[Prelude to War 2/?] Dinner for Mongrels
WHO: Gilgamesh, Myria, Loz, Polly Chandler, The Little Queen
WHERE: Mansion, Canal District
WHEN: Thursday, September 2nd
WHAT: Shortly upon his return, Gilgamesh calls an impromptu meeting the remaining Alliance members. Those who arrive are witness to the Golden King's ambition, and the as-yet unknown woman by his side.
It had taken the King of Heroes some time to return from the place he had gone. That journey itself had been another ordeal, one worthy of a whole new tome of prose (dedicated largely to how he avoided and ignored any and all incessant questioning from his new patron) that the world would never see. Ah well, such was the way of things. Gilgamesh had seen more truths than he could count that had been lost to mankind's memory in the five millennia since his reign. Pathetic, truly.
Nonetheless, shortly upon his return the call had gone out; a summons to all with the capacity to listen among the scattered and disparate (as he saw it, anyways) forces of the alliance. A gathering would be made, and his decree would be hear.
The locale and setting would be an appropriate one: The Golden King did not hold court in the realm of squalid filth and refuse that so many in this 'Alliance' seemed to tolerate. A palacial mansion in the Canal Sector was the site in question, maintained and fitted by servants as eerily resolute in their duties as their resilience to speak...ever. A large banquet hall seemed constructed around the spectacle of a long, white-clothed table with a smorgasboard of meats, wines and other rich dishes to be sampled at any entrant's choosing. It was a feast fit for the owner of a such a hall...but was it truly a meal for a king?
The First Hero held no answer to that unspoken query. He lounges languidly at the undisputed head of the feats upon a throne of gold, clasing oddly with his casual choice of modern clothing. Resting his head upon one fist, crimson eyes narrowed in mild bemusement at the spectacle with which he entertained himself prior to the arrival of guests: No less than seven books of varying size, volume and binding hung eerily in the air before hims, all opened to survey. "Wrong....out of sequence....'He whom comprehended all things' not 'He to whom all is known'...I built no such temple for Eanna..tch, mongrels..!" Apparently, all of them are various translations of the Epic of Gilgamesh. None seem to meet his approval.
---
Loz chose to answer those strange summons less out of a desire for any sort of food and more out of being vaguely certain that this Gilgamesh guy and his palace might somehow be involved in ShinRa and all /their/ fancy-ass everything. Actually arriving put -that- to rest fairly quickly; ShinRa was fond of fancy, but this was a completely different level than anything he'd seen on the Planet.
So there's this degree thing (he thought it was room temperature, and a note was made to tell this Gilly guy about that) that's supposed to be announced. Maybe someone graduated from school, degrees were involved there too...
The presence of one of Sephiroth's Remnants (and NOT the brightest one) wandering about the palatial .. palace ... of Gilgamesh isn't terribly remarkable given the prestigious individuals of the Alliance. He'd kind of hoped Kiel would be here, but he has yet to see the darkling Drow child /anywhere/, and she'd stand out like a sore thumb if she WERE here, so he's forced to go /alone/. -Again-.
Loz does not approve of all this shininess. When the banquet hall is located, he less walks in than slouches in, radiating ill-tempered resentment. This whole place needed a lot more wreckage. Gilgamesh, on his shiny golden throne, is studied for a moment and then dismissed as Some Book Guy, who possibly had this degree, and maybe made all this stuff but probably not, nowhere near as fancy as everything ELSE here. Loz comes to the inevitable conclusion that all of this had to be Gilgamesh's dad's.
---
My, a banquet. It seemed a very pleasant way to meet this, ah, 'Alliance' that Gilgamesh had spoken in passing of--Not that he had spoken /well/ of them, but he had said /enough/ of them for the golden-haired magess to be... curious. It wasn't particularly hard to do: Myria was, sad to admit, curious about dear near everything in this tangled new net of worlds. It was all precious. It was all /amazing/. And for now, this would be the new thing to earn her attention.
Still, she enters on soft, whispered steps in no particular rush whatsoever. It was a shame, really. One would think the servants in this house would be far more willing to *talk* when they were facing a woman who looked absolutely *innocent*--Looking as normal as any human woman, with naught but a gentle smile and kindest words to offer--but apparently they were somewhat uncomfortable with the present state of their employment, and did not seem very much in the mood to talk about their feelings. A shame. Myria had so wished for some pleasant conversation, and Gilgamesh did so seem enjoy his personal time with his books that it seemed a shame to interrupt. Ah. Well.
And so, un such unhurried steps, she steps within the banquet hall, with only the mildest glance about to all the glorious decor. That did not much matter. What did was that there were /people/ arriving, and one was already here. For that, a smile, soft but sincere: "Oh, how lovely. It seems the company has begun to arrive."
---
At least some people in this organization are capable of showing something resembling taste. However, The Little Queen is, however, something of a traditionalist. When one is to attend a feast, one is going to come best dressed. Which is why she is dressed in a flowing, crimson royal gown, gilded with gold. Her long hair is delicately styled, and an ornate crown adorns her head. Worn at her side is her royal blade, the Glory's Bane, and in her hand is her royal scepter.
She does not intend to arrive simply, either, as the black dragon that is her pact partner flies towards the Canal District, an ornate sedan chair in place on it's back, attendants placed less fortunately. But they are hardly important. The Dragon lands outside the castle, and allows the attendants off, so they can take the sedan chair from it's back, before it starts to flap it's wings again.
An important event, I take it. The dragon's words muted to those not listening for the psychic.
"It is a chance to evaluate this so called King of Heroes. We shall see his worth."
Please yourself. I've no mind for the machinations of human minds tonight. I shall be in the skies.
