody finally recognized what kind of monster he was, including himself.
"You can't just accept it like that!" He growled, eye opening again to fixate on Griffith, images of a younger, softer-haired Griffith battling in his mind with the wild-haired, emotionless one from his own present time. "It was my fault, too! Don't you fucking even try to do what's 'just' to me now if you're going to accept it only to recognize what's 'unjust' in the future!" Gatts had no idea if he was even making any sense, but his mind was so jumbled and his body just was telling him to lunge at Griffith, tearing his face right off of his skull with his teeth. And oh, no, that was not a tear falling from his eye. Ew. "I was going to come back to you," He stated in a pathetic whisper, enraged and shaking, feeling suffocated by his armour. I miss Caska, he frantically thought to himself, thinking of an excuse for that tear. Or maybe it was that the armour caused him such pain that...yeah. That was it. Haha..ha. :' (
"What do you want from me?" Griffith asked awkwardly, eyes following the tear traveling down Gatts' cheek. "I can't change what was already done," he helplessly added. He hated this guilt. It was a feeling he fought to avoid at every step towards his dream. So why did he feel more guilt over something he hadn't even done than for the countless things he had in the past? "Maybe," he hesitated, studying Gatts' reaction carefully. "Maybe things can be different this time." Turning his head away, he already expected the rejection. It was a weak offer, and not even one he could promise.
Gatts froze for a moment there, not sure what to think of that offer. It was ridiculous and absurd, sure. He could just..cut off Griffith's head right now...wouldn't that be ironic? Griffith asking to do it all over again, and getting his head sliced off in mid-thought. Maybe Gatts could say something to put a smile on his face. No, he'd want his head with a big, angry frown. He'd put it on a shelf at home, and he and Caska would tell their children 'This is what happens to you when you betray your loved ones, kids', and raise the best kids ever. He withdrew the sword and swung it over his own shoulder, turning his back to Griffith and bending over, looking through the cabinets of the bathroom and pulling out a few towels. Clutching them in his large hand, he turned back to walk over to the naked man. "This isn't a yes, I hope you know." He eyed the wounds on his shoulder, then pressed the towel against the one that looked like it was causing him the most trouble. "I bet your pretty ass...always gets to talk its way out of everything. No, I'm not gonna fall for it," he smirked. "I'm not Caska, after all."
"I wouldn't expect you to make up your mind so quickly. Give it time, I do not need an answer right away." Reaching over, Griffith turned the faucet various ways, trying to stop the flooding of his bathroom floor. What an odd invention, really. How was he to refill the water coming from the wall once it ran out? There must be a river nearby, but to transport that much water up twelve flights of stairs would be quite an impressive feat. But he had come across an indoor pond the other day while searching for the library. If it came to it, he'd have to start taking his baths there. He preferred the open space anyway. "You know me better than I thought," Griffith smiled, briefly missing Caska at the mention of her name. All of his men. What was a General without his army? He had hoped rebuilding one here would be successful, give him a new sense of purpose. Of course he expected resistance, but Griffith knew nothing was ever that easy.
Gatts focused on the wound, wondering if the other Griffith he had known could bleed at all. Annoyed at his movements in the tub, he gripped Griffith's waist tightly with his iron hand, pressing the towel to the skin more firmly with his other. "Hold still," he snapped, irritated. "And you're just fooling yourself if you think you'd ever allow anyone to really know you." Gatts had thought Griffith had once let him in, but like hell was he going to get answers out of this one. It didn't help at all that he always felt so distant and far away from the man's worth. Always above Gatts, in his own eyes, Griffith continued in every incarnation, it seemed, to make him feel like his efforts are not enough for one reason or another. Patting the towel against the skin a few more times, he discarded it quickly and gripped the faucet, turning the water off in a quick gesture by pushing the faucet's knob in. Pushing the blood-soaked towel aside with his foot, he grabbed the other wet one off of the tiled floor and began to apply pressure again to the area, glad to see some progress, though little. He didn't want the man fainting on him or something. In fact, Gatts really didn't want to see Griffith look helpless in any way at all. His eyes softened a bit at the memory of a frail Griffith in his arms-shaking and bellowing inaudible sounds and pathetic whimpers. Slinking his arm more around Griffith's waist, across his lower back, he unconsciously pulled him a bit closer at that thought. "Don't make too many enemies here, idiot. Y'know you piss as many people off as you do charm them."
"It's a talent," he admitted proudly, no traces of pain in his voice despite the stinging of the arrow wound. Taking advantage of the close proximity, Griffith gave into curiosity and reached forward to grasp the Behelit hanging from around Gatts' neck, running his fingers over the rough edges of the distorted features. Lifting his own next to it, he compared the two side by side, wondering if the other man had any more idea how they worked than he did. "How did we meet?" he glanced up curiously, releasing the necklace and allowing it to swing back and clank against the armoured chest. "Did I heroically rescue you only to have you begging to join me afterwards? It happens a lot, you know."
"We crossed paths by chance, and you asked me to join you. I refused, and we had a battle." Gatts rolled his eye at Griffith's attitude. I'm not Princess Charlotte, idiot., he thought to himself. "I was winning, but then you..dislocated my arm. Or whatever. After that I just stayed with you for a few years..." He reached behind him one more time and grabbed a piece of his cape, lifting it to his mouth and tearing off a large portion of a corner with his teeth. Lifting Griffith's arm forcefully, he slipped the cloth beneath his underarm and began to tie it around his shoulder, stretching it out for support a few times around the opposite side of Griffith's neck. "You didn't really save my life until a while after. Almost got yourself killed and everything, like a real hero." His eye suspiciously glanced over at the Behelits, eyeing Griffith's own curiosity in them with conviction. "What, do you want them to marry and have some super baby Behelit or some shit?"
"By chance? A fated meeting, then," he grinned, watching Gatts' large hands as they wrapped the strips of torn material across his torso. It wasn't often to get bandaged by the same man that inflicted the damage. Though Gatts made a much better swordsman than a healer, he was a little rough with his handling. "And there is no such thing as was winning. The outcome is all that matters. If you lost, you obviously weren't winning very well." Flicking the tip of Gatts' nose, Griffith doubted the possibility of dislocating the arm of a man this size. Would he even be able to get proper leverage? It must have been quite a few years in the past, though Griffith couldn't find an appropriate time span within his memories where these events would fit. The more he learned, his mind was doing its best to push the knowledge right back out. Obviously something didn't think it belonged there. "They do look awfully lonely, don't they? With a face only a mother could love."
