[ As promised, he appears not long after the message was sent, taking a seat at a table near the window. Berserker looks considerably better after his hermitage in the Wilde last month, at least. ]
[Not too long after, Andersen arrives. He looks as if he's lost some weight -- looks a little more worn than he should, with dark bags under his eyes -- but he is at least up and walking. He spots Berserker right away and joins him at the table, fingers laced together.]
You drink coffee?
[He's going to ease into whatever this is about with small talk.]
[ Berserker says nothing about Andersen's condition; it's not his place. He's still healing, too, his wings the biggest indication of that. They're badly scarred and he still can't open them fully without pain, much less fly with them. They'll heal, but they need more time. At least his scales have regrown, for the most part.
Before answering his question, the dragon slides a small package across the table. ]
I do.
[ Inside of the plainly wrapped box, Andersen will find a fine leatherbound notebook full of high quality paper, along with a carved bone dip pen with a number of nibs. ]
[There's a genuine flash of surprise when he opens the box, as if he can't believe something so good could be given to him. Andersen picks up the pen gingerly, turns it over so he can inspect its small details.]
[ Of course Andersen suspects ulterior motives -- Berserker really isn't the type to just give gifts. He's a terrible, rude, surly person, even with everything he's regained from taking on a Bond. ]
Nothing.
[ What he won't say is that it's a thank you gift for the merciful treatment during their captivity and not saying anything about him breaking down into tears. This is the least he can do for Andersen choosing to treat him like a fragile human being instead of weak monster that couldn't control its emotions when it was necessary (Berserker's a little bit hard on himself still). ]
[Indeed, generosity from Berserker of all people is a strange occurrence -- it's part of why Andersen scrutinizes the gift, even though he knows he should be grateful. The other part is that he is simply a man unaccustomed to gifts, to thanks, to all these gestures of appreciation. Everything he's accepted was always given with strings attached. It's difficult to erase a lesson learned over a lifetime.
He puts the pen down. Closes the box and tucks it away into his bag.]
Someone like me doesn't receive gifts on the regular. I'm cynical, nitpicky, and an overall shit person to be around. I don't exactly garner gratitude or respect from others, which is why your gift is puzzling me so. But, to turn to a detestable cliche... "never look a gift horse in the mouth."
Though I suspect otherwise, I'll accept your reason and give you my thanks. I'll use them to write you into a story.
I could tell you the actual reason, but I thought you'd appreciate the mystery.
[ He shrugs. ]
As for your thanks, if you feel it's necessary, I accept it.
[ Berserker finds himself staring down at his hands in silence after that for a few moments too long. How do you even start to talk about what happened? ...You don't, that's how. ]
[You don't talk about it, especially not when you're someone accustomed to burying it all. Berserker doesn't strike him as the type to open up. And Andersen -- he's someone who would rather dramatize and flaunt the hurt, so he may bury the messier bits somewhere deep in his heart. They haven't spoken much prior to their imprisonment; they still don't. But what they both went through has created a strange tie, thin as it may be.
Andersen, then, can't help making a wisecrack.]
I'm doing better than you look, that's for sure.
[It's easier to talk if you put up a front.]
... I saw your other self in the cells, too. Has he bounced back yet?
[ He narrows his eyes, but doesn't comment on the wisecrack. It bothers him more than it should, if only because his wings are terribly scarred and he's found that he's somewhat self-conscious of that fact. If it had been from anything other than his forced captivity, it wouldn't bother him at all. He also hasn't been sleeping well and it shows.
Nevermind, he has something else to focus on. He and Caster...They, too, had gone through some shit. ]
He's fine. [ Physically, anyway. Berserker has his doubts any of them will be okay mentally for some time. ] His spite against those that took us will take him far.
The executions weren't enough to whet his appetite for vengeance?
[He understands, to an extent. The Rathmores were punished grievously for their crimes -- both with their lives and their property -- and that was poetic enough for his Bonded to be satisfied. He was the sort quelled by what he saw as justice. But what brings closure is never the same across people.]
Living well is the biggest thumb in their eye any of us can manage and that's just what he's doing. Rebuilding his business, too.
[ The executions weren't enough for Berserker, that's for sure. ]
We, the ones they kidnapped and tortured, should have been given the chance to do the job...Or at least been given the chance to harm them as they harmed us.
[ He sounds more sullen than anything, the reminder of what he'd suffered unpleasant and unwanted. ]
That would've been quite the spectacle. Mirrorbounds lining up to carve their piece of flesh -- I wonder if that would've horrified this city.
