Scene #6888: We Three Kings

Owner	Pose
Gilgamesh	There's something to be said for restraint. Contrary to all expectation, all imagination, all...anything that could be said of his character, Gilgamesh did not rent a fabulous luxury cruise for the three god-kings. He did not rent a huge sprawling hotel. He did not buy some sort of beach. He did not even bring forth one of his marvelous Noble Phantasms on which to ride and enjoy pure, unbelievable decadence. No, none of that. Not one bit of it. The King of Heroes rented a log cabin. Now, to be fair, it's one of those nice, upscale log cabins, not a thing that was made in Lincoln's time. A double-decker, with windows, with an interior bar and lounge, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms and a deck overlooking a dense forest and a sparkling lake. It's up in Canada, in one of the warmer parts of the Yukon. It's as far away from human civilization as one could get, buried in the primordia of nature. Whoever owns this property loves it very dearly. The lake is unspoiled, jumping with fish. There are bears and birds and beasts throughout the woods. Contrary to all expectations, Gilgamesh has not even provided unbelievable luxury furniture, or unbelievably godlike food. He has not even once used the Gate of Babylon. He even got dressed this morning like a normal person, in normal people clothes, although granted, normal people clothes that probably cost more than a normal human being could possibly afford. The sun rising over the lake makes for a spectacular view as the King of Heroes comes down stairs in his sweater and pants. "There are few things in the world that are worth preserving," he says idly, "But this is one of them." It's hard to tell if he means 'the time spent with them,' 'the view of nature', or both.
Rhongomyniad	Vacation. An alien concept to the Goddess of Chivalry, and yet, the insistence of the Knights of the Round Table could not be ignored. Likewise, the state of the King of Heroes could not be ignored. And perhaps an opportunity to grow better acquainted with the other goddess who accompanies the golden King. It took some doing to get her to wear something other than the regal armor and mantle she is so accustomed to-- the goddess Rhongomyniad seems somewhat ignorant of her own appearance, after all. But here she is, upon the deck overlooking the land in perfectly ordinary pants, a perfectly ordinary blouse, and a black windbreaker to urge away the morning chill. Luminous green eyes stare out from the deck, looking out over the lake and the rising sun. Utterly silent, bereft of expression, and yet not looking away. Freshly brewed coffee steams away in the cup resting on the railing beside her, scarcely touched. The entire floor has that refreshing fresh coffee morning smell to it, a ritual she's taken to on her own. A voice speaking up catches her attention, and Rhongomyniad straightens slightly. A heartbeat later she turns, greeting Gilgamesh with that impassive stare of hers, backlit by the sunrise. With a slight cant of her head, she wordlessly procures that coffee cup, holding it out in offering. It'd probably be a bit more heartwarming if she could emote better, but she's trying.
Priscilla	Given where Priscilla inevitably has to return to in order to 'live life', whether the lavish magnificence of Grand Dorado and the Elysium Apex for work, or the ancient resplendency of Anor Londo for family, in the end, she is glad that Gilgamesh's idea of a vacation --a means of getting away from everything for a time-- is so quaint. Remote. Simple. It's only natural that the rest of the world is so frequently trying to impress her these days, and so place without a human soul to be seen is what genuinely feels like a break. In the spirit of toning it down and blending in just a little, she'd arranged to have some things vaguely more normal picked up along the way, and has been taking in the ambient feeling of the unspoiled Canadian wilderness in a knee-length blue-white sweater dress with a loose white furred collar and cuffs, silver buckled waist sash, leggings, and for the largest change, tall white boots, finally achieving the vaunted, hallowed fashion levels of 'could plausibly pass as one of those ubiquitous multiversal girls-with-tails but real tall and slightly uncanny if nobody pays close attention'. Going past little road stops and lodges without being recognized is a devious, private sort of pleasure. Apparently a supernally light sleeper, she'd spent at least four hours of the night on the lake. Not in; on. Knelt atop a raft of self-made ice, completely unstirring in a seemingly almost meditative state until sunrise, when the rising heat starts to melt off the intricately sculpted lake surface that has extended to the absolute maximum of her reach. That's about when she can smell coffee from the opened door either way. "It is oft that the things most deserving of preservation art that which goes wandering, or which one must wander into thineself. Few things of value stay rooted in plain sight, obligingly waiting to be found. Those that do so hath their value so very quickly stripped and plundered by those first to find it." says Priscilla, coming in. Her breath fogs when she steps through the door, as if she'd somehow carried the outside air into the warm cabin with her. "Otherwise stated, of course it is easy to imagine that few things art worth preserving. They art hidden from thee, as they art from all others, so that they may be sought only by those who do not desire them. It is rare that anything easily found remains unique for long."