"Huh." Paying more attention to the wound, Gatts tied the ends of the torn cloth as tightly as he could, securing it around the wound. It had been bleeding considerably less amounts, which Gatts was proud of. Sitting back and slipping his arm around from Griffith's waist, he stared down at the Behelits. "And, for your information," Gatts raised his voice, a competitive smirk on his face, "I defeated you with one blow years later. So Hah." He turned his head, closed, eyeless socket shown to Griffith. Of course, Gatts thought about what happened immediately after that, which wasn't really anything funny. Biting his lip, guilt flooded his chest, gripping it tightly. "Anyways-" he grabbed his Behelit out of Griffith's hand, "I better go return those books for you and leave you be."
No matter how irrationally insulted he was by the comment, Griffith kept quiet, knowing he could say more hurtful in return concerning who really won in the end, considering the brand. But although the exact circumstances were still unknown to him and the little details he had weren't cooperating, Griffith knew it was a subject that shouldn't be used so lightly for just the purpose of cheap comeback. He didn't know why he longed for Gatts' trust, but that was a sure way to quickly lose it. Maybe he wanted to prove that he really wasn't so bad. To himself, to Gatts. "You are welcome to return any time," he suggested, cupping the side of Gatts' face to turn it back toward him, making eye contact.
Staring into Griffith's eyes, his brows furrowed as he felt the teeth of his armour slowly release his neck. He felt warmth run over his face and body, the blood leaking down his chest and beneath his suit. "I'll...return those books on time." Gatts stated again, that being the only thing he felt safe to say. Not exactly a mission to keep up the rear during a raid or battle, but a mission nonetheless. And that's what irked Gatts. What was he doing returning these books for Griffith!? Griffith should return them himself! He wasn't some book-returner! Some personal slave for Griffith. Who died and made Griffith King, anyhow? No one, yet! And so Gatts wanted to show Griffith who was boss. Yeah. So he ...just sat there, because really, it was hard to move out of the gaze he was caught in. "Uh..."
"I don't think anybody in the castle would mind if you threw the books into the incinerator, if they noticed them missing at all," Griffith spoke in low, calming tones, sensing the building aggression. "But I truly appreciate it. There are quite a few books in the library, maybe you could find something that interested you." Not that many of his men in the Hawks knew how to read, most of them having very little education at all. But they were military men, it wasn't expected. He suspected, however, that Gatts was perfectly capable through his ability to communicate through the journals. Smiling pleasantly and eyes still holding the gaze, he slowly removed his hand from Gatts' face. "I like you."
When did that phrase ever have any meaning, anymore? "Hn." Was about all he could growl out of his throat, grabbing his sword off of the ground and getting to his feet. His face still felt heated, and his cheek had felt like it had been slapped rather than touched. "Good bye." He muttered, turning and walking hastily out of the bathroom, feet making big splashes on the wet floor as he left, not looking back. He'd probably just throw the books out. But not after seeing if Griffith still had the same taste in books. Particularly, that one with the interesting pictures and positions.
No longer having to hold up and pretense of strength, Griffith slumped against the side of the tub, letting out a deep sigh. Well that ended splendidly, he decided optimistically. Given more time, he was sure Gatts would start to warm up. He had gone from trying to kill him to returning his borrowed books in one night. That certainly was progress.
What: Gatts goes in for the kill but things don't end up the way he expected.
When: Tuesday night
Where: In the hallway of the 12th floor and room 1215
Rating: PG-13? Some language and a bit of violence
Gatts threw the door to his hotel room open, it causing a satisfying crashing sound against the wall. Ever-the-considerate neighbor, Gatts hoped he had woken up everyone on the entire floor. Of course, he had already tried causing enough damage to the damned walls of the Castle-only to have them repair themselves quickly in front of his eyes. The large man threw an empty and torn pillow case over his shoulder, yawning, and rubbing at his eye with an iron hand. Walking in a tired daze, he had a goal set in mind. Not only was he in dire need of a new pillow (the deceased pillow on his shoulder had offended him), but he had also needed pajamas. No man was complete without them, and should Gatts learn how to ever get out of his armour, he promised himself he would wear nice, comfortable pajamas and actually bathe. A lost art to him, indeed, but hey he was from the Middle Ages. So shut up.
More than slightly concerned about the possibility that the Baron Gennon, a man Griffith distinctly remembered killing, was somewhere in the castle and out for revenge, Griffith spent most of the past few days in his room with a pile of books borrowed from the library to distract him. Though the golden nameplate on the door gave his location away, the castle's size was hopefully a safeguard against being found so readily. Now that it was late enough that most of the inhabitants were asleep, Griffith took the opportunity to venture out into the hallway and return to the library for more reading material. He was fascinated by the variety of subjects he came across ranging from magic, which he hoped would help him better understand the nature of this place, to modern science. After a description of a strange force called electricity, Griffith was unsure how to differentiate between magic and science at all. Books stacked high in his arms and tucked under his chin, he carefully shut his door and headed for the stairs to make his journey eleven flights down.
His steps slowing down to a complete halt, Gatts looked ahead at what appeared to be a fluff of white, wavey hair bobbing up and down behind a stack of books, heading in no rush toward the stairway. It's him, Gatts thought for a split second, hand roaming over the roughened, scarred skin of his neck and resting on the nape, caressing his seal. He knew that posture, stature, height, and smell. However, his seal had not began to burn nor even bleed, while Griffith stood right there. So, what else was a highly-skilled and trained swordsman to do? Scream the name of your enemy in complete and utter rage, and run at him like a bull after little Red Riding Hood! "Griffith!" Gatts shouted, breaking out into an unnecessary run toward the smaller (and much prettier : ( ) man, whom only was a few feet away, really. This is why Gatts isn't a ninja.
Many years as a general on the battlefield had taught Griffith that somebody shouting your name meant they weren't very subtle about trying to kill you, or it was a shout of warning that somebody was trying to kill you. Either way, it meant reacting quickly or be killed, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to test out the rebirth rumour without having it verified by someone else first. Judging by the sound of boots against the stone floor rapidly approaching, Griffith predicted he had mere seconds before the oncoming attack. The only logical conclusion was to drop to his knees and duck low, books scattering across the floor and sword withdrawn on reflex. At least he wasn't foolish enough to leave his room unarmed.