The Sedan Chair is taken to the entrance of the manor, and The Little Queen does not step out until her head attendant has appropriated a castle servant of suitable rank to lead them in. There is protocol to be observed, after all. And at an event like this, her majesty is not one to have a single misstep on matters of protocol and rank.
---
Actually make the effort to look decent for a fancy dress party? You must be joking. Polly Chandler slouches into the banquet hall wearing the same filthy T-shirt and ripped jeans she always wears (that is, when she's not wearing a completely /different/ filthy T-shirt and ripped jeans). In fact, one might even venture to suggest that she's intentionally selected her rattiest outfit for the occasion, purely out of spite.
The ever-present cigarette smolders between the fingers of one hand, trailing a plume of smoke and the occasional fleck of ash in Polly's wake. Strolling along one side of the table, the Calabite uses her free hand to snag what looks like a chicken drumstick in passing (it's probably something much more exotic, like griffin or Chocobo or something) and tears a chunk out of it with her teeth. Mm, spicy. Then, as she draws nearer to where Gilgamesh is seated on his throne, she waves the morsel in the air in a decidedly irreverent greeting. "Yo! So what's this all about, huh?"
Never let it be said that Polly wastes time in getting to the point.
---
One by one, the attendants made their presence known. Was the number too small, an insult to the Golden King's ever-insatiable ego? Hardly. There was no place within these walls for the snarling dogs and maddened beasts that served as the mainstay of the alliance forces. Even a dog had it's place, to be sure, but it was at no table of his. It is appropriate, then, that only those with enough semblance of will to heed the summons should arrive (Those who did and refused were another matter altogether..Gilgamesh would attend to them later).
A subtle cue of the eyes to his wandering patron, whose steps seemed to glide across the floor as if in perpetual whimsy. An annoying habit, the servant thought, that he could only hope would vanish as she spent more time in this new world. "You have been scarce of late, Myria." An idle observation without inflection. The King cared little what that woman did with her free time, so long as she served her role when the time came.
Eyes of slow-burning, red jade took particular note of the successive entries. An oafish man who possesed some glimmer of a greater essence about him, the distorted echo of a hero about him. Interesting, but not worth the King's further consideration. A regal woman who assumed the crown and dress of a monarch...amusing. And last (and certainly least) a wretchedly dressed female who fit the image of the Archer's favored euphemism better than all currently assembled. Such was the company he kept tonight, but his light remained nonetheless untainted by it's lackluster surrounding.
There is no immediate answer to Polly's inquiry, not verbally. Only the sound of each book arrayed before the Servant slamming shut in unison before wavering out of existence, plucked from the rippling pond of reality by some unseen hand. Standing from his throne, Gilgamesh arrayed himself in the attire fitting of a King with a thought. Prana spiked around him in a hidden, flaring aura as the Golden armor of the King of Heroes shone into existence upon his person, along with the addition of a blood-red mantle settled around his shoulder. His golden hair, once unbound, seemed to force itself up under the will of the command, tips tinged with a subtly burning gold. "Your desires." He spoke with refined calm of one who did not doubt his control, a wine-filled goblet lifted slowly to his lips, "I called to hear so that I may learn of your wish. You all have one..." Those eyes no longer burned slow as the flitted intently from one entrant to the next," Do you not?"
---
Not everyone can be a ruler. Some people are just made to beat other people into a fine red paste. Loz was not, and never would be, any sort of a leader. But he has other things he's good at, things his family always found useful when properly directed. Some people are easier to put a name to than others. In fact, the only one who Loz can determine with any ease is Polly, she looked /exactly/ the way she sounded. The Little Queen less so, but he supposed there could be royalty all over in the Alliance, and Myria.. well. She's a complete mystery. None of them were family and only Polly looked like she knew how to really have /fun/. That was kind of dissapointing.
Maybe the lady in the fancy red dress was the guy on the throne's wife.
It's a bit more impressive, on the other hand, when Gilgamesh is suddenly wearing armor when he emphatically lacked it before, and Loz isn't so stupid where he doesn't realize this suggested many, many different things. And so he lounges back in the seat he'd been slumped in a moment before, rocking it back onto two legs, and regards the King of Heros with far more speculative interest. Kadaj would be able to figure it out better. Yazoo too.
Loz's scale of 'threat' and 'not threat' really only had different variables: 'fun to play with' and 'boring'. Maybe if Gilgamesh has other tricks like that..
This matter of desires draws a snort from the brawler, who crosses his arms over his chest in a creak of leather. "Thought there was supposed to be some kinda announcement or somethin'."
---
Grand entrances carried upon the shoulders of a legion of servants, and simpler entrances wherein people barge in in tattered clothes, or wander in looking somewhat perplexed by it all... None of these were any more impressive than any other, and Myria watches it all with nothing but appreciative attention, stopping in her steps, watching them all with wide eyes and open curiosity.
...At least until there is the somewhat distant sound of something large-winged departing from the front gardens to the skies. But it is distant, and muffled by grand walls and the swift distance of flight. And so, all Myria does is turn her attention toward the ceiling, with a mild and curious look in her eyes.
But it is nothing, certainly, and there are /guests/.
"Well, there is very much to do," she replies quite simply at Gilgamesh's offhanded comment. "But if you've any need for my help with something, dear, you need only ask, of course."
...well, at least it is offered a /little/ quietly, and while people are still filing in. She certainly doesn't pause--Why should she? It was meant honestly.--Her light and airy steps carrying her to the table, where she sits herself down neatly and continues to people watch. Somewhere in the middle of it, Gilgamesh stands up and makes a very grand display--She lets her attention linger a moment longer over the three who arrived before even looking. A woman very regal. Another very forward with her thoughts. A man who looks very easily impressed with whatever happened behind Myria's back--Ah, perhaps, she ought to look--but they were all very *interesting* dears, and a very motley crew.
