Lancer || Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
croibhristeoir) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tvk2012-09-28 04:48 pm
croibhristeoir) wrote in tvk2012-09-28 04:48 pm
Entry tags:
⚔ 032; [video]
[The sound of metal clashing against metal accompanied a jarring and chaotic video; it was obvious the phone had been jolted from wherever it was being kept and fallen to the ground.]
This is perfect, don't you see it?! [The red-haired knight grinned as his sword was blocked repeatedly by Diarmuid's lance.] Is this not what you want, to fight against one that can properly test your capabilities?!
[Diarmuid didn't answer, focusing entirely on the fight with a scowl on his face. It didn't matter what he said, what he looked like--this was his enemy. That was all there was to it, and he couldn't afford to give it more thought than that.]
Or is it simpler than that? Your nature is that of warfare and bloodshed, isn't it, Dián--are you tired of the compassionate act? Do you want nothing more than to just abandon all restraints and destroy all that opposes you?
[The scowl on Diarmuid's face became more pronounced as his attacks continued, less focused on defense and more on striking as fast as possible. Each motion was fully intended as a killing blow, and the near-impenetrable defense he was up against showed this was a fight between two experts.]
That's what I thought--you're just like your father!
[That single remark out of everything seemed to be what broke Diarmuid's own defenses; he faltered with a shocked look on his face, lance missing its target completely.]
[The other knight smirked viciously--the sword he held struck out, and in a flash of motion Diarmuid jumped back to distance himself. There was a slight stumble as he landed, and it was clear Oscar's sword had come away bloodstained.]
Ha--ahahaha--! See, you know it's true! You just want to fight for fighting's sake...Destroy whoever and whatever you feel like, child of darkness! Deliver them unto your father, reaper!
That's enough.
[Blood steadily dripped to the ground despite the fact that Diarmuid had pressed a hand to his face to stop it. That blow would have been fatal had he not come to his senses at the last second: as it was, he'd gotten away with a jagged cut next to his right eye. Difficult to manage with, but he could still fight. When he lowered his hand and straightened up, there was a steady and controlled rage written all over his face, something the bloodstains only made look even worse.]
I knew from the moment your blade was drawn against me that you were not Oscar. Logically, I knew--yet my heart refused to accept it. I could not truly defeat you like that, not with such doubt clouding my judgment.
[Diarmuid's voice was even; he didn't raise his voice in the slightest, but there was an obvious tone of anger and frustration in his words.]
But that is no longer an issue, for unlike you Oscar knew one thing: [His next words were almost snarled, murderous intent radiating from him like a tangible curse.] I am not one that should be provoked.
[The complete change in demeanor caused the thing that wasn't Oscar to fall silent, even stepping back in hesitation.]
So it is a 'reaper' you want? I do not believe you thought carefully enough about the consequences of your words. And I would also advise you chose poorly if your intent was to kill me. Very poorly, in fact--
[He shifted his stance like a predator staring down its cornered prey, crimson lance in hand.]
--for who do you think spent their days training Oscar in combat?
[It was over in a second. Diarmuid had leapt forward in a blur of green and crimson, the lance had struck...and that was all it took. Gae Dearg's blade cut straight through its target's armor even without benefit of its powers, impaling the supposed knight straight through the chest.]
[It was almost funny, in a sick sort of way. Not for the first time, the blood on Diarmuid's face may well have resembled scarlet tears of sorrow and despair.]
This is perfect, don't you see it?! [The red-haired knight grinned as his sword was blocked repeatedly by Diarmuid's lance.] Is this not what you want, to fight against one that can properly test your capabilities?!
[Diarmuid didn't answer, focusing entirely on the fight with a scowl on his face. It didn't matter what he said, what he looked like--this was his enemy. That was all there was to it, and he couldn't afford to give it more thought than that.]
Or is it simpler than that? Your nature is that of warfare and bloodshed, isn't it, Dián--are you tired of the compassionate act? Do you want nothing more than to just abandon all restraints and destroy all that opposes you?
[The scowl on Diarmuid's face became more pronounced as his attacks continued, less focused on defense and more on striking as fast as possible. Each motion was fully intended as a killing blow, and the near-impenetrable defense he was up against showed this was a fight between two experts.]
That's what I thought--you're just like your father!
[That single remark out of everything seemed to be what broke Diarmuid's own defenses; he faltered with a shocked look on his face, lance missing its target completely.]
[The other knight smirked viciously--the sword he held struck out, and in a flash of motion Diarmuid jumped back to distance himself. There was a slight stumble as he landed, and it was clear Oscar's sword had come away bloodstained.]
Ha--ahahaha--! See, you know it's true! You just want to fight for fighting's sake...Destroy whoever and whatever you feel like, child of darkness! Deliver them unto your father, reaper!
That's enough.
[Blood steadily dripped to the ground despite the fact that Diarmuid had pressed a hand to his face to stop it. That blow would have been fatal had he not come to his senses at the last second: as it was, he'd gotten away with a jagged cut next to his right eye. Difficult to manage with, but he could still fight. When he lowered his hand and straightened up, there was a steady and controlled rage written all over his face, something the bloodstains only made look even worse.]
I knew from the moment your blade was drawn against me that you were not Oscar. Logically, I knew--yet my heart refused to accept it. I could not truly defeat you like that, not with such doubt clouding my judgment.
[Diarmuid's voice was even; he didn't raise his voice in the slightest, but there was an obvious tone of anger and frustration in his words.]
But that is no longer an issue, for unlike you Oscar knew one thing: [His next words were almost snarled, murderous intent radiating from him like a tangible curse.] I am not one that should be provoked.
[The complete change in demeanor caused the thing that wasn't Oscar to fall silent, even stepping back in hesitation.]
So it is a 'reaper' you want? I do not believe you thought carefully enough about the consequences of your words. And I would also advise you chose poorly if your intent was to kill me. Very poorly, in fact--
[He shifted his stance like a predator staring down its cornered prey, crimson lance in hand.]
--for who do you think spent their days training Oscar in combat?
[It was over in a second. Diarmuid had leapt forward in a blur of green and crimson, the lance had struck...and that was all it took. Gae Dearg's blade cut straight through its target's armor even without benefit of its powers, impaling the supposed knight straight through the chest.]
[It was almost funny, in a sick sort of way. Not for the first time, the blood on Diarmuid's face may well have resembled scarlet tears of sorrow and despair.]
Action
[Diarmuid took a deep breath, sighing and placing both hands on his shoulders. With a moment's hesitation, he set his father's shoulder back in place with an audible crack.]
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Gods, can ice but freeze? When did it gain the properties so as to ease pain?
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[He walked in the direction of the kitchen, faltering slightly thanks to all the blood loss.]
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No. You will rest, will you not? For my sake, if not your own.
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[Diarmuid pulled away from that cautiously, retrieving an ice pack and lightly pressing it to his father's shoulder.]
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Diarmuid, I beg of thee. Do not shut me out.
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You have grown ever more stubborn, o Diarmuid.
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Are you angry with me, o my son?
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...I simply wish that I could be of aid to thee more.
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Yet I wish still that I had something to offer to aid thee with. You are of a great help to me.
...hold still.
[This might hurt a little, Diarmuid.]
And I wish to be of help to you in turn.
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