Gripping the handle of the DragonSlayer, Gatts drew his own gigantic sword in reaction to seeing Griffith duck, planting his heel on the floor to stop himself from flying over the small man and down the stairs. He smirked, swinging to meet blades harshly at the tip of Griffith's sword's length, cutting the edge off clearly with a satisfied laugh. Slowly, the laugh turned into a cackle, body shaking with anticipation and rage, wanting to feel Griffith's cold blood splatter all over him. He continued to laugh, reminded of a battle years ago that started this whole mess, thinking the repeating of events should be a poetic and befitting end to them all, blade sliding roughly up against the rest of Griffith's sword.
The clattering of metal a few feet away was enough for Griffith to realize the damage done to his sword, unable to tear his eyes away as he took in the sight of his attacker for the first time. The man was impressively larger than most, though no match for Pippin, but the seven-foot sword defied anything he had ever seen. Could it even be called that? Obviously the man was compensating for something. Probably sanity, judging by the unnerving laughter. But now wasn't the time to muse about the situation, just find a way out of it. Recognizing he was at more than a slight disadvantage, Griffith hastily grabbed one of the heavier books from the floor, aiming it in a throw at the unknown swordsman's head. Hoping it was adequate enough of a distraction, he quickly followed it by attempting to drive his severed sword through the man's armoured stomach.
Gatts squinted his one eye shut and brought his head forward, crashing it against the book, hitting it to the floor with force. He stopped his laughing, a small amount of blood trickling down his forehead (nothing new), and attempted to stare into the eyes of the man who had been known to cause his enemies to shake with fear just by catching their gaze. He had not even felt the dull sword hitting his Enchanted (what a gary stu) armour, but heard the pathetic clanking sound it made against the material. His entire body had burnt by looking into Griffith's eyes; everything from his legs to his groin, to his chest and head. However, the seal was still not reacting. Gatts knew deep down that this was not the Griffith he was fated to tear to shreds, but he held the glare anyway. The Hawk of Light would never...throw a book in self-defense.. had Gatts been capable of such a thought, he'd consider the action helpless, funny, and cute. However, this was Griffith. So, yes. Not so cute in Gatts' eyes. "Griffith," He growled in a more calmed voice, still shaking and eyeing him hungrily with anger. And really, he wanted to conclude that thought with a groundbreaking, earth-shattering and carefully articulated sentence that would strike fear into Griffith's heart. But nothing came out. Because those eyes were really pretty :< and not the ones he wanted to gouge out.
Not even a dent...? The useless blade slipped out of Griffith's shaking fingers, heart pounding in disbelief. Griffith wasn't used to losing and had no plans of beginning now, not yet. Not ever. Impenetrable armour was only a minor inconvenience, because using physical force wasn't the only way to get what you wanted, especially off the battlefield. Rising confidently to his feet, Griffith allowed a toothy grin spread across his face, fear melting away even as the size difference between the two became more apparent. "You still haven't introduced yourself." This must have been the man behind the threats in the magical journal. Not the Baron, which was a major relief. But that didn't explain his own lack of recognition. He tended to remember his enemies, and this swordsman definitely wasn't the type he'd forget.
What in the hell? Gatts refused to accept that the man he had been obsessing over for the past few years of his life (okay, longer than that, but he was in complete denial of how strongly he felt for him while he was under his command so yeah) was grinning obliviously at him and trying to charm his way out of battle. There was also no way in hell Gatts was going to stand for it- he knew Griffith too well. "Shut up before I crush your teeth into dust with my sword," Gatts grinned back, quickly pushing the blade up to Griffith's lips and taking a tentative step forward, reaching with his other hand to clutch at Griffith's chest, pressing his palm against the fabric of his shirt. "So you didn't lose that stupid thing?" This was obviously a different Griffith-no. He knew this one. Just..a younger one..? How could that be? Obviously, not too much younger, and not much different. All Gatts knew was that as long as Griffith had that piece of shit egg, he had a chance to send everyone in this place to hell.
The smile was quickly replaced by a look of annoyed defiance, growing impatient with the constant avoidance of such a simple question of identity. Why did this man know so much about him and what did he have to hide? All too aware that the stairs were barely a step behind him, Griffith made a two-handed grab for the arm grasping at his shirt, twisting it sharply and yanking to pull the huge man forward. With the books scattered across the floor, Griffith noticed Gatts managed to carelessly rest his foot on the edge of one when he stepped forward, trying to take advantage of the uneven footing to pull him off balance so he could send him tumbling down the stairway.
"Wha-" was about all Gatts could get out, eyes widening and the weight of his sword working against him, falling forward toward the stairway, KNOWING he should have grabbed Griffith with his Iron arm. Landing face-first on a step, his vision blurred as he felt himself tumble down the steps, gripping his sword tightly and getting ready to plant it into one of the steps to stop his fall. DAMMIT. Why was this fucker always embarrassing him!?
Though his plans typically happened to work in his favour, Griffith couldn't help his surprise as he watched the swordsman plummet. Even with his almost unshakable confidence, part of him wasn't expecting to get out so easily against such an opponent. That was the type of man Griffith preferred on his side, not against him. The kind that disregarded all danger and fought with everything. Gathering up the two pieces of his severed sword, Griffith hurried down the stairs after Gatts, not wanting to give him enough time to recover from the fall.
Planting his sword's thick edge into the ground, he felt his body jerk forward one last time before stopping, landing across a few steps. His arm still clutching the sword's handle, he looked up at the ceiling in a daze, barely having time to react before hearing the soft sound of graceful, quick steps running at him. Huh, maybe he could just let Griffith kill him and he'd wake up from this dream. Though he doubt Griffith in his size could do much to him. Turning his head to look at the man approaching, he left the sword on the stone steps of the Castle, iron arm out and pointed at Griffith. Right in his pretty face.. Gatts thought, smirking to himself.
Believing he had already won, Griffith stopped two steps above where Gatts landed to stand over him in what he imagined was an intimidating and heroic manner, pointing his sword between Gatts' eyes. A triumphant grin curled at his lips, blood still pumping rapidly. "I like you," Griffith admitted cheerfully, not thinking the iron arm deserved any special attention. "Surrender now and I'll let you live."