She only looks when Gilgamesh asks his final question. And then she folds her hands across the table and looks... A little /nostalgic/, if nothing else, a little sad. "...What a very lovely question." She doesn't answer, though. Not yet.
---
Polly hasn't been paying too much attention to the others who have answered Gilgamesh's call. A cursory glance here and there, just to pick out a few faces, but much like Loz, she judges by the ostentatious displays of wealth and power that many of her co-conspirators are too full of themselves to really bother with. Still, they wouldn't be here if they didn't have a reason, and Polly knows better than to discount people like Gilgamesh and The Little Queen purely for that.
Polly backs up a step when Gilgamesh rises to his feet, but that's as much ground as she's willing to give, nor does she look particularly impressed when he manifests his golden armor. If he thinks he deserves to boss everyone else around, he can damn well /prove/ it.
"Get a load of this guy," the demon remarks with a sardonic grin to whoever happens to be closest. She makes a flippant gesture in the direction of the King of Heroes with her drumstick. "What, is it your birthday or something? Do we all get to ask you for one thing, and you'll give it to us, 'cause you're just feeling so fuckin' generous?"
---
The Little Queen evaluates the manor as she is led to the main hall. And while it is truly an impressive sight, unless the so called king who inhabits it has the strength to back his display, it is little more than show. But she enters the hall to see who else answered this request. And yet all else that is here is the childish lummox, a golden haired woman and something that looks as though it would be more appropriate washing up on a shore.
But as Gilgamesh makes his entrance, Her Majesty is intrigued. While he is not what she expected- smaller, younger, and perhaps prettier than she had thought- he carries himself with an air of authority. Still, that gives little insight to his power.
A dangerous question, if I say myself. So much for having no mood for human machinations. It should be interesting to see how the other ones respond.
The Queen takes the thoughts of her pact partner in stride. "And for what reason would the king of heroes take interest in the desires of others?" She gets straight to the point. "Surely one such as yourself would have reasons beyond mere idle curiosity." Another non-answer. But she is not one to give such an answer freely regardless. Besides, it would have to be very important to court the interests of the ape and the filth.
---
All this bluster, and no one even manages to answer this question. A 'younger' Hero King would have taken such a repudation, particularly Polly's behavior, as an unforgivable sin that could be redeemed only in death, and this feast would become a meal of blood and steel. Fortunately, he was cooler-headed in these days...comparatively. All those half-answers and questions to questions slide off the King's austerity as light itself does the reflective edges of his armor.
"I will only accept heroes before me." The response is blithe, bored almost, directed not to anyone in particular but at the general sentiment that question his motivation, "Most often, you can discern the mettle of one by their wish. I take it then that there are none assembled before me." A derisive, but amused snort, "That is just as well. Our relationship can be a different one, then." The Golden King would accept only the worthy as supplicants, and though none but the most fastidiously perceptive may comprehend the slight just dealt (or care if so, the Alliance did not in particular take pride in any concept of hero), it was enough for him to take amusement in.
"There will be a time for my decree, and I decide it shall be now." In reference to Loz's question, he'll gesture to the blonde woman at his side, "A new 'ally', if you must use the word. This is Myria." He stopped short of appending any title to her name, or explaining much of anything, perhaps opting to let the risen Goddess do it herself.
---
"I ain't no hero," is the rumble from Loz, voice edging with irritation. "'Heros' took Mother, and hid her away from us. You want /heros/ around you..." He's not a leader. He's a follower, and a kneebreaker bar none. But even he has standards!! "Then I'm not interested in playing that game. Maybe some of these people will wanna play instead." He stands up again, pulling his leather jacket back into place, expression stormy, maybe even just 'petulant'.
"Heroing is boring anyway," comes the added mumble. "Can't blow things up anywhere NEAR a much as being bad." Actually, yeah, it's definitely petulant.
Really, Loz just has no purpose being here, with people that /actually think/ beyond a fifth grade level. ....There's the degree thing again. The brawler hesitates, frowning, at the gesture to Myria, Gilgamesh's 'friend'. All this was so there was a new person in the Black Alliance? He takes a slow survey of the whole room again, and all the people in it, and Polly, who really doesn't blend in. "Oh." Fancy party for an introduction. "...Hi."
---
Oh, that's a shame. Such a *dramatic* question Gilgamesh asked, and no one seemed to want to answer. How very sad. Myria was far more curious than she ought to be about the wishes of others, and would have liked to hear these people's, if they could be convinced to part with them--Wishes said so *very* much about one's truest self. Yet, well, one supposes just asking an open room for such did not work very well, often, which is why she did not usually try.
"Now, it's polite at least to listen," is the ever-so-sweet and maternal response that Polly... probably did not actually want responding to her sardonic question. "There is a purpose to everything, and he is going quite out of his way to ask, though I suppose the wishes here must be too dear here to share."
Ah, but it is just as well. Gilgamesh's next response seems somewhat short on patience. Not that she seems to notice--If not sharing one's dearest wish before a group of clever strangers means one is not a hero, well... Strong words and anger disperse like mist before her, and she remains as calm and distant as if nothing had been said at all.
Ah, but introductions. Those were important, even if threats and menace were not.
