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☘ 015; [video]
Aug. 13th, 2011 05:40 pm( pain that never left with no reprieve )
[video]
[The hovering camera focused on the back of a figure in black, dark blue hair swaying faintly in the occasional breeze as he walked about five feet in front of the camera. He stood straight and proud as ever; his current emotions aside, he would never allow himself to appear any other way.]
[The concerned buzzing of a Venomoth and the beat of its wings the only indicator of who held the Pokegear, anyone fluent in its language might have been able to tell the insect was saying 'Something's wrong.']
[And of course something was wrong; Lancer seemingly refused to face the camera, assuming he knew it was on.]
Fragarach. Turn that off--knew I shouldn't have told you how to use it.
[And thirdly, there was no emotion in his voice. Bright, cheerful, charismatic Lancer spoke in a near-total deadpan tone. When the Venomoth buzzed in response, Lancer sighed. Hands in his pockets, he still refused to look back at Fragarach and the camera she held. But when he spoke again, it was a little louder--as if Lancer was adressing someone watching rather than his Venomoth.]
What did I tell you, kid? [Calm, dismissive. The flat tone had faded somewhat, the former Servant's voice steady as ever with an added note of 'I told you so'.]
[He stopped walking, standing tall on an empty road. Aside from the Venomoth holding the camera, Servant Lancer was completely alone on the route he currently walked. No Olldóiteán, no Liath Macha or Dub Sainglend...and no sign of Connla.]
[He had always expected this day to come. How many had Cu Chulainn lost? His brother Ferdiad, dead by Lancer's own hand. Scathach, the teacher that had been so dear to his heart, separated from the mortal world and doomed to a fate unknown to him. His dearest and only love Emer, dead for at least two milennia now.]
[And now his only son, lost to him once through a misunderstanding and Lancer's own blade...now surely lost forever through no more than the whim of an extradimensional reality.]
Good luck never lasts.
[Johto had been as good as paradise to him and better. So if he was to continue losing all that mattered...that was fine. Even though it ached more than his own lance had when it cut through his heart, it was alright. Servant Lancer would simply go back to doing what he always had, and be a guard against whoever or whatever would threaten this place that was to be his homeland. So that those who were happy in this place could stay that way.]
[The Hound of Ulster would remain a proud Knight of the Red Branch until such time when this place would send him to his third and final end.]
[video]
[The hovering camera focused on the back of a figure in black, dark blue hair swaying faintly in the occasional breeze as he walked about five feet in front of the camera. He stood straight and proud as ever; his current emotions aside, he would never allow himself to appear any other way.]
[The concerned buzzing of a Venomoth and the beat of its wings the only indicator of who held the Pokegear, anyone fluent in its language might have been able to tell the insect was saying 'Something's wrong.']
[And of course something was wrong; Lancer seemingly refused to face the camera, assuming he knew it was on.]
Fragarach. Turn that off--knew I shouldn't have told you how to use it.
[And thirdly, there was no emotion in his voice. Bright, cheerful, charismatic Lancer spoke in a near-total deadpan tone. When the Venomoth buzzed in response, Lancer sighed. Hands in his pockets, he still refused to look back at Fragarach and the camera she held. But when he spoke again, it was a little louder--as if Lancer was adressing someone watching rather than his Venomoth.]
What did I tell you, kid? [Calm, dismissive. The flat tone had faded somewhat, the former Servant's voice steady as ever with an added note of 'I told you so'.]
[He stopped walking, standing tall on an empty road. Aside from the Venomoth holding the camera, Servant Lancer was completely alone on the route he currently walked. No Olldóiteán, no Liath Macha or Dub Sainglend...and no sign of Connla.]
[He had always expected this day to come. How many had Cu Chulainn lost? His brother Ferdiad, dead by Lancer's own hand. Scathach, the teacher that had been so dear to his heart, separated from the mortal world and doomed to a fate unknown to him. His dearest and only love Emer, dead for at least two milennia now.]
[And now his only son, lost to him once through a misunderstanding and Lancer's own blade...now surely lost forever through no more than the whim of an extradimensional reality.]
Good luck never lasts.
[Johto had been as good as paradise to him and better. So if he was to continue losing all that mattered...that was fine. Even though it ached more than his own lance had when it cut through his heart, it was alright. Servant Lancer would simply go back to doing what he always had, and be a guard against whoever or whatever would threaten this place that was to be his homeland. So that those who were happy in this place could stay that way.]
[The Hound of Ulster would remain a proud Knight of the Red Branch until such time when this place would send him to his third and final end.]