The words echoed through the tiny shreds of sanity in Gatts' mind, an upset frown on his face. This couldn't be real. He wanted to believe Griffith was just taunting him, but he knew better. "I hate you." He growled in a low voice, quickly turning the crank on his arm, a couple of arrows shooting themselves at Griffith's shoulders. He then took advantage of whatever shock he predicted Griffith might feel, grabbing his sword and using it to push himself back, away from Griffith's severed sword, not wanting it through his skull kthnx.
By the time that Griffith realized what was happening, it was already too late for him to avoid the arrows embedding deep into his flesh, without armour for any amount of protection. A small, pained gasp escaped his throat as he stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the step and landing roughly on his back, their positions quickly switched. Impressed, wide blue eyes gazed up at Gatts with a mixture of fear and awe. "I want you," he breathed through the pain, pushing himself to sit up more. Fingers curling around the tail of an arrow, Griffith yanked it free with a wince.
Gatts felt his chest tighten at Griffith's words. Surely, the feeling that settled deep down was better than being told he was insignificant; in ways, he felt what he could only describe as a calming of his spirit, or warm rays of sunlight beating down upon his face (So not blush). Relaxing his tense grip on the sword, he stared down at Griffith for a moment before pulling out his own (but not really HIS) Behelit, showing it off to Griffith and flashing a sadistic grin. "Sorry, but I've got my own dream to achieve." He laughed insanely. Why? The events were just hilarious to him. He had wished day and night for years that he could do it all over again; sometimes making it right by never leaving Griffith. Sometimes making it right by taking Caska with him and never looking back. He had an urge to laugh this all off and just walk away, and he could only explain it as a feeling of discomfort in this man's presence, for whatever reason.
It took Griffith a few moments of confused squinting to make out the small object that Gatts was holding. A Behelit? It was the only other one he had seen since receiving the strange necklace from an old fortune teller when he was eleven. But this one was green, unlike the crimson one dangling around his neck. "The person who possesses this, in exchange for their blood and flesh, their fate will be to take hold of the world," he repeated the fortune teller's words softly to himself, unsure what this meant. Then why would there be two? Breaking out of his thoughts, Griffith locked eyes with Gatts, blood beginning to stain the front of his coat lapels. The more he knew of the man, the more mysterious he seemed to become. "Where did you get that? Who are you?" Not that asking questions seemed to yield results.
"I'm the man that's destined to kill you in your future, Griffith." Gatts pointed his sword at Griffith's chest, catching the front of his shirt on the tip of it and tearing the fabric, exposing Griffith's Behelit beneath. "Tell me, have you met Princess Charlotte, yet?" Gatts enjoyed the advantage he had over Griffith at the moment. He also felt pretty cool and mysterious.
"Destined or not, I will not allow it. Not until I achieve my dream." Blood splattered across the stone stairs as Griffith yanked out another arrow deep in his shoulder, the cold air hitting his open wound and causing him to shiver. "The Princess? What do you know of her?" Really, it wasn't a subject Griffith was that interested in. Especially when her influence mattered little here. This wasn't her castle. Despite what he was leading the naive princess to believe, he wasn't in love with her. She was just a stepping stone toward his goal. A means to an end. As sweet a girl as she was, her position as Princess of Midland was the only thing remarkable about her. So why was this man bringing her up?
"And if you've met her, I'm assuming you've encountered Zodd. Or maybe have had the Count and his son murdered." Staring into the closed eye of the Behelit, then up into Griffith's eyes again, Gatts couldn't understand why he had wanted Griffith to remember him so badly. It wasn't any big loss, in the end, but this was the man he had revolved his entire life and new goal around. He'd be damned if Griffith achieved so much without him. He wanted to know he had once been as important to Griffith as he had felt, as Caska and all of the other Hawks had spoken of.
Griffith could only nod numbly in reply, his thoughts blurry as he tried to recall the named events. "Nobody knew about that. The Count. Just..." His memory at that point kept coming up blank, though the rest of the details were clear in his mind. Somebody killed the Count for him, because he certainly didn't do it himself. Somehow the Count's young son ended up dead as well, not that he ever questioned it. It was frustrating, because the harder he fought to remember who did it, the more difficult it became until the rest of the memory began closing off as well. Confused, Griffith turned his eyes on the swordsman, looking for answers and not realizing they were right in front of him. "I don't know," he finally admitted to himself.
"Of course you don't." Gatts sighed in frustration, drawing the sword back away from Griffith and turning in annoyance. So why of all places was he stuck with a Griffith he could hardly hate? At least, so venomously? He briefly wondered if this was the Beast's way of testing his anger and hatred for Griffith, to see if it was strong enough to withstand this mindfuck. He looked over, turning his head to catch another glance at the man, when suddenly he realized he still had the pillowcase draped on his shoulder. And it was pink and had little birdies on it. "I don't know why this needs repeating, but I was once in your army and under your command. My name is Gatts, and you fucked me over, friend."
Something in his chest tightened in response to the name, though nothing about it seemed familiar. "I see. You must have gotten in my way," Griffith replied neutrally, eyes lowered. He would never apologize or feel guilty for what he had to do for his dream, especially not for something he never remembered doing. "Then is this what I lost?"
He tried to hold down his rage at Griffith's words. Gotten in his way? At times like this, the only person he hated more than Griffith was himself. For being weak and affected by everything the man said, for getting upset like a fucking girl at some stupid words. "It's not really a loss if you never cared for it to begin with."
Part of him wanted to voice that he was glad but the thought was kept silent. If his memories of this man were important enough that they were taken instead of his dream, perhaps he was correct that it wasn't a loss at all. Maybe a blessing. The freedom from caring about anything else. "Were we friends?"
"Yes." NO. NO. NO. Gatts hated you, Gatts' mouth. He hated you more than anything ever right now.
"Oh. What was it like?" Funny that his only friendship was one that he couldn't remember. Or did Gatts only think they were friends? He had deceived many people before, so that didn't seem unlikely. But it certainly made it difficult to determine how much of what Gatts said was accurate, whether he was lying intentionally or under false information.
"It wasn't like anything I can describe. And it wasn't even real." He turned to stare at Griffith.
