deepsought:
biting back the urge to proclaim ‘fool’ at a question so ridiculous ( especially when it appeared that the man, this lionhearted saber, was already aware of his stupidity ), gilgamesh instead shakes his head, expression exasperated. ❝ I am aware. Consider him my more youthful counterpart, caught in dreams of the past, unable to move forward. ❞
in a way, the caster felt pity. but only some. the archer was, after all, himself. his misgivings were the sage king’s own a lifetime ago. but to remain willingly tied to them, and to go as far as to allow himself to be corrupted by a poisoned grail, one the hero had thought little more than a dream, a trick of his mind, when he had seen it with his sight — not even his own person was free from judgement. if anything, gilgamesh would always judge himself harshest of all. any king who was unable to admit fault in himself ( however few ) was unsuited to lead.
❝ Servants can be summoned from any period of their life, be it from childhood or their later years. One’s Class can subsequently be influenced by this, as well as by a number of other factors. ❞ as had been the case for that most irritating dragon girl, among others.
❝ Of course, choosing a Class is child’s play for one such as I. Should I wish it, I would not even have to be restricted to a Class. This was purely a manifestation I deemed necessary. For that reason, you may call me Caster. ❞ Snowfield — yet another summoning for that Archer, one unknown to the Caster as he was now. How exhausting. Did that man truly have nothing better to do with himself than to fight pointless wars?
There’s a comment simply waiting to be said about how little he’s changed, despite the difference classes. Perhaps if Richard leans in, he’ll spy the odd crowsfeet or stress line; the odd fixtures of nightless rest and worry that accompanies age and command. But, oh, he’s not that cruel or foolish - perhaps later, when the Caster’s attention slides downward into his champagne glass, he’ll gamble everything on a peek. For now, however, Richard holds his tongue hard.
“Hm, I see. The change to your appearance would be for purely aesthetic reasons, then? It’s quite suitable for such a summertime festival like this! Far more fitting then that slicked-back style your other counterpart seems to sport.” It gives him the air of-- normality? Yes, that seems the best way to put it. Perhaps the class change has done something for his attitude-- ah, up until he gets into the nitty gritty of it. No, still the core personality, albeit tempered by the hands of time.
Honestly, it’s perhaps for the best; Richard can scarcely imagine what Goldie would be like without his pride. Something far worse, no doubt! Though it does raise an interesting question: if he can do it simply with the wave of his hand, could Lancer do so, too? It’s something to ask later, when this one’s out of sight and mind,
“If only the rest of us were so lucky,” so he says, gently sipping at that fruit mocktail he’d been so absorbed with until recently. “But a Caster, truly? Colour me quite impressed that the great Forebearer of the Ages would choose a class considered one of the weakest out of necessity.” It seems he has his reasons, though, and so Richard won’t pry. “By the by, have you tried the little fruits in the champagne fountain yet?”
















