A date.
A formal outing between two individuals interested in learning about one another, with a view to retaining or growing a relationship. Their previous evening, as they'd enjoyed the warm, inviting atmosphere of dance, carnival games, and a Japanese Lantern Festival, fit the part. Coupling that with their romantic confessions and long awaited smooching meant that it had been… Haley's first date.
It all felt so surreal, almost unnatural, given her luck in life. It was peculiar, too, having such strong feelings overtake her for a... person who has been deceased for centuries. Maybe it wasn't so irregular for her fate, as time would pass, and eventually they would part. Their relationship would only last for however long their partnership did...
Unless the Gods kept their word, and her desire could be similar to Egan's. To remain in the Underworld, undetected by the Shadows until Diarmuid met—
Chestnut locks shifted side to side, as Haley's forehead found new comfort in the cold shock of the sink's metallic edge. Nope, she was not going to travel down that road. There were no crossroads: she would find a way to save him, regardless of whatever the Gods planned… if only that were an easy task.
Haley knew next to nothing about the Underworld, nor this random lobby outside the main gates to endless torment. Whatever her informant told her felt like tainted water: it was possible to drink it, but the effects may vary and likely would not be worthwhile.
The unpredictability was too great, so the next best option was to go to a source found here. But whom? Egan had gotten his snippets of gossip from the chattering mouths of Observers. With the respect they've earned from Trista and Ozzard, would it be wise to apply to their minds for answers?
No… Trista mentioned something about answering to Athena (during her skirmish with Diarmuid)… and the words exchanged were nothing but rumors. Maybe they learned more of the plans of Gods... for would it not be their jobs to? It would be strange to not allow your arsenal of warriors protecting the Underworld not to know of important matters such as the outcomes of the Tournament.
Or maybe that tidbit was unimportant, as it was irrelevant to their mission of keeping things in order in Hades's labyrinths, not the trivial matters of the world of the living.
As she thought on it more, it was too dangerous to inquire about the outcomes of the Tournament with the Observers. Too many variables involved those gladiators… They most likely would not trust her with that information, anyway. Why would they? Respect or not, her pesky curiosity would likely add to their worry than not.
"They'd take us out right then and there, I figure," Haley grumbled into the rag she now used to replace the sink's bracing effect.
There must be a way to figure out what the Gods were planning, or what could be done to guarantee an end befitting her Knight. Eyelids squeezed shut, she searched the realm of her mind for answers. Like a cartoon, the light bulb over her sizzling mind popped bright with an idea: books!
The Spirit in question had retrieved a bountiful amount of information on the Observer this way, and she could devour a full length read in about an hour's worth of her time. That left dozens of different ways to unravel answers! If anything, the knowledge provided could prove useful in better understanding their predicament.
Satisfied with that logic, Haley tossed the toiletries aside and burst from the bathroom's confinements with newly found energy. Diarmuid's gander at her theatrics was evident. It wasn't until after she'd slammed the door shut behind her, and taken in the man of this new day in his black v-neck sweater that dipped below his sculpted pectorals, accompanied by loose-fitting lime green jeans, that she remembered the reasoning for her thoughts:
Dates.
After sleeping for an obscure amount of time, Haley had prepped herself to enjoy another lovely morning with her Knight. She glanced down at her attire: a denim blue button-up polka dotted polo, with a plain tank underneath, and a matching blue skirt that didn't pass her fingertips. The boots by this point were customarily the ones that Diarmuid had picked out, as the woman refused to purchase anything to replace them.
For once, Haley decided it'd be best to have her hair tied back, instead of the usual flat-down-her back look. Of course, it was a fairly simple style, as they would be settling for a picnic under the tree they'd harbored for the majority of the previous night.
Haley made a quick calculation of the hours located on the flickering screen of the watch. It read: 509 hours. That was equivalent to what, three weeks and a day, per se? Her attention snapped back to the man as he cleared his throat.
"The sunrise approaches; shall you join me on the balcony?" Diarmuid queried, as he slid the glass door to the right, and swept the curtains to the side.
His lady strode over and fleetly entangled their fingers together, making her happiness known that they were... well, entranced by the other. And no spell on my face is responsible for making such things possible. Diarmuid was practically bouncing at the sappiness that elevated his heart rate.
The Irishan propped his arm under his Lady's legs and guided her back until she was plopped onto the terrace's banister. She swayed and death-gripped his arm and shoulder, which elicited a bemused chuckle. "Do not fret, I have you."
"I know, still— normal reaction," Haley giggled, then settled herself comfortably into his side. "Don't know why I worry, I can ease my fall with my mind anyway."
"That... is quite impressive. I've yet to see," Diarmuid mused as he intrepidly peppered kisses up her shoulder, and settled just before the crease in her neck, as the bumps speckled her soft skin.