Griffith knew this situation all too well. "I used you, then," he stated plainly, no remorse evident in his words. So not a friend. A tool. That was his relationship with everyone. Why did he expect this one to be any different. Getting to his feet, Griffith swayed lightly from the blood loss, catching the wall with his hand to hold steady.
Why did he let him live just now, again? Gritting his teeth, he felt his eye burn. "Griffith..." he muttered in a low growl, glaring at him. "You... you would hate yourself if you knew what you've done." He took a few quick steps forward, grabbing him by the neck and pushing him against the wall he was leaning on. "If you ever get out of here. Ever. Don't you dare lay a hand on Caska and you better stay the fuck away from me."
"I am a bad person, aren't I?" Griffith whispered in resignation, eyes searching Gatts' face. What could he have possibly done to hurt somebody that was supposedly close to him? He had a sinking feeling that it was worse than anything in the past. Worse than killing the Baron, ordering the Count's death, or even burning the Queen and her inner court alive. But they deserved it. It was always somebody that deserved it. Even his soldiers that died in battle... they chose to fight for him. They chose to die for his dream. He refused to hold himself responsible. Griffith swallowed past the growing lump in his throat, trying to control his light shaking.
He didn't like that look Griffith was giving him, or the tone in his voice. He didn't like the way he smelled just like he had remembered. There wasn't one thing Gatts liked about Griffith, so why...did he want to suddenly repeat what he told him so long ago? "...Now? No." Why was he saying this? He had learned that he couldn't change anything about Griffith. Everyone had always told him that Griffith was 'different' around him, but in the end Gatts was just another soldier to him. He had been given the same fate and the same brand. "You...you see this!?" He yelled, hand tightening at Griffith's neck but slipping down to press against his collarbone, turning his head and pointing to the nape of his own neck. "You did this to me!! You doomed me to hell!! To be eaten and mauled by demons!"
His once purple shirt now drenched completely crimson, Griffith leaned heavier against the wall, eyelids drooping and the colour slowly draining from his face. If it weren't for Gatts pinning him up... Fingertips brushed hesitantly over the brand, unable to resist despite knowing he probably didn't have permission. "Why?" That didn't sound like something he would do. Even Griffith had his limits. He killed plenty of men in the past, and likely would continue to kill many more. But demons? Hell? He was never involved in such things. There must have been a long explanation he was missing.
That's what Gatts would like to know. He had blamed himself for leaving his friend, sure. But as Corkus had said, it was just a miscalculation in Griffith's plans. It wasn't his fault Griffith did something so stupid. It wasn't his fault that Griffith went insane and became so weak. Had it really been Griffith's fault, either? That answer did not matter to him, for he knew what was his fault-and it was the event that still felt like a bad dream to him. "Because I left you. Because you wanted to achieve your dream. I don't know why." he frowned, a shiver trailing slowly down his spine at Griffith's touch. With an annoyed grunt, he bent down a bit, iron arm now around Griffith's waist, wrapped securely. "Let's get your wounds cleaned up or some shit. I'll return those books for you," he said, while lifting Griffith up over his shoulder, standing tall. He really didn't want to get too emotional on him and risk looking like an idiot for the second time today.
Though proud to a fault and usually preferring to do things on his own, even in rare moments of weakness, Griffith wasn't about to protest as he draped over Gatts' shoulder tiredly, quietly amused he was bleeding all over the other man. This probably wasn't what the swordsman had in mind when he attacked. "You hate me." Gatts had said as much on several occasions, and if what he said was true then he had more than the right. He always knew he was heading down a darker path to get what he wanted, but Griffith somehow hoped he would know better than to cross some lines. "If I betrayed you. Why didn't you kill me?" Griffith wasn't going to deny that Gatts still had the chance.
"Tch. Do you mean now or in my time? You..." Gatts said, walking them back up the stairs, finding it odd how light Griffith was. He had supported Griffith many times in battle, but the armour had always added to the weight. The only time he remembered truly holding him weighed no more than a child. "..have done nothing to me, yet. Right now, we're..probably best friends, and you're probably one of the things that makes me happiest. Because I'm a foolish imbecile." He said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, trying to veil any glimpse of hurt in his tone. "And I have yet to kill you in the future, because I am training for it. And need to protect people in the meantime."
"Does it matter in which time? If I did it then... isn't it better to kill me before I have the chance?" Not that he was encouraging, it just puzzled him why somebody would allow a known enemy, future or not, to live. Gatts was more forgiving than he suspected he would have been in the same situation. "You smell," he whispered rather honestly, taking in the heavy scent and wondering when the last time the man bathed. That was more than a week's worth of sweat, and Griffith was more than used to being around dirty sweaty men to be able to properly judge.
"Killing you now wouldn't be permanent, idiot." He sneered over his shoulder at Griffith, stepping over the scattered books and continuing down the halls. "And yeah, so!?" he raised his voice a bit, blushing and getting defensive, very aware of his own odor. "I can't get this stupid armour off," he muttered in annoyance. "Geez, do you always have to state everything so blatantly? You're supposed to be charming. And where's your fucking room?" Trying to put on his tough guy act again, Gatts knew he was around the area he saw Griffith step out, but didn't know the exact location of his room. (yes, I know he has a golden template/name on the door, but Gatts is a retard)
"All the more reason to do it then, wouldn't it? Being able to take out your anger with little to no consequence. I wouldn't mind terribly," Griffith suggested cheerfully, pointing him in the direction of room 1215. It was an odd offer that he didn't suspect Gatts to take seriously. But. It felt maybe that would somehow make it up to him. Being able to come back to life afterwards didn't sound like a major loss on his part. "How did you put it on if you can't take it off, anyway?" Knocking his fist against the back of the armour curiously, Griffith frowned. "What is this even made out of?"
"It's enchanted armour. And it's fusing..with my skin. I'm sure there's a way out of it. I'm just..new with it. That's all." He sighed, looking around for the room. "So where's your room?" He asked again, intentionally ignoring the killing offer. Gatts didn't want to take the chance of not being satisfied with this Griffith's death; that could dampen his incentive to seek out revenge on HIS Griffith. "I'm assuming you have towels in there, and a bath. We can use this useless fucking pillow case to clean those wounds up if you don't." This Griffith really wasn't the one he hated. He wasn't the cold, unfeeling one. The one that just started all over again, a happy and successful, worshipped man. With a complete clean slate-no one knowing of what he did, and with his dream in reach again.
