[There's a sound of rhythmic chopping, so she isn't outright ignoring him. After a bit, there's the follow-up of a blade scraping something off a cutting board, and when she speaks it's without the previous frigid firmness that marked their last conversation.]
[Not really. He barely stomachs wine as it is, but he knows he's in no position to argue and that "bargaining" didn't get him very far in the past. He'll just have to accept her hospitality as-is—quietly he notes to himself a sign of her good nature that she would offer, even with strained relations—and voice his concerns another time.]
Prop open the window, if you would. I come to you as before.
[She fills the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil, before padding upstairs to her room in order to let him in. She's dressed less scandalously tonight, in the blue outfit she had worn to the village. The scarf is tying her hair back, and there's an apron tied neatly on top. She steps back to make room for him, and settles her hands on her hips.]
[Gilgamesh slips in a few minutes later with surprising grace, given his earlier fumbling about. He's more cat than dragon, in some ways, navigating his own limbs with care, settling into a corner in a neat arrangement. Notably, he's shed his former cloak for more comfortable clothes, loose and well-trimmed for his figure.
And then there's all that gold, which Gilgamesh could never do without for long.]
Were you preparing something...? It is a bit late for a meal.
[Well, odd for a man who hates sharing anything with anyone else, he'd argue.
Reaching into the Gate was a burdensome endeavor these days, but in this case, it would be worth it. Gilgamesh summons a strange object into his hands: it's dusty, and clearly some kind of book or tome, a very old one at that. Unfamiliar characters skitter the cover, concealing thick pages rimmed with gold.]
It was sung long before it was written in any form, but... this is it.
[Gilgamesh holds out the tome for her to examine.]
This is the original copy of my Epic, as graced by own hands.
[It's little more than a surprised exhalation, but she doesn't hesitate to lean in for a closer look, fascination painted clear across her face. This is... very different from the sanitized, simple file that had summarized Gilgamesh's life, back on the Far Side.]
I see. This is... Sumerian, then? Or is the written form called something else?
[She accepts it gingerly, less out of a reluctance to touch him and more out of the worry that the volume has gotten delicate with age. Her hair sweeps over his fingers as she straightens, carefully opening the book. For a time, she merely pages through it, drinking in the the aesthetic additions and tracing the characters, the tip of her finger hovering just shy of true contact.]
...I can't make heads or tails of it, but it's gorgeous.
[On certain pages, there are clear additions of Gilgamesh's doing, little notes here and there, extra lines long since lost to time, even bold illustrations etched in charcoal of some scenes. There can be no denying that this copy belonged to Gilgamesh himself, and naturally he's quite pleased by her assessment of it, tail wagging and ears perked proud and tall.]
Of course. But any piece of scripture is all but useless if you cannot understand it.
[And here's the pitch, the winning move he's been planning for.]
I would like to read it to you. Since you were so busy before, now seems a perfect time to start.
[a Servant so eager to tell her about themselves... it had taken a while before Nero was this comfortable, and truth be told Tamamo still hasn't gotten there. Archer... squeezing blood from a stone is easier than getting Archer to open up about himself, honestly. She settles down on the edge of her bed, looking up at him.]
[Truth be told this was the sort of winning move best followed by cuddling up close... but he'd sort of squandered that opportunity through a series of increasingly poor decisions, so he'll have to find a way to adjust. He approaches the bed and most definitely looks silly for a moment as he tries to assess how to navigate it, and her, appropriately.
Damn you, past self, you really shit the bed on this one. Pun unintended.]
W-well, what kind of ridiculous question is that! Who would call me King if I could not manage something so pedestrian!
[He says, as he struggles with something so pedestrian.
But eventually he figures it out and just plops down beside her, letting his tail flop over on the opposite side. Victory!]
....? It seemed like a logical one to me. You were pretty certain you couldn't last time we spoke, after all.
[She says it simply and bluntly. He had been morose, dramatic, beside himself... moreso than ever before. She wasn't and isn't going to be overly sympathetic, but she doesn't have to be unkind or inhospitable either. He's obviously trying to meet her expectations after all. She leans in, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her arm and the flutter of her hair.
She lifts the book up, a bit of eagerness creeping into her large, dark eyes.]
[He supposes he'd squandered that warmth, too. He tries to ignore it as he opens the first page.]
I was born to a goddess, Ninsun, and to a human king, Lugalbanda. I do not recall terribly much of either; it was a sinful union that never should have been.
Your father... he was the one who met Altera in her Titan form, wasn't he?
[She thinks so. The memories of her Body seem to recall a connection like that, though it was hard to follow such a conversation when she didn't know anything.]
But... does that mean your mother left when you were young? Or... hm, what sort of birth was it, actually...?
[Gods and the divine can come from all manner of organs, materials, or orifaces after all.]
My "father" certainly embarked upon many adventures of his own.
[He strives to keep his tone neutral, but Hakuno will note it sounds strained nonetheless. Like trying to say something nice about someone you secretly, or not so secretly, despise. As for his mother, and any further details, he just shrugs his shoulders.]
I arrived in this world prepared to lead my people. As a child of some age, with bright eyes and bright ambitions.
[The sort of dire wording which suggests something, eventually, had changed.]
[A darker sort of tale not even his Epic ever told.
Gilgamesh turns the page and so begins the story proper:]
He who saw the deep, the country's foundation; who knew and was wise in all matters. He who was everywhere, and learnt the sum of all wisdom. He found what was secret, discovered what was hidden. He brought back a great tale, before the Deluge...
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[There's a sound of rhythmic chopping, so she isn't outright ignoring him. After a bit, there's the follow-up of a blade scraping something off a cutting board, and when she speaks it's without the previous frigid firmness that marked their last conversation.]
Alright. I'll put on some tea.
