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[series]: Pandora Hearts
[character]: Gilbert Nightray
[character history / background]: a wild wikia and tl;dr walk into a bar…
[character abilities]: natural cat lure, decent hand with a firearm, noted talent where he belongs in the gd kitchen. Possibly making everyone a sandwich. His Shiny Token Poe Reference Sidekickdoes most of the work. On a more interesting note, he seems to be very difficult to kill (it’s possible that he…regenerates from lethal wounds, or that the latter somehow simply fail to kill him.) Sadly, the ability hasn’t been fully documented just yet, though it should be mentioned that he’s by no means immortal.
[character personality]:
Every tendril of his personality qualifies Gilbert ‘Nightray’ as the perfect servant - the bdsm kind. There is no degree of whimpering in which he is no proficient, no instance of flustering too loud or occasionally moe. 99.54% of the time, if the situation calls for a doormat, Gil can borrow his brother’s spine to stand proud and answer.
On many levels, he’s more emotionally than rationally driven: he’s prone to panic, guilt, doubt, easily given to frustration, and even bouts of, if not outright depression, then certainly strong insecurity. The jewel to crown them all? Self-deprecation. That his mother decided to make him the ‘two-for-one’ bonus of his brother’s abandoned child package probably rooted his inability to find worth in his own existence. Fighting fang and claw for his livelihood would’ve probably gone easier, had Gil walked away from the Herald-of-Loom-and-Doom commonly known as his brother, but he has privately admitted that he didn’t leave for fear of never finding someone who’d need him as much as did Vincent. A Token Agent of Mindfuckery / convenient old hag put the sheer paragon of stupidity that is his mentality in a nicely wrapped self-destructive equation: Gilbert’s worth = the service he can bring to his master (whomever that might be). Like any good growing defective human being (???), Gil took that to heart to obsessive extents.
Since serving his perceived master isn’t exactly a job, as much as ID construction therapy, he attaches to it a dangerous loyalty that sometimes takes an edge of cruelty: the master has to be protected at all costs, sometimes even in ways of which the master himself doesn’t approve. Holding Zai Vessalius at gunpoint for endangering his son is hardly something Oz would sign off on, and killing Alice even less so - but they are both things that, personal regrets aside, Gil has committed to, or proposed. At one point, he goes as far as admitting that he would not even allow the people dearest to Oz take his master away. This same fidelity binds him to woeful and most eternal guilt (for failing his master, which he feels he does before Oz constantly), as well as recklessness (go ahead, insult Oz. Make his yandere day), and apparently defiance of the Pandora Hearts universe laws of logic (…no one should’ve escaped a Chain’s mind control, but the power of gd friendship totally worked in Gil’s favour and he broke free from an order to harm his master. Hollywood cheered. )
At its most morbid, his faithfulness even trumps psychological self-preservation: never mind taking physical abuse, or insults for his master - Gil has been shown capable and willing to embrace something that terrifies him (sup, big Birdie of Death and Destruction), just to put it to the Master’s use; to stain his hands with blood, to recover the Master; and to even consider murdering innocent children, because hey, they’re illegal contractors, and the Master has to be protected from them. (In fairness, he balks from that as soon as an alternative presents itself.) In an all time low, he forbids himself from mourning the death of his adoptive, if dear brother - because Oz himself had yet to shed a tear.
…all this, presumably, for no wage. On a compass of WTFery, that’s somewhere between the North of ‘hardcore’ and West of ‘dude, srsly? Srsly?’
What’s worse is that he’s set himself on this path as a tool in Xerxes Break’s hands and to Oz Vessalius’ ultimate welfare without… even being quite sure that’s what he wants. Defining himself as Oz’s servant, as someone needed by Oz gives him a temporary role in life, and someone with a bit more GRRRRR in his soul could’ve made this whole system of delusions work. But sadly, our boy Gil here, he’s kinda more the velvet than the iron hand. He perpetually wonders whether an Oz who’s returned from the Abyss won’t mature (how dare he) and leave him behind. He’s worried that remembering the bits and pieces of his own paths won’t reveal things he can’t reconcile with his current identity as a righteous servant. And he doesn’t even know if it’s Oz Vessalius whom he wants to protect, or someone bearing his liking.
To everyone’s : D, he decides that his one true purpose in life is to protect Oz - and that it’s enough. As Raven once told him because all wisdom must hail from the pet sidekick, he’s constantly stuck between self-awareness and choice: whether his current answer is a real one, rather than the blatant stalling it looks like remains to be seen. For all it’s worth, keep in mind that roughly thirty panels of helpless bishie moping were harmed in the making of this vaguely repetitive self-enlightenment conclusion. House Nightray sends its apologies.