"Enchanted? Really. If I weren't here, I wouldn't be very likely to believe that," Griffith replied playfully, flicking Gatts' ear. "I could help you figure it out, if you need. Otherwise you'll be able to take out entire armies by your stench alone. Hard to make friends that way." What a strange, grumpy man, but he could see why he might have been important to him in the past. Or maybe he only felt obliged to think so, Griffith couldn't be sure. "1215, on the right," he instructed, realizing he was previously pointing in range of the man's missing eye.
"Ghn-" Gatts growled at Griffith, glaring over his shoulder at the ear flick. "Don't do that." He half-pouted. "I'll rip your hand off. Test out if it will grow back here, or something." Just because you cannot hate this Griffith does not mean you have to like him, he thought angrily to himself. He wouldn't allow himself to ever grow attached again. This man was fated to destroy his life, and destroy Caska. He crashed his foot roughly against the middle of the door to Griffith's room, it making a hole through the door and pushing it forward. Pulling his armoured foot out, he gave Griffith's butt a pat before walking over to the bed and dropping him on it. "I'll go start a bath or whatever. Don't get all girly and homo on me and complain about the sheets being bloody. And you're just gonna have to deal with my stench, so too bad!" He yelled in Griffith's face, pretending he wasn't totally embarrassed of his smell. Puck said it was manly..
Expression completely innocent, Griffith leaned forward and observed the yelling man, waiting until he was finished to put a finger to his lips. "I'm not the one with a pink pillowcase," Griffith kindly reminded Gatts that he had no room to speak of masculinity. "Make sure it's warm," he added, lazily sprawling out comfortably in the plush bed. It was a lot nicer than anything he was used to, he had to admit. Sleeping in tents during war campaigns wasn't always entirely pleasant. He could just rest his eyes for a couple seconds...
"Alright. But don't you fall asleep on me, otherwise I'll let you bleed to death." He talked against Griffith's finger, then grabbed his wrist and pinned it down to the mattress. With that, he turned toward the bathroom, walking in and closing the door behing him ajar. Turning on the water to the bathtub, he ran his hand under it carelessly. "Warm enough.." he said to himself. "GRIFFITH. Get over here."
With a small yawn and a stretch, Griffith rolled out of the bed reluctantly and began stripping out of his clothing in preparation for the bath. Unlike Gatts, he valued his hygiene. Examining the coat, he doubted the stains would ever come out and tossed it carelessly aside, following it by his loosely tied cravat and torn shirt. At least there was more in the closet. Entirely nude by the time he made it to the bathroom, Griffith pushed the door open without shame. "That was an impressive trick. With the arrows. I never expected it."
As soon as he heard the sound of the door opening, Gatts turned his head away, knowing the man would be in the nude. Sure, he was comfortable with that before. In fact, all of Midland had probably seen Griffith naked at one point or another; but you just didn't do that thing with your enemy, anymore. "Geez, Griffith. You're always doin' that naked thing like some homo. Get in the tub and stop showing off." He swiped the water once more with his metal hand, then turned his back a bit more to the tub, sitting cross-legged. "And yeah, well. Element of surprise and all. You're the master of that."
Always the homo comments. Griffith suspected the man had serious issues with his own sexuality or lacked any more creative insults. "You can hardly expect to bathe while dressed," Griffith rolled his eyes at the turned back, lowering himself into the warm bath and stretching out. "Not that you have any experience with bathing at all," he added. The filling tub water slowly turned a soft shade of pink as his blood diffused through it in small rivulets. Swirling the water idly with his fingertips across the surface, an idea struck him. Scooping up a handful of water between his cupped hands, Griffith lifted them above Gatts' head, parting his fingers and soaking the dark hair with a gleeful giggle.
Somehow, Gatts should have expected that, he thought to himself. Perpetually frowning face transforming into an angry pout, he turned his head to look over at Griffith, bangs dripping water in front of his eye. "You- ... ugh." Gatts grunted. He knew Griffith was just being his charming self- but this was a lot more painful than fun for him. He was not going to engage him in a water fight, again. Gatts firmly believed he was brought to this place to redo his relationship with Griffith. Without ever getting attached. "Just wash yourself, Griffith." He turned his head again, not wanting to look at him.
The laughter cut short, not expecting such a negative reaction. Maybe a protest and a splash back, anything more than a complete cold shoulder. Opening his mouth to retort, for once none came. Defeated, Griffith turned his attention to prodding at the deep holes in his shoulders. As much as he wanted to write it off as Gatts being a huge grump, he had to remind himself that he betrayed this man. Of course he wouldn't appreciate his attempts at friendliness.
"We used to have dumb fights like that all of the time while we showered. It's just different, now. It's nothing against you." He paused. "Well, actually it is. Just, not you. The other you," he said lowly, gripping at the armour on his neck and pulling. The teeth of it had become embedded slightly into the skin of his collarbone, and he had not remembered it being that way prior to arriving at this place. He guessed this must have happened when he first saw Griffith just a few moments ago. Or perhaps because he didn't have the woman that was keeping him human with him. Groaning in frustration, he pulled more at the armour, feeling the teeth finally separating from his skin a bit. "Nngh-at least it doesn't burn to be around you." Well..IT DID IN HIS HEART but that was for Gatts to emo about in the rain, later.
"There is no other me," Griffith disagreed, annoyed at the comment and jabbing his wound harder in frustration at the situation. There was him in the past and in the future, but he was always Griffith. There was no use comparing him to himself. Most of all he was feeling uncomfortable with the feeling of being prejudged by somebody he never knew. Or remembered knowing. As far as he could recall, though he didn’t trust his memories fully anymore, he never had a water fight. With anyone. And here he was repeating the same actions without even knowing and the possibility of friendship already tainted. Really, it was rather unfair. Like an enemy already knowing your battle plan.
He grew angry at that statement. Irrational as it was to think, it felt like his Griffith admitting that every action was his responsibility. His doing. And while Gatts believed that in his angriest moments, he...well, he really didn't have a consistency in anything he felt or believed, any longer. "Then you and I have no business with each other," he brought himself to his feet, hearing a voice distantly in his head. A voice he was all too familiar with. And while he had no problem brutally murdering Griffith, he'd like to be in control while he did it, and not under the spell of that thing. "If we never were true friends, then we never can be." You had saved my life countless times in battle. You gave me those smiles, wanted to know my thoughts... "Try not to bleed to death or drown."