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[Not really. He barely stomachs wine as it is, but he knows he's in no position to argue and that "bargaining" didn't get him very far in the past. He'll just have to accept her hospitality as-is—quietly he notes to himself a sign of her good nature that she would offer, even with strained relations—and voice his concerns another time.]
Prop open the window, if you would. I come to you as before.
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[She fills the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil, before padding upstairs to her room in order to let him in. She's dressed less scandalously tonight, in the blue outfit she had worn to the village. The scarf is tying her hair back, and there's an apron tied neatly on top. She steps back to make room for him, and settles her hands on her hips.]
...have the lobsters been working for you?
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[Gilgamesh slips in a few minutes later with surprising grace, given his earlier fumbling about. He's more cat than dragon, in some ways, navigating his own limbs with care, settling into a corner in a neat arrangement. Notably, he's shed his former cloak for more comfortable clothes, loose and well-trimmed for his figure.
And then there's all that gold, which Gilgamesh could never do without for long.]
Were you preparing something...? It is a bit late for a meal.
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[It's nothing compared to what they can do, but she wanted to try giving back to Alter and Archer for once.]
Any luck tracking down your demon?
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I brought a gift for you. Better than chocolates, I think; somehow I doubt that would mollify you twice.
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[But she won't say no to prese...
She might say no to presents. 'From the heart' is a very loaded phrase now, after all.]
Going by the theme... should I guess flowers?
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Actually, it is something we might share. A most peculiar oddity with proclivities such as mine, but...
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[Odd, for him? A man who detests boredom, and has a pocket dimension of oddities collected as trophies in that pursuit?]
What is it? Now I'm really curious.
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Reaching into the Gate was a burdensome endeavor these days, but in this case, it would be worth it. Gilgamesh summons a strange object into his hands: it's dusty, and clearly some kind of book or tome, a very old one at that. Unfamiliar characters skitter the cover, concealing thick pages rimmed with gold.]
It was sung long before it was written in any form, but... this is it.
[Gilgamesh holds out the tome for her to examine.]
This is the original copy of my Epic, as graced by own hands.
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[It's little more than a surprised exhalation, but she doesn't hesitate to lean in for a closer look, fascination painted clear across her face. This is... very different from the sanitized, simple file that had summarized Gilgamesh's life, back on the Far Side.]
I see. This is... Sumerian, then? Or is the written form called something else?
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[With gentle encouragement:]
Go on. Take it. It is yours to examine as you please.
[...however, he didn't forget the strict impositions upon him, so he's careful to nudge his hands around its edges. They're easy enough to avoid.]
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...I can't make heads or tails of it, but it's gorgeous.
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Of course. But any piece of scripture is all but useless if you cannot understand it.
[And here's the pitch, the winning move he's been planning for.]
I would like to read it to you. Since you were so busy before, now seems a perfect time to start.
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[a Servant so eager to tell her about themselves... it had taken a while before Nero was this comfortable, and truth be told Tamamo still hasn't gotten there. Archer... squeezing blood from a stone is easier than getting Archer to open up about himself, honestly. She settles down on the edge of her bed, looking up at him.]
Have you managed to find a way to sit, yet?
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[Truth be told this was the sort of winning move best followed by cuddling up close... but he'd sort of squandered that opportunity through a series of increasingly poor decisions, so he'll have to find a way to adjust. He approaches the bed and most definitely looks silly for a moment as he tries to assess how to navigate it, and her, appropriately.
Damn you, past self, you really shit the bed on this one. Pun unintended.]
W-well, what kind of ridiculous question is that! Who would call me King if I could not manage something so pedestrian!
[He says, as he struggles with something so pedestrian.
But eventually he figures it out and just plops down beside her, letting his tail flop over on the opposite side. Victory!]
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[She says it simply and bluntly. He had been morose, dramatic, beside himself... moreso than ever before. She wasn't and isn't going to be overly sympathetic, but she doesn't have to be unkind or inhospitable either. He's obviously trying to meet her expectations after all. She leans in, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her arm and the flutter of her hair.
She lifts the book up, a bit of eagerness creeping into her large, dark eyes.]
So, how does it start?
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I was born to a goddess, Ninsun, and to a human king, Lugalbanda. I do not recall terribly much of either; it was a sinful union that never should have been.
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[She thinks so. The memories of her Body seem to recall a connection like that, though it was hard to follow such a conversation when she didn't know anything.]
But... does that mean your mother left when you were young? Or... hm, what sort of birth was it, actually...?
[Gods and the divine can come from all manner of organs, materials, or orifaces after all.]
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[He strives to keep his tone neutral, but Hakuno will note it sounds strained nonetheless. Like trying to say something nice about someone you secretly, or not so secretly, despise. As for his mother, and any further details, he just shrugs his shoulders.]
I arrived in this world prepared to lead my people. As a child of some age, with bright eyes and bright ambitions.
[The sort of dire wording which suggests something, eventually, had changed.]
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[She nods along, humming thoughtfully.]
Things don't ever go that smoothly though, do they? Life gets in the way.
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[A darker sort of tale not even his Epic ever told.
Gilgamesh turns the page and so begins the story proper:]
He who saw the deep, the country's foundation; who knew and was wise in all matters.
He who was everywhere, and learnt the sum of all wisdom.
He found what was secret, discovered what was hidden.
He brought back a great tale, before the Deluge...
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[The truth...
It isn't always kind, or what you want to hear. Whether it's about yourself, your friends, your home...]
You still loved it though, right? Your... country. Your home.
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[The truth...
In fact, that's exactly what got in the way. Far too much of it.]
At times I wonder if I ever loved anything at all.
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[They both know there is proof he loved something once. Loved someone. Loved them so dearly losing them left him gutted forever after.]
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