[So one might say he's having a good time. Maybe. Possibly. The smile that's about ready to fall off his face gives him away.
Gilgamesh loves things rather than people, now; he loves parts of them, their little pieces that make them who and what they are. He loves Kirei's total dispassion, he loves Saber's unquenchable drive, he loves Dorian's endless thirst for beauty, and he loves the heart that beats inside Diarmuid and yearns for freedom—freedom which he displays in elegant twists and turns, fluid and fast, and more than a bit distracting if he's being honest with himself.
But Gilgamesh plays to win, always, and he's confident in his own strategy... at least until Diarmuid figures him out and bounds on ahead. The teleporting throws him off, clipping his speed slightly, though only long enough for him to grin and dig his heels into the dirt. It meant giving up the chase, sure, but the ultimate prize would be more than worth it.
With all his strength braced in one place, he spreads his arms and catches Diarmuid sailing through the air. Tackle successfully foiled, and instead he's drawn into an embrace, a tight one. A protective one. He has become far too fond for his own good; he has fallen too deeply in love with that freedom which speaks too close to his own heart.]
I caught you. I win.
[Your consolation for losing is a peck on the cheek, Diarmuid. Lucky you.]
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[So one might say he's having a good time. Maybe. Possibly. The smile that's about ready to fall off his face gives him away.
Gilgamesh loves things rather than people, now; he loves parts of them, their little pieces that make them who and what they are. He loves Kirei's total dispassion, he loves Saber's unquenchable drive, he loves Dorian's endless thirst for beauty, and he loves the heart that beats inside Diarmuid and yearns for freedom—freedom which he displays in elegant twists and turns, fluid and fast, and more than a bit distracting if he's being honest with himself.
But Gilgamesh plays to win, always, and he's confident in his own strategy... at least until Diarmuid figures him out and bounds on ahead. The teleporting throws him off, clipping his speed slightly, though only long enough for him to grin and dig his heels into the dirt. It meant giving up the chase, sure, but the ultimate prize would be more than worth it.
With all his strength braced in one place, he spreads his arms and catches Diarmuid sailing through the air. Tackle successfully foiled, and instead he's drawn into an embrace, a tight one. A protective one. He has become far too fond for his own good; he has fallen too deeply in love with that freedom which speaks too close to his own heart.]
I caught you. I win.
[Your consolation for losing is a peck on the cheek, Diarmuid. Lucky you.]