Gilgamesh	Gilgamesh takes the coffee with a quiet smile. It's not that arrogant, swaggering smile, exactly - there's traces of it there, because that is who and what he IS, an entity that believes it is the highest of all things out of the necessity of its position and understanding. It's more like a thanks. He just....doesn't say thank you very often. It's hard words for him to say. He watches her for a moment, more curious than anything, as he sips the coffee. His red eyes flicker. Then, "Did you make this for us this morning? It's good. What made you do that?" He's prompting. He's not making casual conversation. He's /asking/ her for something. Wanting to know something. Or know if she knows something. Priscilla enters, and his smile widens. "You look like you had a pleasant rest. Did you do any ice fishing?" It's a joke, and a playful one. He sets the coffee down and walks over to the stove. He turns it on. He stares at it very hard, as if trying to remember something. There's a ripple in the air, which abruptly shuts. Then, with enormous reluctance, he goes over to the refrigerator and gathers some eggs, and starts cracking them. Manually. Like a /commoner/. He's...he's not great at it. Natural grace and superhumanity only goes so far. He's probably a phenomenal cook with his own tools, but this is...this is a metal bowl. For plebians. With a regular mixer. And the bread is in a bag. And it's not fresh-toasted. And... And he's doing it anyway. "But you're right. This is a remarkable treasure. It's certainly worth it." "I should buy it for us." He drops the bread into the batter and turns on the stove. "It would be...nice, to come back here and ensure that it remains, don't you think?" He glances at Rhongomyniad, as if he's looking for a reaction. Then, he looks back at Priscilla.
Rhongomyniad	Prompting Rhongomyniad is the best way to get anything out of her. She is, after all, still in something of a struggle to maintain her own humanity. So approaching her from the more automated side but with more human questions-- Gil has probably the best way of it. Those green eyes blink slowly, "Morning coffee. Sir Gawain told me about it. I understand it is a sort of morning ritual, and so I wished to try it." She nods once, "Your appraisal is appreciated. I will continue to do this." She turns slightly when Priscilla returns from the lake, greeting the dragon lady with a light nod, "I have prepared coffee if you desire. It is somewhat bitter in flavor. It can be modified to preference." Gilgamesh steps up to...cook? It must be curiosity that prompts Rhongomyniad to oversee his efforts, perhaps awaiting an opportunity to assist. As she cradles her elbow in one hand, the other resting alongside her cheek, she voices her thoughts-- "To purchase the land from its owner? Perhaps. Such a retreat is most welcome. To preserve this place when it is not in use, I would recommend a groundskeeper."
Priscilla	"For a manner of speaking." Priscilla replies to Gilgamesh airily. "In truth, it is only places like these, in which one couldst truly call it rest, and it is, in this way, rest, almost no matter what one chooses to do." Judging by the awkward, contemplative stop, it might have taken her a moment to quite get that the ice fishing is a joke, but her lips twitch upwards through it all the same. "It is . . . something I hath been developing. Honing, perhaps. One must hath some . . . some manner of craft to oneself. To sit about idly waiting for work that exists to keep one busy is . . ." "Perhaps every so often." she finally admits, with no great reluctance, though little committment. "Every year wouldst, I think, perhaps rob this of some of its singularity." she contemplates aloud." She does, in the end, take coffee, at the sizzle of eggs. Utterly fascinated by the sight of Gilgamesh doing it with his hands, she seats herself in a plush, draped recliner, tapping the side of the mug and adding sugar until it becomes an iced coffee (the secret she was told the one time to making it drinkable, back at a certain event), and continues. "How rare it must be that thou spend any time so far from man. Gilgamesh." sip. "Thou speaketh so much of humanity, and yet it is as if thou art entirely unused to simply going where they art not. Not as a length between two parts of some great adventure, but as an end of itself. Thou wouldst be . . . one experiences vastly different sides of humanity, depending on where one is. Whence they cometh to thee, by purpose, chance, or fate."
