aefenglom | text; un: berserker

Hmmm, so a sweet-tooth... [ Caster sits himself a bit straighter, to provide a good support for a lean-up, and moves his hand to briefly brush Berserker's hair. ]

Hey, you got some sweet-mix to drink, wine-based? [ He asks the barkeep who only raises an eyebrow at him with a "please, who do you think I am? You will have that in a few minutes" ]

[ However brief that touch may be, Berserker is either feeling miserable enough or drunk enough to eagerly lean into it. He only gives a passing glance to the barkeep before letting his eyes close. ]

...I wonder if I'm cursed.

[ Yeah, he's mopey. ]

Will I lose Diarmuid next...?

[ Ah, there it is. One real fear of a man without it. Caster's touch becomes slightly more firm, as he pulls Berserker closer, letting his head rest on his shoulder (mind the horns) ]

He won't ever leave your side willingly, you know that.

[ It's weird for him to be so vulnerable, even weirder that he's like this in a public place. He feels no need to keep his guard up around Caster, though, despite the setting. A lot has changed in nearly a year...

Berserker opens his eyes as the barkeep approaches once again, but he makes no move away from Caster. It's only after they're relatively alone again (with a fresh bottle of booze) that he continues. ]

I know...I can endure any wound laid upon me and yet I can do nothing to ignore this pain. [ Gods, he feels pathetic like this. Berserker sits up long enough to grab the bottle from the table and take a swig before offering it to Caster. He...smiles, just for a second, as a thought occurs to him. ] ...Flat would have made fun of me for acting like this.

[ Caster's interactions with Flat were brief, but he definitely came across as someone who freely says whatever is on his mind... so yeah, he could imagine that. ]

And you'd make a scary face at him, which he would not be scared of.

[ He takes a swig from an offered bottle... and immediately puts the bottle away with a grimace. ]

That's like... liquid sugar!! [ With alcohol. But hey they wanted sweet, they got sweet and Caster can't help but laugh at them a little— only a little because he turns thoughtful ] Some types of pain go worse if you just ignore it.

He was never afraid of me...He was the Master of a Berserker-class Servant, so he knew how to handle someone like me.

[ It's why he trusted Flat enough to Bond with him. Caster's reaction gets a brief smile, a flash of his sharp teeth, and probably the most emotion anyone has seen out of him since Flat disappeared. It's refreshing to feel something other than crushing misery. ]

If you don't want it, that's more for me. [ He takes another swig before falling silent for a moment. ] ...I know. It's why I'm trying to do...something about it. I can't let it fester like before...

[ It's what happened when Geralt disappeared. Given the situation they were all in when that happened, it's a miracle Berserker didn't die from despair... ]

[ Caster gives him the sweet alcohol without prompting, while he waves himself a bottle of ale. His attention focused solely on Berserker. The

Master of another Berserker-class Servant. Truly that does require a certain personality, the strength of character, otherwise the Master will perish ]

I know you don't want questions asked so— I won't ask. Just tell me everything you want to let out. Tell me what you need to get out.

[ When Geralt disappeared there wasn't even a time to mourn the loss. There was only surviving the pain inflicted by the captors against all odds and then trying to piece themselves together. Caster isn't sure if he found all pieces, but Berserker had it even worse. ]

About either of them.

[ He was broken before then, but slowly pieced back together through impossible circumstances. His progress was significant and then he was broken again in new ways. The cracks once repaired were shattered, the pieces fragmenting further, and maybe beyond repair. There are still pieces missing, cracks in the structure, and it's unlikely he'll ever be the same again.

And yet he persists.

Berserker covers up his silence with a long drink, not knowing exactly what he wants to say or if he wants to say anything at all. He's private and closed off on the best of days; at least being drunk right now helps. ]

...I just wish I could see them both one last time, say what needs to be said, or don't say anything at all and just...be with them for a few moments more to say goodbye.

[ Time. That's all he wants is a little more time. Time he'll never get and he accepts that. It's still a nice thought, an unachievable dream. ]

[ Time is always running out, forever moving, towards the inevitable. But acceptance of the eventual fate, doesn't change the feelings at the moment. No, it makes every moment all more important. Live like your day is your last—

Caster can't find words that he feels Berserker wouldn't know already, wouldn't tell himself already. So instead of words he puts his arm around his wide shoulder and pulls him closer into a comforting embrace. ]

What would you tell them?

[ Berserker presses into the embrace, Caster's familiar warmth and touch undeniably comforting. What would he tell them? There's so much he could tell them, but did it really need to be said? ]

I...would just thank them, for taking a chance and trusting someone like me. For letting me into their lives as closely as they did. Gratitude for all that we had and all that we shared.

[ Gratitude isn't something he's known for. Neither is emotional vulnerability and yet here he is, baring himself to Caster in the back of a bar, practically snuggled up against him. ]

Then I could finally let go of this pain.

[ The importance of saying a proper goodbye. ]

I'm sure they already knew... but the act of telling is important.

[ The chance to address things probably unsaid, now lost. Casters draw soothing circles on the skin under his hand. Suddenly, he gets a strange idea and with a short hum, he wonders. ]

Have you thought about writing letters to them? [ Crazy, stupid idea, but it suddenly jumped him ]

[ It is a crazy idea, enough to get Berserker to lift his head to stare at him. Is it really any different than what he does, going to their mirrors and speaking as if they can hear him? Grief does strange things to a person... ]

No...I'm not much for writing nor words. I don't know if it would help at all.

The follow-up was to... burn them. Or throw them into an ocean.

[ Kind of like— get it all out, and then let it go, let the smoke or water carry the message. Caster's fingers trace along Berserker's scalp, up between the horns ]

Just a weird idea that suddenly hit me.

[ It's not like he is very good at dealing with loss either. He just was "lucky" to die earlier than most of his important people ]

Hm...Maybe. I don't know.

[ It seems like Caster has hit a magic spot; Berserker leans forward into the touch between his horns with a pleased hum. Not even the booze has taken the edge off as much as physical affection like this has. They're not bonded, but it still feels pleasant. ]

If you're not careful, I'm going to fall asleep...

[ Might be a good time to wander on home, lest Caster have to deal with a sleeping dragon. Or not deal, more likely. ]

Was I ever careful... [ A short laugh. ] If anything they're not nearly the time of closing the place yet.

[ That's an encouragement. If Berserker wants to take a nap on him, so be it— he came here to comfort after all. They can stay like that for some time, hour, maybe two. Then when Berserker sobers a bit, he could haul him home. ]

...Mm, good point.

[ On both accounts, really. He knows all too well that Caster isn't careful in most of the things he does. There's a certain trust between them know and safety in his presence that allows him to feel safe enough to sleep. ]

Just for a little bit... [ He mutters, his eyes closed. ]

text; un: berserker

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