She does look awfully *plain* for someone introduced before the Alliance in such a way--But a lovely golden-haired, perfectly pleasant little human, unless one had the sense for magic--and she looks no more impressive at the introduction. She does gently lift her hands to clasp them before her. And tilt her head just a touch to a side, with a smile that seemed... so terribly warm and bright it seemed /utterly/ out of place in such company. "Oh, an 'ally.' I suppose that is a fine enough word, though I would hope I could do much better--Yes, I am Myria, and I am delighted to meet you all, my dear children, and my dearest hope is that I could grow to know you all much better."
It'd be touching if she were not still sitting and addressing company like that. But if there is an issue with that, she does not notice--Only after such a sweet little speech does she turn to Loz and reply, "And hello, dear."
---
My, but he /is/ an arrogant one, the old dragon's voice echoes in the Queen's head. 'tis poor form indeed, for a host. Her Majesty's expression remains unchanged, but her free hand shifts ever so slightly closer to her blade. Why even wait? You would have his head in your own court.
The Queen let's the dragon's jeers sit for the moment. It would not do to start a fight in the middle of the enemies stronghold. She merely waits, attempting to prevent her distaste at the showy young king's statement. And yet, he still has not shown the power to back up his statements this day.
But when Myria speaks, she hits a dull chord with the little queen. It is hard for a maternal approach to affect one who has never known it, nor ever known the lack of it. Indeed, she merely appears a commoner who wishes to step above the station. What point would there be to such a thing but as an insult. "And this is the reason for your invitation?" The Queen says, a hint of disdain in her voice.
The Dragon, however, has a different input, if only slightly. Now that is interesting. I do wonder what she is.
---
Polly was not impressed when Gilgamesh suddenly became shiny, and she doesn't look much more impressed when he introduces Myria. Her only reaction is an arch of her pierced eyebrow and a drag on her cigarette, which she then drops carelessly on the polished floor. "So you got yerself a girlfriend," she deadpans. "Big deal." Overhearing Loz's comment, she aims a sideways glance at him and smirks in cynical approval.
But when Myria speaks, Polly falls silent, and just stares at her, incredulous, during her speech. "Oh..." she breathes, when Myria is finished. "...oh, you have /got/ to be kidding me."
And then, the demon begins to laugh. It starts quietly at first, but quickly rises in volume to a scratchy-voiced, raucous cackle, halfway between a crow and a hyena, that grates on the ear and echoes discordantly in the spacious hall.
Eventually, the laughter dies down, if only because it seems to have turned into a coughing fit. Still sniggering between coughs, Polly reaches out to grab a glass from the tray held by a passing servant. She tilts her head back and drains most of its contents in a single gulp, coughs once or twice more, then sighs, shaking her head and grinning from ear to ear.
"So this is what you think we want?" She focuses on Gilgamesh again, and the scorn in her voice is undisguised. "A mommy?" She snorts. "Fine. I'll tell you what I want. I want a lot of things. Revenge. Victory. Apologies. Endings." Her lip curls in something that is half-smile, half-sneer. "So how 'bout it, Santa? Can you deliver?"
---
By Gilgamesh's standards, Loz's understanding of a hero was woefully incomplete. But he was no educator: He was King, and such a pithy task was beneath him. Let all wallow in their misconceptions, in their ignorance. It made little difference in the end.
Myria basked in the moment of attention like a flower blooming in full view of the sun, or so the ancient King thought. It was amusing in it's own way, and he couldn't help but not the mood seemed to improve the condition of the circuit. The power flowed greater and more efficiently...he'd almosot forgotten the advantages of having such a tool back in the Fourth Grail War, even at the cost. But then, their relationship was one wholly different from that he'd shared with Tokiomi, or even Kotomine. Still, he wondered how long that cheery nature could last amidst this company.
The Queen sees fit to question with a sense of audacity neither granted nor deserved from the Golden King's perspective. He responds with the sly smile of a serpent, "No, I called you here so that my decree would be heard, and passed on to the commonality." And just what is that vaunted proclamation? What could be worth such seeming effort?
Maybe, just maybe that banquest was not explicitly for them.
"You wish for victory?" Crimson eyes center on Polly, and there is a /weight/ to that gaze now, a forceful extension of will that had not been present before, "The blood of your foes? Vengeance and just acommodation? I see your nature, demon, and you are in fit company." The eyes of an Archer missed little, "Do you seek single-minded destruction?" His foreboding vision swept over Loz, the Queen, and back to Polly, "A thousand burning worlds, reduced to ash and pitch. An end to this flawed, disgusting, reproachful excuse for an existence and all the mongrels that inhabit it?" He leaves these questions hanging thick in the air, resonating with the silent power endemic to words alone. And from these, he shapes another form of power. He was under no obligation to provide evidence, but a King must at times be generous.
"Gate of Babylon"
he air split with the pulse of a rumbling force, a column of red splitting into existence behind the gilded servant. It expanded with the heavy sense of an ancient door yielding it's contents, and there they are: The protruding hilts and tips of dozens upon dozens of glittering weapons, each a legend in their own right. The incarnated wealth and power of Mankind's first king, or at least a hint of it, threatened to suffocate the suddenly small-seeming banquet hall with it's presence. Arms crossed, the one at the center of the display seemed perfectly at ease. Opening the Gate had never been simpler.
"I am Gilgamesh." He offers with a simplicity that belied his own arrogance, that those three words should allay all protests, "Among Kings and Heroes I reign supreme." He plucked a steaming leg of fowl from the table with impunity, "And whether it's food, riches, or women..." One bite from the haunch was tinged with blood, as he preferred, "I merely take what I desire and devour it, as is my right. The same goes for this Alliance." And it becomes clear, in no uncertain terms, what he is here to announce.
"I have abided long enough the autonomy of stewards and supplicants. Henceforth, my rule shall be direct. I welcome those arrogant enough to contest me at the next red dawn."
