( 20 ) I know what hands are for, and I'd like to help myself.

[problemagus]

( This... is not what Kiritsugu wanted to deal with today. A reckless Avenger, injured. It was a direct violation of his orders. In his logical mind, he couldn't even understand why she'd chase after a servant like Berserker, given how brittle her class could prove to be. He'd have to rectify this matter, immediately.

They're all sharp, mechanical movements. From the way he shrugs off his suit jacket, to how he unlatches the buttons of his dress shirt, before seating himself against the cheap spring mattress of the hotel. His gaze falls onto Gwen's, ironically, delicate frame, reaching out a hand to cup her cheek. Though he could hardly consider the gesture 'romantic.' )

Whatever reservations you have with me, I advise you rid yourself of them now.

( It's... the most pragmatic approach for the both of them, he thinks. Must he command her to behave, as well? He certainly hadn't ruled it out, but he's giving her a chance to come to her senses. )

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[gwenhwyfar]

[ It confuses her more than anything. She half-expected to be called "petty" for it -- part of it was petty. Her draw to Lancelot originally was petty.

She really never recovered from her abduction from Melwas and his words -- "He has left you." No matter how deep her love for Arthur was, each time he left for battles and wars, Gwenhwyfar was left alone, crying for him.

And, if anything, Lancelot's fielty to Arthur went beyond any love for her. She hated that, hated that his honor meant more to him than her. How dare he be angry at Arthur for forgiving them, she thought, how dare he subject himself to such a level that he wasted away.

She could use comfort, sure, she just wasn't sure how to handle it or process it. She stands almost limp in his arms. Bury it. He has no idea that was how she was brought up, she could steel her emotions as much as she can, but it never soothed that pain.

The pain manifested into an uncontrollable rage. At least it quells her tangent and any desire she had left to storm off and find him, again. Warmth is nice -- she even leans into it for a few minutes even as her hands lie suspended at her side as if poised to reach for him. She can't.

The gesture ultimately confuses her. ]

I cannot.

[ Any tears that manifested from Gwenhwyfar are stifled. She doesn't want to be seen as weak, not by anyone, not even those tied to her. ]

Gareth adored him. Such a kind girl who never wished him harm... and he crushed her skull in. She did nothing but stand in his way. Literally. Trying to reason with him. I begged him not to.

[problemagus]

( In all honesty, it's not as though he hadn't thought it. Her actions throughout today could, in a word, be considered petulant. But overall, he wanted his servant to function, thinking it better to keep these thoughts to himself.

He notices the tears welling at her eyes, rolling luminously down her cheeks. Even now, she's pretending to ignore it. His Queen of the Britons was very much a child deep down, was she not? He finds his finger tracing the curve underneath her eye, wiping away the moisture. )

I do not expect you to forget your emotions overnight, or to even forgive him. ( How could he? ) But as my servant, I cannot have you charging into a battle you're unable to win.

( Which is to say: if she wishes to challenge him again, she better have an actual plan next time. )

I can channel my mana into healing your wounds, but I need you to cooperate with me.

( So far, she had not. Hence, the contact. )

[gwenhwyfar]

[ There could be a small part of her, much like Lancelot, that wants to actively seek out self-destruction that stems from her feeling that she is generally an undeserving being. His words do irritate her, however, she was never one to be reasoned with. It felt like she was being patronized by someone.

Because she knew that he's right and she doesn't like being told what she already knows.

Or possessing limits. The Queen of the Britons was raised to do what others told her to do. At one point in her youth (just by happenstance, her current form) that she finally was able to push back.

It's awful, she yearned for any physical comfort so much that she hasn't shoved him away, despite the urge lingering. Despite the fact she catches herself leaning into that gesture. ]

It's not so much a matter of "forgiveness". He wants to be punished, then I'll do it for him for refusing to listen to logic.

[ She's close to going off on a tirade about the Black Knight. Gwenhwyfar scoffs, despite her tears. ]

And if I don't? Then what? I was never human, I can heal myself.

[ But then she risks the cost of losing control of her demonic blood, as they both know. ]

[problemagus]

If you wish to punish him, then I advise you devise a strategy. Otherwise, you will find me in your way.

( It's a pointed remark, perhaps one that showed his hand. He had zero qualms with commanding her obedience should push come to shove. She simply hadn't given him a reason to, yet.

His sleeve continues to wipe away at the wetness, as he pulls her in more tightly to his embrace, mentally noting how pliant she's been to the contact-- in spite of herself. Curious, to say the least. )

You are too headstrong, Gwenhwyfar. There is no need to resort to such dramatics when your master is willing to provide. For now, you need only relax.

( Yeah, he's going to swat that idea out of her head. Though to help ease her mood, his free hand rests upon her shoulder, gently rubbing against her skin. )

[gwenhwyfar]

Provide what?

[ Holding her tighter works for a few minutes, enough to fluster her, up until Gwenhwyfar hears the word "dramatics" and the sour is opened up again. Really, it's no better than holding a feral cat.

She had to wonder if the whole ordeal ever sank into him; a young woman was killed on the account of someone's selfishness, even at a point Gwenwhyfar had laid down the line, herself. She was hurt, she felt betrayed just as she had felt so many times before. Arthur wasn't around to reel her in, the only man that Gwenhwyfar would ever listen to, no questions.