Gilgamesh	The two of them watching him cook actually makes him slip up more. It's noticable, and it's one of the very most intense reminders about his actual age they've ever had. It's very easy to forget that Gilgamesh is a young man in his very early twenties. It's rarer still to see him blush with frustration and embarassment. He is the King. He is Perfect. He does not like people seeing him imperfect. He especially does not like people he cares about seeing him like that. It's a very intimate moment as he fumbles with with the toast, putting it onto the heated pan with a pair of tongs. It drips all over the floor. He curses, bending over to actually clean it, by hand. This, too, is probably supposed to be part of the process. When he rises, his face is beet-red, and he's already fetching the next pieces of bread with some more care. Priscilla's conversation is a welcome distraction. "That's right. I don't often simply go out into the wilderness. I don't simply...leave. Too much to do. Too busy." "I know you both relate." He goes to grab some bacon from the freezer. It's a very traditional breakfast. It's also a very simple one, one might notice. "I'd probably let Enkidu have it," he admits at Rhongomyniad and Priscilla on the subject of a groundskeeper, "Enkidu would keep it very pristine, and would probably like a place to run around in like this. It's been having to stay in big cities so often lately." Ah, so there's also that angle. "Work that keeps one busy for the sake of being busy, is it." Gilgamesh stares, hard, at the bacon as he lays it out on the pan (awkwardly, and slightly lopsidedly, leading to him having to push it back into place. He's superhuman. He doesn't need gloves or anything. The pan wouldn't dare burn the King). "I don't think I know what that's like. Nor...have I ever had a craft to hone, in particular." "I, I am perfect, after all. There's no skill the King cannot do." His face sure is red as he says that. And he's sure forgotten that one of the pieces of toast is starting to burn - which he realizes momentarily, and retrieves it, putting it on a plate and cursing in what is probably Sumerian. "...do you do something to keep yourself from getting bored, Rhongomyniad? Like ice fishing, or some craft like that?" There's another intense moment of him staring at her before, again, he forgets the toast is burning, and, again, pulls it off with a host of swearing. "I, I will eat those. I like it blacker, anyhow. It's unique." That sure is a good way to pretend like he did it on purpose, perhaps. "The King ought always be open to new experiences! Ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Wait but he said he liked it like this- "S-so!" Gilgamesh puts two more pieces down, "I..." He hesitates. "...I'm happy you came out with me. Both of you." "It's more than...a vacation from my own work. It's...important to me, I suppose, that we have moments like this. Time like this. You're..." "..." He looks away. "You know how my story ends, don't you? You know what's going to have to happen to me at some point. What I'm going to have to go through. What's going to..." He cuts himself off. "I've seen it. I read my own work. My handwriting gets better. N-not that it's less than perfect now! It simply ascends to a form near godhood!" He sobers up again. "...I think that I am going to need these moments, when it happens. That these scattered moments will be more precious than gold." "So...thank you."
Rhongomyniad	"This is a question you have asked me before," Rhongomyniad states in her even tone, "Although the answer I gave at that time was not acceptable." Closing her eyes, the goddess ruminates for a moment, "You said to me, 'That is simply your duty'. And of course, you were correct. What I had stated were my duties as goddess of Chivalry, or my resposibilities as King of Camelot, or as the Tower that Shines at the End of the World." Rhongomyniad leans forward slightly, balancing her chin on one hand. The other lowers, tracing the rim of her coffee cup, "I have given it much thought since that day. I have even reached deep into the memory I retain of my life as King Arthur; and even there, I found no answer." Her eyes close, "So this concept of a hobby is new territory for me, regardless of the life I use as reference. I have not yet found something that I would call a welcome distraction from my regular duties. But I am confident there is such a thing." The subject shifts and Rhongomyniad's eyes open, luminous as jewels in the light, "Mmm... I am aware. As I am aware of my own end upon the sword of my son, and the line of events that led me to where I stand before you. Tragedy is unavoidable for all great heroes and kings, it seems..." Her gaze lifts to meet Gil's own, "However. It pleases me that I may help in some way to create a precious memory." Her gaze shifts towards the dragonlady and her iced coffee-- by contrast, Rhon's is straight black, "Though; I have never attempted fishing. Is this a talent you possess, Priscilla? I had taken the comment to be in jest."