PS Tags for Loz and Queenie to when the chance arrives.
WHERE: Mansion, Canal District
WHEN: Thursday, September 2nd
WHAT: Shortly upon his return, Gilgamesh calls an impromptu meeting the remaining Alliance members. Those who arrive are witness to the Golden King's ambition, and the as-yet unknown woman by his side.
It had taken the King of Heroes some time to return from the place he had gone. That journey itself had been another ordeal, one worthy of a whole new tome of prose (dedicated largely to how he avoided and ignored any and all incessant questioning from his new patron) that the world would never see. Ah well, such was the way of things. Gilgamesh had seen more truths than he could count that had been lost to mankind's memory in the five millennia since his reign. Pathetic, truly.
Nonetheless, shortly upon his return the call had gone out; a summons to all with the capacity to listen among the scattered and disparate (as he saw it, anyways) forces of the alliance. A gathering would be made, and his decree would be hear.
The locale and setting would be an appropriate one: The Golden King did not hold court in the realm of squalid filth and refuse that so many in this 'Alliance' seemed to tolerate. A palacial mansion in the Canal Sector was the site in question, maintained and fitted by servants as eerily resolute in their duties as their resilience to speak...ever. A large banquet hall seemed constructed around the spectacle of a long, white-clothed table with a smorgasboard of meats, wines and other rich dishes to be sampled at any entrant's choosing. It was a feast fit for the owner of a such a hall...but was it truly a meal for a king?
The First Hero held no answer to that unspoken query. He lounges languidly at the undisputed head of the feats upon a throne of gold, clasing oddly with his casual choice of modern clothing. Resting his head upon one fist, crimson eyes narrowed in mild bemusement at the spectacle with which he entertained himself prior to the arrival of guests: No less than seven books of varying size, volume and binding hung eerily in the air before hims, all opened to survey. "Wrong....out of sequence....'He whom comprehended all things' not 'He to whom all is known'...I built no such temple for Eanna..tch, mongrels..!" Apparently, all of them are various translations of the Epic of Gilgamesh. None seem to meet his approval.
---
Loz chose to answer those strange summons less out of a desire for any sort of food and more out of being vaguely certain that this Gilgamesh guy and his palace might somehow be involved in ShinRa and all /their/ fancy-ass everything. Actually arriving put -that- to rest fairly quickly; ShinRa was fond of fancy, but this was a completely different level than anything he'd seen on the Planet.
So there's this degree thing (he thought it was room temperature, and a note was made to tell this Gilly guy about that) that's supposed to be announced. Maybe someone graduated from school, degrees were involved there too...
The presence of one of Sephiroth's Remnants (and NOT the brightest one) wandering about the palatial .. palace ... of Gilgamesh isn't terribly remarkable given the prestigious individuals of the Alliance. He'd kind of hoped Kiel would be here, but he has yet to see the darkling Drow child /anywhere/, and she'd stand out like a sore thumb if she WERE here, so he's forced to go /alone/. -Again-.
Loz does not approve of all this shininess. When the banquet hall is located, he less walks in than slouches in, radiating ill-tempered resentment. This whole place needed a lot more wreckage. Gilgamesh, on his shiny golden throne, is studied for a moment and then dismissed as Some Book Guy, who possibly had this degree, and maybe made all this stuff but probably not, nowhere near as fancy as everything ELSE here. Loz comes to the inevitable conclusion that all of this had to be Gilgamesh's dad's.
---
My, a banquet. It seemed a very pleasant way to meet this, ah, 'Alliance' that Gilgamesh had spoken in passing of--Not that he had spoken /well/ of them, but he had said /enough/ of them for the golden-haired magess to be... curious. It wasn't particularly hard to do: Myria was, sad to admit, curious about dear near everything in this tangled new net of worlds. It was all precious. It was all /amazing/. And for now, this would be the new thing to earn her attention.
Still, she enters on soft, whispered steps in no particular rush whatsoever. It was a shame, really. One would think the servants in this house would be far more willing to *talk* when they were facing a woman who looked absolutely *innocent*--Looking as normal as any human woman, with naught but a gentle smile and kindest words to offer--but apparently they were somewhat uncomfortable with the present state of their employment, and did not seem very much in the mood to talk about their feelings. A shame. Myria had so wished for some pleasant conversation, and Gilgamesh did so seem enjoy his personal time with his books that it seemed a shame to interrupt. Ah. Well.
And so, un such unhurried steps, she steps within the banquet hall, with only the mildest glance about to all the glorious decor. That did not much matter. What did was that there were /people/ arriving, and one was already here. For that, a smile, soft but sincere: "Oh, how lovely. It seems the company has begun to arrive."
---
At least some people in this organization are capable of showing something resembling taste. However, The Little Queen is, however, something of a traditionalist. When one is to attend a feast, one is going to come best dressed. Which is why she is dressed in a flowing, crimson royal gown, gilded with gold. Her long hair is delicately styled, and an ornate crown adorns her head. Worn at her side is her royal blade, the Glory's Bane, and in her hand is her royal scepter.
She does not intend to arrive simply, either, as the black dragon that is her pact partner flies towards the Canal District, an ornate sedan chair in place on it's back, attendants placed less fortunately. But they are hardly important. The Dragon lands outside the castle, and allows the attendants off, so they can take the sedan chair from it's back, before it starts to flap it's wings again.
An important event, I take it. The dragon's words muted to those not listening for the psychic.
"It is a chance to evaluate this so called King of Heroes. We shall see his worth."
Please yourself. I've no mind for the machinations of human minds tonight. I shall be in the skies.