As much as he would like to deny it, if what Gatts said was true then he had no choice but to take full responsibility for his actions. Even if he technically hadn't done anything. There was still the matter of yet. There was no use pretending that potential in him didn't exist. The deed was destined, so it was already as good as done. As long as he could admit it to himself, perhaps that made him slightly less of a bad person. Maybe the acknowledgment could prevent him from doing worse in the future. "If?" Griffith repeated, almost too quietly to hear. "I cannot prove otherwise, and you will never be the proper judge on how I feel or what I think. Perhaps neither of us will ever know how it truly was."
Gatts immediately drew his sword out again, slamming it into the side of the tub, damaging the structure and collapsing one wall of it. Water immediately poured out and on to the floor of the bathroom, Gatts took another step forward and brought his sword down on Griffith's shoulder, letting it rest on top of it. "Fuck you! You can't even at least pretend you'd feel bad about this happening? You disgust me. I can't believe I felt-..." The armour began closing in around his neck again, teeth sinking in to the sides of his neck. Gatts tried to calm his breathing, closing his eye so he wouldn't have to look at the source of his anger. "I never meant to leave you. But it gave you no right. You're so pathetic, Griffith..." he said, trying not to give away whom exactly he felt was the pathetic one.
Anger drowned out any fear he felt, eyes narrowed sharply up at Gatts as he crouched naked in the empty tub underneath the weight of the sword. "I cannot pretend to apologize for which I do not understand, but I take full responsibility. If that is truly what I am, I have no choice but to accept it. It would be unjust to you otherwise." He lowered his head, feeling the irony of the sword over his shoulder, mirroring the time he was knighted by the King of Midland. Then he was praised for his actions. Now somebody finally recognized what kind of monster he was, including himself.
"You can't just accept it like that!" He growled, eye opening again to fixate on Griffith, images of a younger, softer-haired Griffith battling in his mind with the wild-haired, emotionless one from his own present time. "It was my fault, too! Don't you fucking even try to do what's 'just' to me now if you're going to accept it only to recognize what's 'unjust' in the future!" Gatts had no idea if he was even making any sense, but his mind was so jumbled and his body just was telling him to lunge at Griffith, tearing his face right off of his skull with his teeth. And oh, no, that was not a tear falling from his eye. Ew. "I was going to come back to you," He stated in a pathetic whisper, enraged and shaking, feeling suffocated by his armour. I miss Caska, he frantically thought to himself, thinking of an excuse for that tear. Or maybe it was that the armour caused him such pain that...yeah. That was it. Haha..ha. :' (
"What do you want from me?" Griffith asked awkwardly, eyes following the tear traveling down Gatts' cheek. "I can't change what was already done," he helplessly added. He hated this guilt. It was a feeling he fought to avoid at every step towards his dream. So why did he feel more guilt over something he hadn't even done than for the countless things he had in the past? "Maybe," he hesitated, studying Gatts' reaction carefully. "Maybe things can be different this time." Turning his head away, he already expected the rejection. It was a weak offer, and not even one he could promise.
Gatts froze for a moment there, not sure what to think of that offer. It was ridiculous and absurd, sure. He could just..cut off Griffith's head right now...wouldn't that be ironic? Griffith asking to do it all over again, and getting his head sliced off in mid-thought. Maybe Gatts could say something to put a smile on his face. No, he'd want his head with a big, angry frown. He'd put it on a shelf at home, and he and Caska would tell their children 'This is what happens to you when you betray your loved ones, kids', and raise the best kids ever. He withdrew the sword and swung it over his own shoulder, turning his back to Griffith and bending over, looking through the cabinets of the bathroom and pulling out a few towels. Clutching them in his large hand, he turned back to walk over to the naked man. "This isn't a yes, I hope you know." He eyed the wounds on his shoulder, then pressed the towel against the one that looked like it was causing him the most trouble. "I bet your pretty ass...always gets to talk its way out of everything. No, I'm not gonna fall for it," he smirked. "I'm not Caska, after all."
"I wouldn't expect you to make up your mind so quickly. Give it time, I do not need an answer right away." Reaching over, Griffith turned the faucet various ways, trying to stop the flooding of his bathroom floor. What an odd invention, really. How was he to refill the water coming from the wall once it ran out? There must be a river nearby, but to transport that much water up twelve flights of stairs would be quite an impressive feat. But he had come across an indoor pond the other day while searching for the library. If it came to it, he'd have to start taking his baths there. He preferred the open space anyway. "You know me better than I thought," Griffith smiled, briefly missing Caska at the mention of her name. All of his men. What was a General without his army? He had hoped rebuilding one here would be successful, give him a new sense of purpose. Of course he expected resistance, but Griffith knew nothing was ever that easy.
Gatts focused on the wound, wondering if the other Griffith he had known could bleed at all. Annoyed at his movements in the tub, he gripped Griffith's waist tightly with his iron hand, pressing the towel to the skin more firmly with his other. "Hold still," he snapped, irritated. "And you're just fooling yourself if you think you'd ever allow anyone to really know you." Gatts had thought Griffith had once let him in, but like hell was he going to get answers out of this one. It didn't help at all that he always felt so distant and far away from the man's worth. Always above Gatts, in his own eyes, Griffith continued in every incarnation, it seemed, to make him feel like his efforts are not enough for one reason or another. Patting the towel against the skin a few more times, he discarded it quickly and gripped the faucet, turning the water off in a quick gesture by pushing the faucet's knob in. Pushing the blood-soaked towel aside with his foot, he grabbed the other wet one off of the tiled floor and began to apply pressure again to the area, glad to see some progress, though little. He didn't want the man fainting on him or something. In fact, Gatts really didn't want to see Griffith look helpless in any way at all. His eyes softened a bit at the memory of a frail Griffith in his arms-shaking and bellowing inaudible sounds and pathetic whimpers. Slinking his arm more around Griffith's waist, across his lower back, he unconsciously pulled him a bit closer at that thought. "Don't make too many enemies here, idiot. Y'know you piss as many people off as you do charm them."