Priscilla	"I also imagine such hast the appeal of all of thine favourite people being concentrated into one place." Priscilla remarks to Gilgamesh's suggestion of Enkidu, smoothly sipping down coffee at a perfect pace after. "And, perhaps that is so, but is it not the defining demarcation that the rest of us art not so perfect?" she then later adds. "Work for work's sake . . . it is either simply necessary --maintenance of the fabric-- or else something to simply convince one is doing something of value. That their existence is of value. Of course it is something that thou wouldst not be so familiar with, but knoweth that it is an exhausting thing, at least eventually. Knowing that one's work is leading to something, that it is making some sort of progress, or hath an end to it, maketh all the difference." "It is why I grew tired of where I was. Endless wars, endless battles, endless foes, endless crises, to no difference in the end. Whence I worked, the result wouldst be indistinguishable from if any other didst. If I did not, then another of the uncountable others wouldst. If I chose to stand in the way, it wouldst matter not at all to the enormity of the thing I wouldst oppose. The grinding of titans so gargantuan, ideals so vague, aspirations so hollow, armies so swollen, purposes so reduced to little more than contrarian spite at best, or at worst, merely tradition, that any individual action --any choice-- was lost in it; simply a part of the endless, repetitive churning of a sea of men and worlds. It is a particularly horrible thing, to see an infinity of new and vibrant things and people of greatness, somehow becometh so bleached and grey, whence all thrown together under the banner of nothing. 'Winning'. 'Existing'." Only when her coffee runs out, does she respond to the last of Gilgamesh's question, staring into its dregs. "Listen carefully to thine own words. It is something thou shalt go through. Into one end, through much pain and uncertainty, and then, to somewhere else unknown. It is something all of us --any of our type-- shalt inevitably, eventually experience. It is not possible for thou to be what thou art, and never live something of its nature." She leaves a long-hanging pause. "So then what is it that thou put this life towards? What thou hope to accomplish . . . no, where thou hope to go. What is it leading to? Not simply 'the end of the epic', for that casts everything thou hast done so far, here, in this life, as work for the sake of it. Existence for existence's sake, spending time until it is up, and the role calls for thee." "Why be King, Gilgamesh? Not then, and there. Now, and here. What is it that compels thee to stay? To taketh leave of absence from that old tale. Thou must have some vision of it. Some feeling. Something other than 'to be happy whilst I am allowed'."
Gilgamesh	Gilgamesh sort of smiles around the topic of 'your favorite people in one place' as much as he does at Rhongomyniad. That it pleases her that it must create a precious memory. That Priscilla can see right through him on the subject of this place. Yes, of course that's what he wanted. That he didn't even have to say it is... Very nice. "Very important," he says quietly to Rhongomyniad and Priscilla, "You are two of the only three people in the world I care to care about. That I care to love." Then he takes the next bits of toast off the griddle. He doesn't swear or curse this time. They're fine. They're not perfect, but they're fine. It's a little thing. A little acceptance of imperfection, as Priscilla talks of a broken, brutal, grey and miserable world. He sets the pieces that came through alright on a plate, and takes the burned two for himself. The bacon comes off sizzling without a hitch. He pours the batter onto the griddle and begins sweeping it to make scrambled eggs. Simple. Simple. He can do that much. "I saw it, once. I have since suppressed my omniscience - it's a pain, to try and keep all the timelines straight, to keep all the things that might happen straight, and I am not a Servant, so I don't have the luxury of having the Grail edit that sort of thing out." He turns back around and puts the plates in front of them. French toast, some bacon, some scrambled eggs. It's a miserably simple breakfast. Imperfect. It probably won't taste especially great. He sprinkles some powdered sugar on top of the bread, and it sparkles as it falls, as he talks: "I saw the stars in the sky in the grasp of mankind. I saw a people made of mud to do the dirty work of the gods raised beyond the heights the gods could even imagine. Even Rhongomyniad is mortal first and goddess second; she can imagine what they cannot, though it's still buried in her heart." "I wanted that." "More than all the treasures in the world, I wanted to see my people rise into the stars and take hold of all that they could be. To live up to that promise of perfection. Of eternity. Of, if not matching their King, then coming so close that even I could approve of them." He shakes his head as he leans forward on the counter, taking his burnt piece of toast in hand. "I've spoken of this before." "It's simply the setup." He chews on it for a moment. He tries to suppress his look of disgust, but he's much too used to finer foods. His face goes back to that bright red before he waves it away and sighs. "What keeps me the King is not mere instinct but desire. I no longer simply want them to have it. I am no longer happy with a vague and fleeting vision of that potential." "I want to live to see them have it. I want Enkidu to see them have it. I want you two to see them have it. I want the four of us to stand side by side in a world where mankind has reached what it was always capable of, what those filthy mud dolls squander with each and every day. I want the four of us to look at all the stars in the sky and know that they are owned by a great and glorious and wonderful people." He looks down at the toast. "That's why I made this with my own hands. I..." "Had heard that you should do that to convey your feelings to someone." "I wanted you to understand that much. More than simply hearing me say that I love you."