In spite of the previous tl;dr, Gil isn’t really a bad sort of fellow: he’s… very pretty. And… very pretty. Also… very pretty. That aside, he has an endearing quality about him: even under the worst sort of circumstances, he never quite loses hope. He’s confronted with Elliot’s very likely association with Humpty Dumpty down off his gd wall but refuses to believe his brother might be a killer, and even to subject him to the indignity of a check (or, possibly, to directly subject both of them to the a hurtful reality); he’s made more than aware that his blood brother’s technically betrayed him all along, but he pretty much glosses over it as Vincent having fallen in with a bad crowd; and he’s forever reminded that Break needs new lines is ~ using them ~, but swears himself the man’s friend and his left eye, tiny tsuntsun fit about Break not trusting him in return after ten years included.
Gil acknowledges and even condemns his own possessiveness, putting himself down as the shadow to Oz’s light (where they used to be both connected by ‘shadow,’ as all goth kids should be). He steps in to defend his friends, taking quite the hit for Sharon, and - relevantly enough - even accepts and protects Alice, in spite of the implicit threat she poses to Oz as his illegal Chain. When not wrapped up in Failure Attempt#19029395 to read the atmosphere and blurt things out, he’s quite a competent pep talk giver - he cheers up Oz and Alice, and rambles at Break and Vincent to pull it the hell together.
…the staggering hypocrisy of that is lost on no one.
In spite of his social inadequacy, which seems to go far and beyond the call of duty when he’s placed among aristocrats, Gil is… actually not oblivious to those around him. He manifests himself poorly (he’s oh-so-quick to resort to shouting, when frustrated, or to long & unnecessary silences when he’s at a loss of what to do), but he’s nonetheless aware: he is quite adept at pointing out Oz’s real moods and motives, and figures out that Oz is overworked and unreasonably hard on himself. He realizes Vincent sometimes uses him to excuse his own misdeeds, and calls him out on that without much hesitation. And he all but backhands Break into shape, when the latter’s off to ~ heroically sacrifice himself ~. He is also quickly enough aware that his continued stay with the Nightrays leaves Elliot in danger, should the headhunter come to murder Gil and not terribly mind collateral damage - and he has the foresight to take his leave consequently. (That he really isn’t comfortable with a proper necktie living as a noble and having his own retinue prolly helped.)
While he seems to have an innate dislike of seeing things hurt, it is too often mistaken for kindness by those around him: yes, he doesn’t want bystanders caught up in Pandora battorus, and he’d rather his brother stayed safe - but he rarely takes a very active role in determining either of those outcomes. Yet, he doesn’t like to break rules for their own sake, and for all that Break points out he’s grown into a ‘brutal’ man, he hardly accepts immorality, either.
Truth be told, indecisiveness and lack of composure are pretty much his calling cards: he can’t decide on who he is or why, he can’t decide if he’s a good or bad person, he can’t decide to bloody well quit smoking after eight attempts, and he can’t even decide to be a man of mystery, dissolving into a pathetic, crying mess whenever he’s drunk. Hell, he can’t even decide whether to break off his endless love affair with his fancy top hat. For all that, it’s maybe for the worst when he does collect himself: as a master, rather than supplicant before Raven, he has an almost frightening level of cold determination; and there’s something to be said, too, for his creeper-like serenity when he admits that he feels a loss because of Elliot’s absence, but also the need to move on from that event.
[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: towards the end of chapter 65, right before taking a bullet and a memory flashback of speshulness. /o. Because of course he couldn’t be just fucking dying here.
[journal post]:
audio post;
[ something rather large can be heard hitting cement hard - ]
- ince, get down! Vin - Vi -
[ Then quite a bit of choking, as someone tries to catch his breath too fast. It’s followed by the sound of sudden movement, and the murmurs of more and more on-lookers - ]
Stand back. Don’t come near O - …Oz? Where…? Oz?
[ - and another crash - ]
Short, blonde hair, green eyes, a young master, and a girl with long, dark hair with him, have you seen… what? Yes, that’s my hat, I - thank you, but have you seen - have you seen him?
[ … and round three of Gilbert’s stumbling versus Gravity has the device shutting off. It’s restarted hours after by its reluctant owner, who seems to have (barely) collected himself. ]
Pandora. Nightray. Gilbert… Nightray. If these names can curry any favour with you, then - I’m sorry, but I have to use them. All I ask for are Oz Vesallius’ whereabouts. Please. If he’s been… detained, then it’s a servant’s duty to stand by his master. It’s all I ask for.
[third person / log sample]:
Over the course of their --- liaison, things with the black bird never go as planned.