The Sedan Chair is taken to the entrance of the manor, and The Little Queen does not step out until her head attendant has appropriated a castle servant of suitable rank to lead them in. There is protocol to be observed, after all. And at an event like this, her majesty is not one to have a single misstep on matters of protocol and rank.
---
Actually make the effort to look decent for a fancy dress party? You must be joking. Polly Chandler slouches into the banquet hall wearing the same filthy T-shirt and ripped jeans she always wears (that is, when she's not wearing a completely /different/ filthy T-shirt and ripped jeans). In fact, one might even venture to suggest that she's intentionally selected her rattiest outfit for the occasion, purely out of spite.
The ever-present cigarette smolders between the fingers of one hand, trailing a plume of smoke and the occasional fleck of ash in Polly's wake. Strolling along one side of the table, the Calabite uses her free hand to snag what looks like a chicken drumstick in passing (it's probably something much more exotic, like griffin or Chocobo or something) and tears a chunk out of it with her teeth. Mm, spicy. Then, as she draws nearer to where Gilgamesh is seated on his throne, she waves the morsel in the air in a decidedly irreverent greeting. "Yo! So what's this all about, huh?"
Never let it be said that Polly wastes time in getting to the point.
---
One by one, the attendants made their presence known. Was the number too small, an insult to the Golden King's ever-insatiable ego? Hardly. There was no place within these walls for the snarling dogs and maddened beasts that served as the mainstay of the alliance forces. Even a dog had it's place, to be sure, but it was at no table of his. It is appropriate, then, that only those with enough semblance of will to heed the summons should arrive (Those who did and refused were another matter altogether..Gilgamesh would attend to them later).
A subtle cue of the eyes to his wandering patron, whose steps seemed to glide across the floor as if in perpetual whimsy. An annoying habit, the servant thought, that he could only hope would vanish as she spent more time in this new world. "You have been scarce of late, Myria." An idle observation without inflection. The King cared little what that woman did with her free time, so long as she served her role when the time came.
Eyes of slow-burning, red jade took particular note of the successive entries. An oafish man who possesed some glimmer of a greater essence about him, the distorted echo of a hero about him. Interesting, but not worth the King's further consideration. A regal woman who assumed the crown and dress of a monarch...amusing. And last (and certainly least) a wretchedly dressed female who fit the image of the Archer's favored euphemism better than all currently assembled. Such was the company he kept tonight, but his light remained nonetheless untainted by it's lackluster surrounding.
There is no immediate answer to Polly's inquiry, not verbally. Only the sound of each book arrayed before the Servant slamming shut in unison before wavering out of existence, plucked from the rippling pond of reality by some unseen hand. Standing from his throne, Gilgamesh arrayed himself in the attire fitting of a King with a thought. Prana spiked around him in a hidden, flaring aura as the Golden armor of the King of Heroes shone into existence upon his person, along with the addition of a blood-red mantle settled around his shoulder. His golden hair, once unbound, seemed to force itself up under the will of the command, tips tinged with a subtly burning gold. "Your desires." He spoke with refined calm of one who did not doubt his control, a wine-filled goblet lifted slowly to his lips, "I called to hear so that I may learn of your wish. You all have one..." Those eyes no longer burned slow as the flitted intently from one entrant to the next," Do you not?"
---
Not everyone can be a ruler. Some people are just made to beat other people into a fine red paste. Loz was not, and never would be, any sort of a leader. But he has other things he's good at, things his family always found useful when properly directed. Some people are easier to put a name to than others. In fact, the only one who Loz can determine with any ease is Polly, she looked /exactly/ the way she sounded. The Little Queen less so, but he supposed there could be royalty all over in the Alliance, and Myria.. well. She's a complete mystery. None of them were family and only Polly looked like she knew how to really have /fun/. That was kind of dissapointing.
Maybe the lady in the fancy red dress was the guy on the throne's wife.
It's a bit more impressive, on the other hand, when Gilgamesh is suddenly wearing armor when he emphatically lacked it before, and Loz isn't so stupid where he doesn't realize this suggested many, many different things. And so he lounges back in the seat he'd been slumped in a moment before, rocking it back onto two legs, and regards the King of Heros with far more speculative interest. Kadaj would be able to figure it out better. Yazoo too.
Loz's scale of 'threat' and 'not threat' really only had different variables: 'fun to play with' and 'boring'. Maybe if Gilgamesh has other tricks like that..
This matter of desires draws a snort from the brawler, who crosses his arms over his chest in a creak of leather. "Thought there was supposed to be some kinda announcement or somethin'."
---
Grand entrances carried upon the shoulders of a legion of servants, and simpler entrances wherein people barge in in tattered clothes, or wander in looking somewhat perplexed by it all... None of these were any more impressive than any other, and Myria watches it all with nothing but appreciative attention, stopping in her steps, watching them all with wide eyes and open curiosity.
...At least until there is the somewhat distant sound of something large-winged departing from the front gardens to the skies. But it is distant, and muffled by grand walls and the swift distance of flight. And so, all Myria does is turn her attention toward the ceiling, with a mild and curious look in her eyes.
But it is nothing, certainly, and there are /guests/.
"Well, there is very much to do," she replies quite simply at Gilgamesh's offhanded comment. "But if you've any need for my help with something, dear, you need only ask, of course."
...well, at least it is offered a /little/ quietly, and while people are still filing in. She certainly doesn't pause--Why should she? It was meant honestly.--Her light and airy steps carrying her to the table, where she sits herself down neatly and continues to people watch. Somewhere in the middle of it, Gilgamesh stands up and makes a very grand display--She lets her attention linger a moment longer over the three who arrived before even looking. A woman very regal. Another very forward with her thoughts. A man who looks very easily impressed with whatever happened behind Myria's back--Ah, perhaps, she ought to look--but they were all very *interesting* dears, and a very motley crew.