Priscilla	"Thou hast spoken of it before, yes." Priscilla says. "But those people --thine people-- art not here, now. What becomes of them, thou knoweth already. What becomes of their descendents descendents, thou knoweth already." "There art people here, though. Different peoples, beyond counting or estimation. Amongst such vast and wild multitudes, there art inevitably some capable. Some worthy of approval. A single, brilliant man who may reach the stars, and that man many times over, occurring here and there, under different names and in different forms." "Why, then, be content to maketh so little of it? To treat it as a dream between chapters of that story that plagues thine conscience so?" "What use is there in despair? Or in worry, or dread, or resignation? Why not do exactly as thine heart commands?" Priscilla suddenly coughs when delivered toast. Before she eats it, actually. Seemingly right after Gilgamesh said something about making things with one's own hands to convey feelings. Instead of trying it right away, her eyes travel over her plate and to Rhongomyniad, watching her with the weird and gold-slitted eyes of something more viscerally half-'human' than she, rather than those of the uncommonly relax, 'hair down', occasionally blushing woman of the rest of this retreat. "Before Lady Rhongomyniad becameth what she is now, there was such a thing, yes? A desire lived out, a tragic story, doomed to a wise and dignified sort of failure. A very . . . very long time ago, I lived such a thing mineself, and without it, I confess I kneweth very little of what to maketh of it, besides 'live'. Knoweth people. Travel places. Battle foes. 'Be'. It is difficult to find one's own feet after that, and the trappings of office and leadership and impartial, all-knowing, all-choosing governance maketh only so much harder to see the way. One eventually loses track of why they begun in the first place, I feel." "But there is something, I think now, that I wouldst like to maketh of mine own. Something I wish for, if only in a yet ill-defined way." Slowly, Priscilla pulls her legs up into the recliner, her tail falling about her own ankles while she holds the plate in, poking bacon around the plate with a fork. "Times like this --little things such as these-- I never didst anticipate in mine wildest dreams so long ago, but I must ask of thee, art these rare, precious moments, thine highest aspiration here? That things may be like this, and not Babylon. Certainly, they art worthy memories, but if thou art so wed to the end of thine epic, how far wouldst thou go beyond them?"
Rhongomyniad	"Mmm," that noise escapes Rhongomyniad, so characteristic of her ruminating her thoughts. It's a noise she makes before Gilgamesh starts waxing romantic about the potential of humanity. That dream of the stars that he's spoken about before, from time to time is not what promotes the goddess' mind, and yet she sits on that thought and pays close attention to his dream. It's difficult as ever to read her face, though there's the vaguest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. That faint uptick disappears when he draws direct attention to her. Her posture straightens, a blink, her face neutral. Mortal first... It's factually true, though somehow that perspective hadn't occurred to her before. Her eyes glance down thoughtfully, falling on the plate he slides towards her. "Yes," she remarks at last, "I am familiar with the concept, that cooking is the most sincere way to convey one's feelings. And for this gesture I am most thankful." Despite the inexpressive face, she seems rather eager to eat this. Even that untamed sprig of hair isn't sitting still, betraying otherwise imperceptable movements made in her excitement. "I often have to concentrate on my fleeting humanity to perceive human emotion. I wish for you to understand that you ease me." She gestures with a fork, "I am at ease in your presence. It becomes easier to perceive myself correctly. And I believe I owe this to your efforts. While I am uncertain if I can truly return an emotion such as Love at this time, I hold great fondness for you. As much as I am able. Please understand this is not a refutation." She pauses, glancing towards Priscilla when she is once more mentioned. Those luminous green eyes close, falling silent for a long moment of thought. One can almost imagine a librarian in her mind frantically searching through tomes to find the relevant passage. "Lady Priscilla places a strong point, if I am to be used as an example." Her free hand raises to indicate herself, "The legend of King Arthur died on the hill at Camlann, and yet I persist. Although the journey I have taken here need not be replicated, shall I not stand as an indication that the final chapter need not be so?" She nods once, eyes opening once more, "Be mindful of the past and learn from it, but look to the future as well. With great work, a river may be diverted. So, too, perhaps the stream of Fate may also be changed even slightly."