Most of all, she hated herself for the betrayal. She hated that she was so weak enough to lead to such a schism in her husband's court and for the rest of her afterlife, she would be desperately repaying it. After all, she loved them both. She loved Arthur's nephews and wanted something better for them. Gareth never deserved it and Gawain never deserved the misery.

The more she thinks about it, the angrier she gets. She felt like he wasn't taking her seriously, as if it was another chapter in some ridiculous soap opera. ]

What strategies do you have, then? Was it killing off the mages? He's so consumed with rage he'll hurt another innocent, again, just like he did with Gareth.

[problemagus]

( Does he... really need to spell it out for her? )

Mana transfer, Gwenhwyfar. ( Intimacy with his servant isn't the most appealing of ideas to him, no. But he's had sex under more trying conditions. ) We cannot risk you losing control of your demonic blood, and moreover, I don't believe you'd want to put yourself on his level.

( Her mood is barely stable, as is. )

I could infiltrate the Matou's manor tomorrow, if it troubles you so. From my understanding, Berserker's master is weak from the drain it takes to control him. He'd hardly put up a threat against me.

( That's not good. Her temper is starting to flare up again. He ought to take a gentler approach, he thinks, and makes to stretch out his arm, twining his fingers in her hair. )

[gwenhwyfar]

[ His words take her by surprise and the only hint of that she gives him is a slight arch of her eyebrow. She's not one to shrink away from intimacy -- the opposite, really. More than anything, Gwenhwyfar enjoys physical contact, allowing him to play with her head with a slight tilt of her head.

Maybe she's feeling extra spiteful to hide the fact that she likes it. For whatever reason, Gwenhwyfar wants to be that extra petulant and not show she is one that can cave easily.

Even if she does and has. Several times.

The expression on her face as she looks up at him is a feigned one of disinterest. He's right -- she could easily lose control and it's the last thing she wants. Mana keeps her afloat no thanks to her bloodline. Yet at the mention of her bloodline, Gwenhwyfar speaks in a way to hide her small, feigned incisors. ]

No. I don't want to sink to his level.

[ Doesn't he have a child? Or two? She can't bear the thought of hurting children. ]

Spare that poor man.

[ She felt... awful for Kariya. Look at what he has to work with. ]

He coughs up blood, his body is a mess. He doesn't need an intervention, it'll happen naturally. At least allow him that dignity.

Fine. So be it. I don't care.

[problemagus]

( Her disinterest hardly concerns him. And frankly, makes it easier on him. A servant developing feelings for him in the middle of the war would make matters too problematic. It's better if he disassociates, putting little mind to the acts about to transpire. )

Very well. Then I shall proceed.

( Much like a business transaction. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head, closing in the gap between their faces, and makes to brush his lips against her own. Gentle, at first, but firm, his hand moving up to grab the back of her head. He shifts his weight against her, now, positioning to simply pin her against the bed, albeit, waits to give her a moment to adjust.

He might merely see her as a tool, but he wasn't about to make her uncomfortable. )

[gwenhwyfar]

[ The feeling is mutual, to some degree, although Gwenhwyfar doesn't really see him as a tool. An idiot, sometimes, sure, but not a tool. She doesn't let him know that, however, any sort of softness that might come up is buried down.

Because the battle-hardened Queen of the Britons does not want to be seen as anything but strong. About the only thing, she'll let slip is the pleased noise she lets loose for having the back of her hair grabbed.

She doesn't mind a little force, she's used to it. Anything else would be too confusing. Through the tussle of white locks, Gwenhwyfar takes a breath to adjust herself.

And there are times she just can't help herself, turning to him, her voice a whisper and flat as a pancake. ]

Oh, do hold back your excitement, penpidyn.

[problemagus]

( ... Cute. Insults rarely, if ever, moved him. But a part of him had to wonder... was she egging him on? Is that something he should tolerate? Perhaps some discipline was in order. )

Funny, you're the one who seems rather pleased.

( All before engulfing her in his weight, whilst slipping his tongue into his mouth, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. It's not as though he hadn't noticed her pleasurable sighs, or the way she leaned into his ministrations. Trying to picture what he ought to do with her clothes, for now, his hands curl around her wrists, pulling them above her head. Perhaps if he had something to tie them with? Hm. )

[gwenhwyfar]

[ If anything, Gwenhwyfar wanted to be difficult for the sake of being difficult, an all too common trait of hers. The need to be defiant to save face.

But she isn't completely defiant when it comes to his touch; she likes the aggression, letting her hands be bounded listlessly above her head without much resistance. The sigh she passes through her nostrils is not just one of contentment, because somewhere in the back of her mind, she's rolling her eye. Teeth on her lips are all fine and good, but she wants it known that she's fairly annoyed.

Humans are just that weird. Here would be the drawback of exhausting her manna: her demonic strength is limited, not without forcing herself to heal, and Gwenhwyfar's teeth would be used in a different matter than the aggressive kiss.

If she ignores his comment for a minute, then--

Who is she kidding? She can't. Gwenhwyfar may return the kiss at first, up until she makes it known that she's not to be reckoned with by letting those sharp incisors glide across his bottom lip. The only sign of protest is the nudge she gives him underneath is weight. ]