She only looks when Gilgamesh asks his final question. And then she folds her hands across the table and looks... A little /nostalgic/, if nothing else, a little sad. "...What a very lovely question." She doesn't answer, though. Not yet.
---
Polly hasn't been paying too much attention to the others who have answered Gilgamesh's call. A cursory glance here and there, just to pick out a few faces, but much like Loz, she judges by the ostentatious displays of wealth and power that many of her co-conspirators are too full of themselves to really bother with. Still, they wouldn't be here if they didn't have a reason, and Polly knows better than to discount people like Gilgamesh and The Little Queen purely for that.
Polly backs up a step when Gilgamesh rises to his feet, but that's as much ground as she's willing to give, nor does she look particularly impressed when he manifests his golden armor. If he thinks he deserves to boss everyone else around, he can damn well /prove/ it.
"Get a load of this guy," the demon remarks with a sardonic grin to whoever happens to be closest. She makes a flippant gesture in the direction of the King of Heroes with her drumstick. "What, is it your birthday or something? Do we all get to ask you for one thing, and you'll give it to us, 'cause you're just feeling so fuckin' generous?"
---
The Little Queen evaluates the manor as she is led to the main hall. And while it is truly an impressive sight, unless the so called king who inhabits it has the strength to back his display, it is little more than show. But she enters the hall to see who else answered this request. And yet all else that is here is the childish lummox, a golden haired woman and something that looks as though it would be more appropriate washing up on a shore.
But as Gilgamesh makes his entrance, Her Majesty is intrigued. While he is not what she expected- smaller, younger, and perhaps prettier than she had thought- he carries himself with an air of authority. Still, that gives little insight to his power.
A dangerous question, if I say myself. So much for having no mood for human machinations. It should be interesting to see how the other ones respond.
The Queen takes the thoughts of her pact partner in stride. "And for what reason would the king of heroes take interest in the desires of others?" She gets straight to the point. "Surely one such as yourself would have reasons beyond mere idle curiosity." Another non-answer. But she is not one to give such an answer freely regardless. Besides, it would have to be very important to court the interests of the ape and the filth.
---
All this bluster, and no one even manages to answer this question. A 'younger' Hero King would have taken such a repudation, particularly Polly's behavior, as an unforgivable sin that could be redeemed only in death, and this feast would become a meal of blood and steel. Fortunately, he was cooler-headed in these days...comparatively. All those half-answers and questions to questions slide off the King's austerity as light itself does the reflective edges of his armor.
"I will only accept heroes before me." The response is blithe, bored almost, directed not to anyone in particular but at the general sentiment that question his motivation, "Most often, you can discern the mettle of one by their wish. I take it then that there are none assembled before me." A derisive, but amused snort, "That is just as well. Our relationship can be a different one, then." The Golden King would accept only the worthy as supplicants, and though none but the most fastidiously perceptive may comprehend the slight just dealt (or care if so, the Alliance did not in particular take pride in any concept of hero), it was enough for him to take amusement in.
"There will be a time for my decree, and I decide it shall be now." In reference to Loz's question, he'll gesture to the blonde woman at his side, "A new 'ally', if you must use the word. This is Myria." He stopped short of appending any title to her name, or explaining much of anything, perhaps opting to let the risen Goddess do it herself.
---
"I ain't no hero," is the rumble from Loz, voice edging with irritation. "'Heros' took Mother, and hid her away from us. You want /heros/ around you..." He's not a leader. He's a follower, and a kneebreaker bar none. But even he has standards!! "Then I'm not interested in playing that game. Maybe some of these people will wanna play instead." He stands up again, pulling his leather jacket back into place, expression stormy, maybe even just 'petulant'.
"Heroing is boring anyway," comes the added mumble. "Can't blow things up anywhere NEAR a much as being bad." Actually, yeah, it's definitely petulant.
Really, Loz just has no purpose being here, with people that /actually think/ beyond a fifth grade level. ....There's the degree thing again. The brawler hesitates, frowning, at the gesture to Myria, Gilgamesh's 'friend'. All this was so there was a new person in the Black Alliance? He takes a slow survey of the whole room again, and all the people in it, and Polly, who really doesn't blend in. "Oh." Fancy party for an introduction. "...Hi."
---
Oh, that's a shame. Such a *dramatic* question Gilgamesh asked, and no one seemed to want to answer. How very sad. Myria was far more curious than she ought to be about the wishes of others, and would have liked to hear these people's, if they could be convinced to part with them--Wishes said so *very* much about one's truest self. Yet, well, one supposes just asking an open room for such did not work very well, often, which is why she did not usually try.
"Now, it's polite at least to listen," is the ever-so-sweet and maternal response that Polly... probably did not actually want responding to her sardonic question. "There is a purpose to everything, and he is going quite out of his way to ask, though I suppose the wishes here must be too dear here to share."
Ah, but it is just as well. Gilgamesh's next response seems somewhat short on patience. Not that she seems to notice--If not sharing one's dearest wish before a group of clever strangers means one is not a hero, well... Strong words and anger disperse like mist before her, and she remains as calm and distant as if nothing had been said at all.
Ah, but introductions. Those were important, even if threats and menace were not.
She does look awfully *plain* for someone introduced before the Alliance in such a way--But a lovely golden-haired, perfectly pleasant little human, unless one had the sense for magic--and she looks no more impressive at the introduction. She does gently lift her hands to clasp them before her. And tilt her head just a touch to a side, with a smile that seemed... so terribly warm and bright it seemed /utterly/ out of place in such company. "Oh, an 'ally.' I suppose that is a fine enough word, though I would hope I could do much better--Yes, I am Myria, and I am delighted to meet you all, my dear children, and my dearest hope is that I could grow to know you all much better."