Gilgamesh	Gilgamesh smiles at her. It's not a sad smile. "It was always their descendants. It was never Babylon. Babylon was always meant to fall, that it might become the stepping-stone for something greater. I don't lament their loss because they died. I lamented it first because I was torn from it, but now I lament it because their descendants waste it. They could be glorious, too. There's no excuse for this." He shakes his head. "Not only that one man. I want to see all of them reach that. I want to see every man and every woman and all peoples born of man reach the heights I have known they could. I don't mean simply mine, simply Babylon. I am the King. I want the greatest for all peoples. I want this whole vast Multi-Vars to become as brilliant and as beautiful as it was meant to be." "If not for them, then for you. Since it was so grey for you once, I would see it shine like a rainbow to make you smile." It's delivered without a trace of irony. From any other man it would be a corny pronounciation, a stupid poetry. From Gilgamesh it is the statement of his own ambition. It is a meaningful thing, not a casual line for the sake of her approval. He stirs his own coffee lightly. "If it is for you or Rhongomyniad or Enkidu I would do anything." He raises the coffee to his lips. There's a wry grin on his face. "Have you read how the Epic ends, yet? I become the finest King in all of history, incomparable in my wisdom and grace, and live happily until my death with my two wives and children." "I suppose that's a small thing, these precious moments. But I am the man who has all things. All precious things in the world belong to me. Such precious things as are beyond money or my power to acquire through adventure, through my instinct, through that drive." He leans back a bit. "If that is a small ambition then I suppose my ambitions are small, in that regard. It's simple, for the King who has all things." "But never once have I wondered to myself what I wanted, for what I wanted has always been plain to me." He smiles into his coffee. "Really, what I meant was that these moments would help me through Enkidu's probable demise." He looks back up. "It isn't such a bad final chapter." "Besides. Ambitions are for men striving to reach my height." There's that trademark ego, that smug grin. "Ambitions are for the little people who seek to rise up to the King! Rather, I am the source of ambition, the inspiration of ambition! I am the darkness and the light of mankind, the dark that brings them inspiring terror and the light that guides them on!" He laughs, and runs his fingers through his hair. "That, also, is how the Epic ends, by the way. That part I did not write. It is a post-mortem." "I don't care if you can return my feelings. Something like that would be a supreme pleasure, and I assure you that I know pleasure better than any other man and am an excellent teacher in its arts. But this, here, makes me happy. The two of you, here, make me happy. If this is the point my ambition leads then it is an ambition well-enjoyed. If this is something I must move heaven and earth to have then I will move them both. I am the King. Something like that is no challenge." He finishes off his toast with a bit of a dramatic flourish. "My tale does not end in sorrow. These moments will console me through the death of one I love. And having you here, and perhaps to mourn alongside me, and know Enkidu as I do, and love Enkidu as I do, will ease the ache that will show in my heart." "I am the King Who Knows All The Countries Of The World, who Saw The Deep and knew its sorrows. Happiness is an ambition worth having for a man who has all else."
Rhongomyniad	"Hm," a noise escapes Rhongomyniad. It could be mistaken for the soft, thoughtful sounds she makes from time to time-- but it's shorter. "Hm hm.." Those glowing eyes close, and she lifts her free hand to cover her lips, her shoulders shaking just a bit with each sound. It sounds ill-practiced. The form is awkward and poor. But what's happening becomes clear before long. The goddess Rhongomyniad is laughing. "My apologies," she lets out, recovering from the subtle fit, "It seems I had become caught up in consoling you over something that has not yet occurred. Once more, I slip into my role as a goddess that men may approach for guidance, when you are a man who needs no such thing." Eyes opening, she glances towards Priscilla, then to Gilgamesh, "We three Kings each know our tragedies and victories. I believe I shall... 'disregard it', and enjoy for myself this meal and this hospitality provided by one for whom I have grown so fond." "Perhaps I would be best served learning more of the woman beside me for whom this one I am fond of is also fond of." Her head cants, ever so slightly, "This white dragon, though not of Britain, whose presence feels like that of a crisp and refreshing winter day."
Priscilla	"I am somewhat aware." Priscilla responds to Gilgamesh's prompting to the epic. His almost rambunctious satisfaction with his tale's end, rather than reassuring her, seems only to turn her gaze more distant, boring into some distant dark far below the ground and out under the water. Her fingernails drum in quiet little rolling taps against the edge of her plate. "By that, I am certainly gladdened, but . . ." "I hath need to know, I suppose. Regardless of what I were to do, wouldst thou be to see it, or feel it, as 'something along the way to the end of the tale'? Thou place such great stock in that famous epic, that perhaps I wonder what thou maketh of the present. What, and how much, matters to thee, if thou so assumeth that thou shalt not see it for long? If thine predestined end hath such old thee, even if it pleases thee at the same time, and if thine thoughts are so concerned by the eventual achievements of all humanity, how much is there to spare?" Eventually, Priscilla just breathes out. It is obviously a 'remembered to breathe out', coming as an all-at-once sigh after a length of time that was just retroactively unnatural. Finally, she spears and eats the food presented to her. "And I am caught up in thinking of things yet to taketh shape. What-ifs and what-thens. In truth, such things still ill-befit me. I admit to perhaps be too much one for 'what was' by nature, and too-ready to thinketh the same way of the present." Brushing it off as best she is able, Priscilla reclines in thoughtful chewing to Rhongomyniad's uncommon prompting. "I admit, though I am familiar with thee, King of Knights, it is rare that we hath spoken upon any particular topic at depth. Of course, thine country of Britain, nor any other country of Earth, exists from mine homeland, and I am only aware of its passing similarities in the culture of the lands of men. To use the word 'dragon' is to carry many more numberous and esoteric connotations. Perhaps it wouldst be apt to say that I am but barely even a creature of that land, though. Or maybe more precisely, that mine true home is somewhere else; a place that doutfully exists, and which the ordinary sets no foot." "Thou speaketh often of 'the End of the World', and a life apart from mortality, and mortal beings themselves. I hath been curious which part it is of his own experience that Gilgamesh sees in thee and thine."
