video; [KINGOFHEROES]

[babbylon]

[The feed opens to Gilgamesh lounging on a couch, wine in hand, smirking faintly at nothing in particular. A snowy white lion which some of you may recognize lies curled on the floor, napping away; as for Gilgamesh himself, he's as relaxed as could be. Quite a far cry from his time in imprisonment.

And indeed, when he speaks, he sounds confident as ever—albeit in a lazy sort of way, words flowing like syrup.]

What does "heroism" mean to you?

[An open-ended question he allows to hang, for a moment or so, before continuing on.]

Would you consider what we're doing here to fall along those lines? Or, perhaps... yes, I'm aware some of you are new to this little group activity of ours, regarding the sun. And doubtful that you're all as sincerely invested as ALASTAIR wishes us to be. It does seem a bit trifling.

[Only Gilgamesh could consider the death of light itself to be trifling. He yawns, then rolls over, kicking his feet impatiently like a child awaiting entertainment.]

If they all died, it wouldn't really matter, would it? ALASTAIR would spirit us away to the next grand adventure and the cycle starts anew.

[In his obstinance, Gilgamesh dumps his wine right on the floor. He seems to revel in it, in the mess he's made. In the mess he intends to make.]

So I suppose what I'm asking is [smile blossoming into a grin] do you believe it's possible to save everyone, at the expense of yourself? Is that the proper way of a hero, or just someone naive enough to pursue "goodness"? To those we put atop pedestals, were they ever worth admiring at all?

[His eyes narrow at his jewelry. To call them serpentine would be an understatement.]

To those who believe firmly in the principles of justice—do you earnestly think you were doing the right thing all along? I wonder.

Comments

[babbylon]

T... there's nothing ungraceful about the way I carry myself...!

[digophelia]

Just because I idealize someone else and not another's actions does not mean I am erasing what they've done. Calling me a "deluded child" is not how one carries themselves with grace.

[babbylon]

[Am I really getting cornered by this stupid girl again?!]

As if you'd know anything about it! You're barely even twelve!

[...uh, actually...]

...thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there. Anyway, you don't know anything about the world and certainly nothing of manners. Don't lecture me!

[digophelia]

[ Alice starts to visibly lose her temper. She's been frequently mistaken for being younger than she is and it's starting to wear on her nerves. ]

I'm nineteen. I am no child nor a brat. I haven't been a child in a very long time.

[ She crosses her arms. ]

I don't call others names when I disagree with them. [ ... Most times. ] Of course I do.

[babbylon]

No.

You just pull on their ear and drag them around in the dirt.

[Still bitter about that, by the way.]

[digophelia]

What do you expect? What did you want me to do? I can't carry you.

[babbylon]

Wasted your time on someone else.

[digophelia]

It wouldn't have been right for me to turn away from anyone I found in a cell.

[babbylon]

Do you always do the right thing, Alice?

[digophelia]

Not everyone does the "right" thing.

[babbylon]

You seem more aware of it than most.

[digophelia]

I've seen far too many who declare what they do is right and just and are complete monsters. The notion of being pure and perfect is utterly laughable. Mankind will never be without its flaws and what is good and evil isn't so clean cut. Did you expect me to say otherwise?

[babbylon]

I already knew what to expect. The way you cut apart men, how you fall into a rage when defending others...

[Even for me, it's unnerving.]

It speaks to someone who disregarded right and wrong long ago in favor of survival.

[digophelia]

I don't disregard them. I disregard the naivete that all will be well and to let another fix it for me.

[babbylon]

You're awfully frightening for something so small.

[But she probably knew that already.]

[digophelia]

How so?

[ Actually, no, she isn't at all aware. ]

[babbylon]

You tell me, "I'm not mad." But your actions suggest differently. They suggest...

[Is this being too harsh? No. She deserved it, as did all the others.]

...you lost your mind long ago, and you fight in desperation to defend what remains.

[digophelia]

[ Fairly harsh, yet, despite how angry it is, her anger is surprisingly well composed. It's not the first time she's been told this, nor is it going to be the last. The level of composure she possesses may be even more frightening.

It was never Alice's intent to be frightening, but if it kept her safe, so bet it. Despite being so close to losing her temper, she doesn't storm off. It's like being called insane by the Mad Hatter.

Maybe she's too used to this. ]

You would know that too well yourself, wouldn't you. You have very little room to speak in that matter.

[babbylon]

[Maybe he is, too. He doesn't even bat an eyelash at the accusation.]

How so?

[digophelia]

Your fixations are absurd, unreasonable. What good does it do to cling to things so fleeting and so out of your grasp? Those things do drive men to madness and considering how long you've been alive, I would say the same for you, too. You're obsessive.

[babbylon]

I play to win, to own, and to possess. What you label obsession, I qualify as greatness.

[digophelia]

Is it? It seems like insecurity.

[babbylon]

Over what, exactly? As I already told you, the world was once mine. If anything, it's...

how did i miss this

[digophelia]

It's what.

[ Her solution to her anger was to hold it up and countless times she will say in those cases that she isn't angry only to find her anger is bigger than she thought. ]

How should I know, what, exactly that is. But it's no different than a child trying to take whatever they lay eyes on, to mask whatever they feel. As I said -- unreasonable. Though, if you feel that way, maybe I ought to sink to your level and say this book is mine now and I'm not giving it back.

[ Spitey spite spite. ]

[babbylon]

Boredom.

[He sounds depressed. More so than he'd been in that cell. As if there were no greater foe he faced, and perhaps now it is true; perhaps he has grown so old and so jaded that he's simply tired of everything. A life lived only for the promise of fleeting excitement, for wine, for women, and for dying pleasures.]

I don't want it back. It was intended as a gift. To bring you some degree of peace, because I felt sorry for you in all your wretchedness.

[The words taste bitter on his tongue. He spits them out, unwanted.]

I can see now that was a mistake.