His Chain is an odd creature. Gilbert means to command it into submission, to walk away a master - and proud. Instead, he’s scorned the first time, scourged the second, barely tolerated the third. He takes the seal with Raven’s blood with pathetic glee: never mind his pride, never mind his wounds, never mind that the black bird slights him. He is closer to Oz, and each step counts (Gil counts them).
When the raven’s favour finally comes, it’s with ache in his left hand, with dark promises and vigor. Afterwards, Gilbert means to make that same arm rule in all things, to let it dominate, to give it conquest. For ten days, he writes with his left, he dines with his left, he offers his left in greeting. He wears his rings on it, when society deems them due. He passes it first at doors for weapons’ checks. He rolls his cigarette in it with all the care bred by tips of fingers burned raw in previous encounters (he’ll never stop smoking, and he will never smoke well). Then, in a silent episode, he slips in his step and - instinct, sheer instinct, he’s sorry, very sorry, it won’t happen again - he breaks his fall with his right, and somewhere in his mind, the black bird’s laughing.
If he could learn apathy, if his fingers could be held from straying and trembling, if he could not fear Raven’s power (his own power), then cold coexistence would do. But Oz is still absent, many years absent, Break is a friend - but a fool’s friend - and his new family tears at its seams around him. He cannot be a ‘servant’ if he lacks a master, a ‘companion’ if he lacks trust, a ‘son’ or a ‘brother,’ if there are no binds. Once in every while he dreams of times long past, but Vincent keeps silent, Vincent won’t say, and Gilbert won’t listen to what there is to be said. Best not ask more. Best not remember. Best learn his own worth from his Chain.
Polite conversation yields nothing. The black bird is sworn to him, obeys in all things, but also taunts him, ridicules him, frightens him. Gilbert thinks it not unlike many other flying things (well, surely), and so he attempts falconry. He gives his lent hawk bites of the cookery he practices at night, so Lord Nightray won’t hear of his dalliance with the hired help. His master would want such finery, he supposes, or some master before Oz once did, and if not for sheer shame, he’d send some to Oscar Vessalius for his say. The hawk likes the meal well, but once on the field it still leaves all the same. Gilbert wants to call this ingrate something blunt and transparent and wrong, like --- Memory.
His instructor is kind, half a worn smile waning, desperate to please milord and excuse both their failings. Birds are wicked things, he says. They’re tied to man’s hand in codependence, not collaboration. An owner can do what he will, but a bird will be bribed into peace, and a bird will not listen. Gilbert knows his brother is watching him, watching them all, waiting, prowling, biding his time, never still, only pretending - and he rather thinks Vincent should have been born with wings too.
He tries breaking the black bird into submission, and abuse runs the ruin of him first. He calls on the black bird and calls on it and calls on it and again and again and again - and for days. Six days, all past Claude and Ernest’s deaths, all when insomnia and self-imposed starvation can pass for mourning. The black bird will speak to him, must speak to him, and not in riddles, and they’ll find some sort of - they’ll find an answer. They’ll find Oz and an answer, and the murderer, and they’ll fend for Gilbert’s siblings (however few left, however few he cared for), and they’ll do it together. They’ll hold the fort, in body and in metaphor, and he will protect without fail. He leaves the Nightray estate like a craven instead.
Since Oz’s return, the tables have turned: he has courted the black bird more out of duress, than social grace, and he has found it now willing to seize him. The raven is a predator, knowing of strength, and so it gives him power. It calls him a prisoner between choices, but like Break, wants to have his final say - that one is as simple as any truth bought at the expense of dozens of omissions about his past can be: Gilbert wants to protect. He wants to protect Oz, and sometimes he wants to kill whatever spites the boy, or steals his master away (but he knows better, and he loves those same people too much); and sometimes he wants to just kill, kill anything, maybe Zai Vessalius first, maybe every agent of fate that took Elliot after, maybe the whole world (but not really); and sometimes he wants to --- wants to leave.
…that would be nice.
The black bird wouldn’t mind, Gil realizes, wouldn’t mind terribly, but already he knows he has many roles and commitments: he is Oz’s servant, Xerxes Break’s left eye, standing symbol of House Nightray, one of Alice’s countless protectors. He is a brother who must one day mourn, and a brother who must correct deviation (enough, Vince; that’s enough). He is a friend, he supposes, a friend in need and a friend in deed, and just as he won’t take abandon, he cannot deliver it.
The black bird is an odd creature, with odd whims and odd needs and odd affections, and somehow Gilbert has become one too. He finds that fitting.
(He has little else by way of choice.)
Let's we of House Nightray not lose our heads over all this.