Gilgamesh	Rhongomyniad laughs. It's a sound he's been trying to pull out of her for ages. His smile is a broad one, and a bright one, at that. He just watches this for a moment, committing it to his memory as a treasure to be locked away. She apologizes, and he waves his hand. "It's your habit. I haven't broken it yet. Rest assured, I will hear you laugh like that many times in the future." Gil grins at Priscilla over his cup. "My tale ends glorifying me as the greatest of all things, and I wrote all the other bits. Are you really surprised that I am pleased with it? That I am enamored by it? The only things I love more than myself are you three." Priscilla asks a more important question, and Gilgamesh sits back, looking at her through those sharp red eyes. There's the sense of him "No," he says finally, "I said what I said, and I meant what I said. I would do anything for you. The one exception might be the compromise of my morality, of what I believe in, but I think you would not ask me to choose between my beliefs and my heart, because I think you would not ask me to endure that struggle. If you did, then I think I would have a very difficult decision indeed, and I cannot say which way I would fall." "But," he waves his hand, "If you or she or Enkidu managed to turn it aside, I think I have accepted that it will not ruin the foundation of the Human History Order. Before my sole concern was with the world remaining on its course, for that is, after all, what I was constructed to do." "That said," Gilgamesh stretches slightly, "I am ever wont to break from what I was constructed to do, aren't I?" "If the lot of you rewrite my tale then so long as it still has a happy end I will be content. If it becomes a tragic one then I will be most distressed. But in the end my ambition is to see the Multiverse made brilliant, and to see myself come to a happy stop, wherever and whenever that might be. There is room for my joy and the joy of those I love in this story regardless." "And if the two of you were to be the wives who mourn and celebrate me or the wives who stand beside me into eternity and whom I stand beside and support, I would be certain of that joy no matter where the path led." He just sort of. Says this. Gates down. Implications cast aside. He just says it as he picks up some of the bacon and bites into it. "Enkidu's death is a probability that I cannot ignore, though. It is a weapon made by the gods that has turned aside from its duties. There will come a point when we will conflict with gods, perhaps my own family. And at that point, Enkidu will probably be destroyed, and it cannot help it. It was made by the gods and can easily be unmade by the gods. So that is something I have been bracing for for a long time. I have just been fixating on the happy end to, I suppose, cope."
Rhongomyniad	Rhongomyniad reaches past her emptied plate, collecting an orange from a bowl of fruit. Appraisingly, she collects a second one, comparing the two, "You have familiarized yourself with the story of King Arthur, have you not?" A question directed to Gilgamesh, "Surely you know the fate that has befallen my prior marriage. I am uncertain if I am prepared for a second wife. Awkward, still, should the queen of Camelot find herself summoned as a Servant." Expertly, she peels the larger of the two oranges. Before long, the sectioned fruit is set upon its own plate and slide to the center between all three lieges-- to enjoy as they see fit. "If such occurs, I shall have some decisions to make regarding Sir Lancelot." Those luminous green eyes narrow slightly in thought, before shifting aside to Priscilla. "To your question; It is a common misconception to believe that the End of the World is an event. However, it is in actuality a location. The Tower at the End of the World, which splits the heavens and tethers the World of Men; Rhongomyniad." Collecting an orange slice, she gestures with it, "A Dragon to me is a being of the old world, the Age of Gods, who in many cases should be restricted to the Other Side of the World. Although I am myself descended from such, the Red Dragon, Pendragon-- it is his brother and my uncle who truly embodies the avarice and cruelty so associated with the dragons I am familiar with; Vortigern, the White Dragon of Britain. Such beings are threats to the world of Men, and rejected by the Tower as such. You, Priscilla, do not agitate the Tower as he did." The slice disappears. Where did it go. No one shall know.