[It likely would have. There was a reason why his Bonded hadn't been allowed to sink his fangs into their captors, why the Rathmores had been kept alive until their sentences were declared. Andersen leans back into his chair.]
...
[Suddenly, he makes a frustrated noise.]
This is a grim conversation. So be it. I'd like something just as dark and gritty sitting in my stomach while we have it. Pick a drink, why don't you? Waiter!
[Better pick fast! Andersen is waving down a server!]
Hm. Fascinating. It's as you say, you're no Avenger. An Alter is an empty shade that shouldn't exist, while an Avenger is an existence born to suffer and die.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text
I've been an invalid all of last month. I have nothing but time. There's a cafe I frequent...
[And here, he gives its name.]
text > action
[ As promised, he appears not long after the message was sent, taking a seat at a table near the window. Berserker looks considerably better after his hermitage in the Wilde last month, at least. ]
no subject
You drink coffee?
[He's going to ease into whatever this is about with small talk.]
no subject
Before answering his question, the dragon slides a small package across the table. ]
I do.
[ Inside of the plainly wrapped box, Andersen will find a fine leatherbound notebook full of high quality paper, along with a carved bone dip pen with a number of nibs. ]
no subject
What exactly do you want from me?
[This is a bribe for something, right?]
no subject
Nothing.
[ What he won't say is that it's a thank you gift for the merciful treatment during their captivity and not saying anything about him breaking down into tears. This is the least he can do for Andersen choosing to treat him like a fragile human being instead of weak monster that couldn't control its emotions when it was necessary (Berserker's a little bit hard on himself still). ]
Do you meet every gift with this much suspicion?
[ He has a feeling the answer is "yes". ]
no subject
He puts the pen down. Closes the box and tucks it away into his bag.]
Someone like me doesn't receive gifts on the regular. I'm cynical, nitpicky, and an overall shit person to be around. I don't exactly garner gratitude or respect from others, which is why your gift is puzzling me so. But, to turn to a detestable cliche... "never look a gift horse in the mouth."
Though I suspect otherwise, I'll accept your reason and give you my thanks. I'll use them to write you into a story.
no subject
[ He shrugs. ]
As for your thanks, if you feel it's necessary, I accept it.
[ Berserker finds himself staring down at his hands in silence after that for a few moments too long. How do you even start to talk about what happened? ...You don't, that's how. ]
You're doing better, aren't you?
no subject
Andersen, then, can't help making a wisecrack.]
I'm doing better than you look, that's for sure.
[It's easier to talk if you put up a front.]
... I saw your other self in the cells, too. Has he bounced back yet?
no subject
Nevermind, he has something else to focus on. He and Caster...They, too, had gone through some shit. ]
He's fine. [ Physically, anyway. Berserker has his doubts any of them will be okay mentally for some time. ] His spite against those that took us will take him far.
no subject
[He understands, to an extent. The Rathmores were punished grievously for their crimes -- both with their lives and their property -- and that was poetic enough for his Bonded to be satisfied. He was the sort quelled by what he saw as justice. But what brings closure is never the same across people.]
no subject
[ The executions weren't enough for Berserker, that's for sure. ]
We, the ones they kidnapped and tortured, should have been given the chance to do the job...Or at least been given the chance to harm them as they harmed us.
[ He sounds more sullen than anything, the reminder of what he'd suffered unpleasant and unwanted. ]
no subject
[It likely would have. There was a reason why his Bonded hadn't been allowed to sink his fangs into their captors, why the Rathmores had been kept alive until their sentences were declared. Andersen leans back into his chair.]
...
[Suddenly, he makes a frustrated noise.]
This is a grim conversation. So be it. I'd like something just as dark and gritty sitting in my stomach while we have it. Pick a drink, why don't you? Waiter!
[Better pick fast! Andersen is waving down a server!]
no subject
[ And that doesn't bother him one bit. He knows his brutality knows no bounds, especially when he's driven to kill by something other than an order.
Ah, right. They're at a cafe, aren't they? ]
Black coffee is fine. [ He's not picky. ] I don't need anything else.
no subject
Tell me. For an Alter, is there a constant need for vengeance and retribution?
[He's curious.]
no subject
[ To say the least. ]
I'm not an Avenger. There's no point in vengeance and retribution. I would still be as empty as I am now if I ever killed Medb.
no subject
[He mutters more to himself than to Berserker:]
I ought to compare my notes...
no subject
no subject
[He doesn't say it to be rude. In his eyes, it's only the truth.
Their order arrives.]
no subject
[ He says that to be rude as he picks up his cup. ]
I don't want to be part of your stories...Even though I have a feeling I already am, aren't I?