It'd be touching if she were not still sitting and addressing company like that. But if there is an issue with that, she does not notice--Only after such a sweet little speech does she turn to Loz and reply, "And hello, dear."
---
My, but he /is/ an arrogant one, the old dragon's voice echoes in the Queen's head. 'tis poor form indeed, for a host. Her Majesty's expression remains unchanged, but her free hand shifts ever so slightly closer to her blade. Why even wait? You would have his head in your own court.
The Queen let's the dragon's jeers sit for the moment. It would not do to start a fight in the middle of the enemies stronghold. She merely waits, attempting to prevent her distaste at the showy young king's statement. And yet, he still has not shown the power to back up his statements this day.
But when Myria speaks, she hits a dull chord with the little queen. It is hard for a maternal approach to affect one who has never known it, nor ever known the lack of it. Indeed, she merely appears a commoner who wishes to step above the station. What point would there be to such a thing but as an insult. "And this is the reason for your invitation?" The Queen says, a hint of disdain in her voice.
The Dragon, however, has a different input, if only slightly. Now that is interesting. I do wonder what she is.
---
Polly was not impressed when Gilgamesh suddenly became shiny, and she doesn't look much more impressed when he introduces Myria. Her only reaction is an arch of her pierced eyebrow and a drag on her cigarette, which she then drops carelessly on the polished floor. "So you got yerself a girlfriend," she deadpans. "Big deal." Overhearing Loz's comment, she aims a sideways glance at him and smirks in cynical approval.
But when Myria speaks, Polly falls silent, and just stares at her, incredulous, during her speech. "Oh..." she breathes, when Myria is finished. "...oh, you have /got/ to be kidding me."
And then, the demon begins to laugh. It starts quietly at first, but quickly rises in volume to a scratchy-voiced, raucous cackle, halfway between a crow and a hyena, that grates on the ear and echoes discordantly in the spacious hall.
Eventually, the laughter dies down, if only because it seems to have turned into a coughing fit. Still sniggering between coughs, Polly reaches out to grab a glass from the tray held by a passing servant. She tilts her head back and drains most of its contents in a single gulp, coughs once or twice more, then sighs, shaking her head and grinning from ear to ear.
"So this is what you think we want?" She focuses on Gilgamesh again, and the scorn in her voice is undisguised. "A mommy?" She snorts. "Fine. I'll tell you what I want. I want a lot of things. Revenge. Victory. Apologies. Endings." Her lip curls in something that is half-smile, half-sneer. "So how 'bout it, Santa? Can you deliver?"
---
By Gilgamesh's standards, Loz's understanding of a hero was woefully incomplete. But he was no educator: He was King, and such a pithy task was beneath him. Let all wallow in their misconceptions, in their ignorance. It made little difference in the end.
Myria basked in the moment of attention like a flower blooming in full view of the sun, or so the ancient King thought. It was amusing in it's own way, and he couldn't help but not the mood seemed to improve the condition of the circuit. The power flowed greater and more efficiently...he'd almosot forgotten the advantages of having such a tool back in the Fourth Grail War, even at the cost. But then, their relationship was one wholly different from that he'd shared with Tokiomi, or even Kotomine. Still, he wondered how long that cheery nature could last amidst this company.
The Queen sees fit to question with a sense of audacity neither granted nor deserved from the Golden King's perspective. He responds with the sly smile of a serpent, "No, I called you here so that my decree would be heard, and passed on to the commonality." And just what is that vaunted proclamation? What could be worth such seeming effort?
Maybe, just maybe that banquest was not explicitly for them.
"You wish for victory?" Crimson eyes center on Polly, and there is a /weight/ to that gaze now, a forceful extension of will that had not been present before, "The blood of your foes? Vengeance and just acommodation? I see your nature, demon, and you are in fit company." The eyes of an Archer missed little, "Do you seek single-minded destruction?" His foreboding vision swept over Loz, the Queen, and back to Polly, "A thousand burning worlds, reduced to ash and pitch. An end to this flawed, disgusting, reproachful excuse for an existence and all the mongrels that inhabit it?" He leaves these questions hanging thick in the air, resonating with the silent power endemic to words alone. And from these, he shapes another form of power. He was under no obligation to provide evidence, but a King must at times be generous.
"Gate of Babylon"
he air split with the pulse of a rumbling force, a column of red splitting into existence behind the gilded servant. It expanded with the heavy sense of an ancient door yielding it's contents, and there they are: The protruding hilts and tips of dozens upon dozens of glittering weapons, each a legend in their own right. The incarnated wealth and power of Mankind's first king, or at least a hint of it, threatened to suffocate the suddenly small-seeming banquet hall with it's presence. Arms crossed, the one at the center of the display seemed perfectly at ease. Opening the Gate had never been simpler.
"I am Gilgamesh." He offers with a simplicity that belied his own arrogance, that those three words should allay all protests, "Among Kings and Heroes I reign supreme." He plucked a steaming leg of fowl from the table with impunity, "And whether it's food, riches, or women..." One bite from the haunch was tinged with blood, as he preferred, "I merely take what I desire and devour it, as is my right. The same goes for this Alliance." And it becomes clear, in no uncertain terms, what he is here to announce.
"I have abided long enough the autonomy of stewards and supplicants. Henceforth, my rule shall be direct. I welcome those arrogant enough to contest me at the next red dawn."
PS Tags for Loz and Queenie to when the chance arrives.