Priscilla	"I hath heard much, at least, about thine Age of Gods." Priscilla replies. "It is more familiar to one such as I, than what cometh after it. The world is not quite so old when I am from. A fire begun perhaps only two millennia ago. Short past the dawn of a new age, indeed, but ultimately, a renewal of sorts --not a parting, nor lessening." "Even though many of the oldest Lords and heroes hath since gone, the Fire of creation burns brightly enough, the gods walk the earth in their places, the far edges of the maps hath yet to be filled, and things well beyond even mine own knowledge lie buried or secreted away or far flung to the corners of the world. Miracles, monsters, humans who exceed humanity. That is the world I live." In this cozy, private environment, over morning brew and the first lukewarm rays of the sun filtering through the window, Priscilla goes through orange slices without a spoken word, sharing out a perfectly ordinary fruit. "I didst once turn away from that. For a very long time. For . . . difficulties of family. Older and wiser, however, I hath no desire to see that particular spark fade. I am, after all things, proud of mine home country, and proud of those capable of calling it home. I hath no wish to see it away, though much of it to sort out and away. Both royalty and divinity art known to be difficult lords, and both at once all the more so." More specifically to Rhongomyniad though, Priscilla muses over her drink, which has yet to spontaneously freeze over. Sweater sleeves partway around her hands, it remains steaming warm in her fingers. "What I speaketh of, rarely, relevant to mineself, is the Archdragon. Descended from them art creatures not too dissimilar from what thou speaketh of, but the roots of the Dragon lie before even the 'Age of Gods'. Before even life and death. A perfect creature, part of neither, unknown to disparity. Rulers of the unformed world. Ancient enemies of the gods. I am of a first generation descended, and the only one of any mixed lineage, owing to an Archdragon who served mine grandfather, the Great Lord Gwyn, rather than his own kind. Certainly an unthinkable confluence of cosmic circumstance." Priscilla sets her half-full mug down, and utters "Truthfully, there is much more that I wish I kneweth, and likely never will. Lordran declined so far, circling so close to the brink once before, that there were certainly things too late to save." Curling back up into her seat again, she takes almost a full minute to ruminate, content to watch the snow outside, before asking "Thou art well after Gilgamesh's time, but speaketh of safeguarding all that which hails from it. Further, thou thineself art from creatures thou claim to be relics meant to be long gone, and wield the trappings and relics of divinity. How is there such a king, long into the Age of Man?" And then, to Gilgamesh, "And to speaketh of which, I had wondered for quite some time now. Thou hath mentioned the foundations of humanity before. The first I ever laid eyes upon thee was thine inaugural ball in the city of Denmark --never before. I had expected from the way thou described events, that thou expect to be sent back to the time from which thou came at any moment, yet it was here in the present to which thine dear friend Enkidu was ultimately sent."
Gilgamesh	The look on Gilgamesh's face says that he sort of expected that answer. Rather than disappointment there's the smug and distant smile of the inevitable. He has decided how this is going to go, or at least, he thinks he has, based on the information he has available. He thinks this will inevitably go his way. It'd be insufferable if he was opposed to them; it's probably just laugh-worthy instead, the funny, expected Gilgamesh face that he tends to wear when he's being smug and self-satisfied. That, at least, is probably the easiest part of being in a relationship with the King of Heroes, regardless of its nature - he tends to amuse himself more often than not, so as long as you can put up with him, he's pretty good company. "Then we shall deal with that when we come to it." Priscilla asks him a question. His smug face drops. This is the more earnest Gilgamesh, the face of the young man under the demigod who has all things in the world that he wants. He's not human, and never has been. But this is as close as he gets. "I told you that I was bracing. Fixating on the happy end at the end of my tale to cope with the sorrow that I had understood to be coming. I have known my trajectory since the day I was born. I knew what I was, complete and utterly. I have known where I would lead. And as I grew, I grew more disgusted with the gods, and more certain of my destiny." His fingers clench around the mug. "I did not know all of it, but I knew that I would be the greatest of kings, and that I would always stand alone. When I read the Epic, I grew..." "...I held it to my chest to ready myself for the pains I imagined lay ahead. I suppose that, as a thing accustomed to knowing my own future, I saw it as a comfort in an age I found depraved and disgusting. That even then, I had my own future written in stone." He looks up at Priscilla. "But then we started growing closer." "And so I have...started loosening my grip on that. On that foundation. On the understanding of the world that I had. It's possible that I will return one day. It's possible that I am, in fact, merely a copy, pulled into this future. That I am from another iteration of the world, another timeline." Gilgamesh sets his mug down and shakes his head. "I imagined it would be impossible for humanity to progress without me. To be able to reach any height at all without the highest height to climb to. But it's entirely possible that I was plucked from some fading timeline, some falling world. Obviously it would still be impossible," there's the ego, "For heroes to exist without my light. But...who knows?" "I no longer know what to believe. Enkidu being sent here suggests the same, I suppose. Perhaps not." He looks into Priscilla's eyes. "I'm no longer seeking that future." He smiles. Then he puts on his arrogant, Gilgamesh grin. "Besides. It's a novel experience, not knowing where I'm going. For one who has everything, having nothing is something new, too." "I know where I would like to be, though."