"It's a talent," he admitted proudly, no traces of pain in his voice despite the stinging of the arrow wound. Taking advantage of the close proximity, Griffith gave into curiosity and reached forward to grasp the Behelit hanging from around Gatts' neck, running his fingers over the rough edges of the distorted features. Lifting his own next to it, he compared the two side by side, wondering if the other man had any more idea how they worked than he did. "How did we meet?" he glanced up curiously, releasing the necklace and allowing it to swing back and clank against the armoured chest. "Did I heroically rescue you only to have you begging to join me afterwards? It happens a lot, you know."
"We crossed paths by chance, and you asked me to join you. I refused, and we had a battle." Gatts rolled his eye at Griffith's attitude. I'm not Princess Charlotte, idiot., he thought to himself. "I was winning, but then you..dislocated my arm. Or whatever. After that I just stayed with you for a few years..." He reached behind him one more time and grabbed a piece of his cape, lifting it to his mouth and tearing off a large portion of a corner with his teeth. Lifting Griffith's arm forcefully, he slipped the cloth beneath his underarm and began to tie it around his shoulder, stretching it out for support a few times around the opposite side of Griffith's neck. "You didn't really save my life until a while after. Almost got yourself killed and everything, like a real hero." His eye suspiciously glanced over at the Behelits, eyeing Griffith's own curiosity in them with conviction. "What, do you want them to marry and have some super baby Behelit or some shit?"
"By chance? A fated meeting, then," he grinned, watching Gatts' large hands as they wrapped the strips of torn material across his torso. It wasn't often to get bandaged by the same man that inflicted the damage. Though Gatts made a much better swordsman than a healer, he was a little rough with his handling. "And there is no such thing as was winning. The outcome is all that matters. If you lost, you obviously weren't winning very well." Flicking the tip of Gatts' nose, Griffith doubted the possibility of dislocating the arm of a man this size. Would he even be able to get proper leverage? It must have been quite a few years in the past, though Griffith couldn't find an appropriate time span within his memories where these events would fit. The more he learned, his mind was doing its best to push the knowledge right back out. Obviously something didn't think it belonged there. "They do look awfully lonely, don't they? With a face only a mother could love."
"Huh." Paying more attention to the wound, Gatts tied the ends of the torn cloth as tightly as he could, securing it around the wound. It had been bleeding considerably less amounts, which Gatts was proud of. Sitting back and slipping his arm around from Griffith's waist, he stared down at the Behelits. "And, for your information," Gatts raised his voice, a competitive smirk on his face, "I defeated you with one blow years later. So Hah." He turned his head, closed, eyeless socket shown to Griffith. Of course, Gatts thought about what happened immediately after that, which wasn't really anything funny. Biting his lip, guilt flooded his chest, gripping it tightly. "Anyways-" he grabbed his Behelit out of Griffith's hand, "I better go return those books for you and leave you be."
No matter how irrationally insulted he was by the comment, Griffith kept quiet, knowing he could say more hurtful in return concerning who really won in the end, considering the brand. But although the exact circumstances were still unknown to him and the little details he had weren't cooperating, Griffith knew it was a subject that shouldn't be used so lightly for just the purpose of cheap comeback. He didn't know why he longed for Gatts' trust, but that was a sure way to quickly lose it. Maybe he wanted to prove that he really wasn't so bad. To himself, to Gatts. "You are welcome to return any time," he suggested, cupping the side of Gatts' face to turn it back toward him, making eye contact.
Staring into Griffith's eyes, his brows furrowed as he felt the teeth of his armour slowly release his neck. He felt warmth run over his face and body, the blood leaking down his chest and beneath his suit. "I'll...return those books on time." Gatts stated again, that being the only thing he felt safe to say. Not exactly a mission to keep up the rear during a raid or battle, but a mission nonetheless. And that's what irked Gatts. What was he doing returning these books for Griffith!? Griffith should return them himself! He wasn't some book-returner! Some personal slave for Griffith. Who died and made Griffith King, anyhow? No one, yet! And so Gatts wanted to show Griffith who was boss. Yeah. So he ...just sat there, because really, it was hard to move out of the gaze he was caught in. "Uh..."
"I don't think anybody in the castle would mind if you threw the books into the incinerator, if they noticed them missing at all," Griffith spoke in low, calming tones, sensing the building aggression. "But I truly appreciate it. There are quite a few books in the library, maybe you could find something that interested you." Not that many of his men in the Hawks knew how to read, most of them having very little education at all. But they were military men, it wasn't expected. He suspected, however, that Gatts was perfectly capable through his ability to communicate through the journals. Smiling pleasantly and eyes still holding the gaze, he slowly removed his hand from Gatts' face. "I like you."
When did that phrase ever have any meaning, anymore? "Hn." Was about all he could growl out of his throat, grabbing his sword off of the ground and getting to his feet. His face still felt heated, and his cheek had felt like it had been slapped rather than touched. "Good bye." He muttered, turning and walking hastily out of the bathroom, feet making big splashes on the wet floor as he left, not looking back. He'd probably just throw the books out. But not after seeing if Griffith still had the same taste in books. Particularly, that one with the interesting pictures and positions.
No longer having to hold up and pretense of strength, Griffith slumped against the side of the tub, letting out a deep sigh. Well that ended splendidly, he decided optimistically. Given more time, he was sure Gatts would start to warm up. He had gone from trying to kill him to returning his borrowed books in one night. That certainly was progress.
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Just you wait. Gatts is going to kill him >\ YOU BETTER GET READY FOR A THREE WEEK BREAK, BETCH.
♥
hahehwaehwehweh so long
:)
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POLICEGRIFFITHno subject
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IF YOU DONT REMEMBER CORRECTLY, GATTS IS A
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You don't.
That means....
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just so you know, it was like, bloody 2 AM, and I was like, "Gatts and Griffith, why not," only I realized halfway through that I was only halfway through and just GAVE UP and then I saw the comments and spent a good minute cracking up and freaking out my roomate.
♥
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But agrees that's about the truth of it.
As this mun stalks friends on threads/logs and characters associated to hers.
WTF I STALK????
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IS IT BAD I FEEL KINDA GOOD AND KINDA BAD AS HIDAN?
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...Kidding, kidding!
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>_>
HEY BABE YOU'RE ON? ♥
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