Gleefully shuddering from his affections, Haley ran the tips of her fingers over each warrior's callous on the man's palms to the little nicks under his fingers. "You will... as with everything else, I'm trying to strategically keep what I can do under my hat."
"From me, even? How traitorous can you be?" He joked, but the carelessness of his jest unsettled him. "Which... you are not, of course."
"Oh shush..." Her giggle was like magic to his ears as she pinched his index finger. "I can take a jab or two, as long as it's not from a spear."
They chuckled in unison, though Haley half-teased, and half honestly meant her throwaway comment. She absently rubbed her belly, an invisible ache in her gut from where Achilles' weapon had punctured her stomach.
"Ah, well," Diarmuid directed his gaze to the Oxford blue eyes that were focused on the striking vista of magenta's, fuchsias, maroons and a hint of marigolds painting the Arena's sky. "Even then, you recovered marvelously. I am beginning to believe there is nearly nothing that can take you down."
"Me? Hah, that's crazy... there's plenty. It's you who's like, made of steel. Every time you're on the battlefield, there is this wave of confidence that takes over you, and it's like nothing can get in your way. You're pretty incredible," Haley retorted, as she shifted along the bar to scoot closer to her Knight.
"You believe so? I sometimes worry that my... methods burden you, given your principles," whispered her Knight, who rested himself against her.
"While I do admit, fighting and all that isn't me... but... it's you. And while I don't think I can ever fully understand it, as long as you remain that chivalrous Knight that you are, then..." Haley rimmed her lip with the apex of her tongue, trying to place the right words at the tip of it...
"Then you shall continue to show the regard for me that you already have..." he finished for the Lady, proceeding to fully indulge her mouth with his.
"Yeah... " she whispered, the warmth of the sunlight breaking over the horizon warming her cheeks and her chest; it felt as though it was on fire from the heat of their passionate kiss. "And I can get to know you, too."
Diarmuid cocked his head. "Oh?"
Haley pecked his forehead before she gazed back at the melting pot of sunrise colors. It was only sensible to admit that the most she knew of Diarmuid was from legends, and there were still things she wished to know that the books of history wouldn't divulge. She learned of his favorite heroic tales, and some nuggets of information about Ireland when they were trapped in the Canyon, but now she wanted things to be a bit more personal.
Of course the man obliged, and indeed seemed delighted to boast about himself. Moreover, he was just as fascinated to be told more about the Lady. Diarmuid had witnessed her sensitive characteristics, including the brave and cowardly facets. She was an enigma he had yet to solve, yet he rejoiced in the task.
Diarmuid guided his Lady off the railing (even though she didn't need any help), the light of the sun signaling the next bit of their little arrangement: a light breakfast by the lake. He felt quite particular about her safety, having some fear of pursuers popping up their nasty heads yet again. It was unlikely in broad daylight, and when the wristwatch buzzed after their captivating evening: it seemed they were not the only ones given the chance to explore the Arena during the break.
Both assumed this was acceptable, given the amount of contestants left; Diarmuid's keen eyesight as he glanced beyond the terrace uncovered figures moving about. Surely this little outing of theirs should result in no worrying issues. Should. They both had undeserved ill luck, so it would be a toss-up.
Relinquishing concerned thoughts, they neatly folded bed sheets to place them into Diarmuid's arms, and bagged goodies from the cafeteria. Their stroll took them down a small path to the stream that bled into the lake. Seated on top of their blanket, with the fragrance of flowers, cedars and fresh water permeating the air, Haley plopped the bags between them.
"Ah, so this is from your culture, then?" Diarmuid unpacked the impressive layered breakfast bake with a salad of mixed greens and tomato wedges.
"Yep, I'm more familiar with my Italian roots than I am…" Haley's eyes shifted to the lake, then back to her Irishman, "My Irish ones."
The torte dropped from Diarmuid's grasp, and he bobbled the rest in an effort to keep it within his hands. "You are Irish?!"
"Yeah, but on my mother's side. And she died when I was little, so I never explored my Irish roots... and I kind of steered away from them since it... was sort of painful to remember." Haley choked as she remembered the image of her mother: a faint, dazzling smile, with the longest hair she'd ever seen. The woman had ultramarine eyes that rivaled the crystal blue majesty of lapis lazuli.
All these traits Haley had seemingly inherited from the beautiful woman, to know only the tenderness in her voice... now lost to her forever by grief and mourning. Her mother's embrace was the last remembrance she had of tranquility, the family bond buried as deeply as her parent's coffin.
"That's quite interesting... yes… in Gaelic I believe your name means, "ingenious". How fitting." Diarmuid stated, as he attempted to lighten the gloom that had overtaken his Lady.
"Gaelic is the old language of Ireland, right? That much I do know. My mom would make my brother and I laugh because she would speak it so quickly, it was like a tongue twister."
Diarmuid's left eyebrow twitched upward. "A tongue twister?"
"Sentences that when spoken quickly make your words overlap, or sound like something else! Like this one—" Haley recited the simplest one she could think of, "toy boat." It was only after the second chime, that her final words became "toy boy-t".
"Hmm… Toy boat, toy boy— Ah, I shall try again.. Toy boat toy boy—mmm, My Lady Haley, this…"
After a pause, their combined laughter trailed along the zephyr, adding their mirth to the aroma of Italian brunch. As she sipped her water, Haley started on another one. "Okay okay, try this one! Unique New York, unique New York, Unneeknewark, AH! Shoot!"
Diarmuid followed suit; he managed to get the phrase out four times before his words stumbled, and his head shook. Why was this so hilariously difficult? Simple language that strained his tongue.
"This one is my favorite," Haley leaned over her crossed legs, with a devilish glint in her eye. "Try saying: 'red bulb, blue bulb! Annnd, go!"
"Red bulb blublub...Mmph, red bolb blublo… AH!" Diarmuid laughed so hard his lungs felt like they were being stripped from his chest. "I could not come close with just one pronunciation, how terrible of me!"
Her exuberant Knight perked this little picnic to heights higher than Haley had expected. She teased his mouth with other idioms, laughing harder and harder with each failed iteration.
Cheerfully frustrated, Diarmuid broke off bits of his torte and tossed it at the woman who tittered from his blunders. A hooting mistake, as one scheming look led to a delicious face mask of melted egg that he knew she telekinetically manipulated. Before he knew it, the woman thumbed the mess from his closed eyelids, and smeared the mess from his lips to make enough room for hers.
"Mmph, you taste better," Haley teased, as she nibbled the smushed, diced tomatoes from his lower lip, and nabbed a napkin to clean the rest of the mess she made of his handsome face.
The man leaned into her palm. "You are quite the frolicsome woman, I must say," he surmised, while he took remnants of the parchment and smeared it over her lips, then leaned forward and smooched it away.
"Only when I'm around you," Haley reported in a muffled tone, eyes casting down to the man's hands settled in his lap. "It's so surreal, finally being able to just let go and enjoy time with someone. I never really had that."
Diarmuid wrapped his arms around the lady, and they plummeted backwards onto the blanket, the hard ground underneath slightly irritating his back before it settled. "Tis the same for me. It has been a long time since I have freely represented myself around someone, let alone a woman."
Haley nestled against his chest and toyed with the fabric that hid the scars of his experiences. "Have you ever been? You know... comfortable around a woman, after Grainne?"
"Once. With a fellow Heroic Spirit. Her magic resistance is just as great as yours. Her pride as a Knight just as strong, as her heart is pure," he reflected sorely. The King of Knights was one of his current enemy's Servants, and from what he could tell, betrayed their chivalry. "She bore witness to my end."
Haley turned over, and pushed that single lock of hair back with the rest of his dark hair. "I think I remember reading something about it, in the files of your Grail War. She was Kiritsugu's Servant, right?"
"Indeed. In our final duel, it was either one of us who should have pierced the other. From what I witnessed, her Master had Kayneth's betrothed, and found a way to coerce him to order my..."
A strange shiver rattled his bones and stopped him from speaking. An odd, blaring vision of himself invaded his psyche, screaming curses, wishing the end of— Diarmuid's chest went tight, and only when Haley pressed her index finger to his lips, did the sensation part.
"Let's talk about something else," she said quietly, removing her touch from the man who combed his fingers through his raven hair as he collected himself.
It was not here that Diarmuid was meant to tackle that remaining sense of pain. The final dark remnants of what plagued his spirit wouldn't do well if they were to emerge in public. "Like… did you know I found it really cool that you liked to read?"
Feeling a little better after the peculiar strain, the Knight dropped his outstretched arms to his sides, and directed his gaze to the clouds that lazily swirled across the barrier's sky. Books were limited things in his time, traditionally made by the monks or monastics, out of animal skins. Scribes possessed the better, well-crafted volumes, and he enjoyed them every now and then.
"Do you like books, Lady Haley?" Diarmuid quizzed as an afterthought.
"I love books..." she replied, as she stretched so her hand could find his. "I learn so much from them, and they keep my wandering mind occupied. Books are like movies in your head!"
"I see... what other amusements do you like?"
"I can draw. In my time hiding from the bounty, and with my photographic memory—ha—I would try to recreate what I've seen on paper. Sometimes, I'd even sell the work if I thought it was good enough to get snag extra bucks."
"Oh? I must see some of your work." Diarmuid was truly intrigued, he had not known she had such creative talents.
"Sure! I have a few ideas in mind. We can get some paper and stuff after our picnic... which— oh jeez, we should probably finish eating!" Haley pushed off his torso, and placed herself across from her Knight once more to finish delving into the delicious food.
Conversation rolled on seamlessly, and Diarmuid was entrusted with learning more of his Lady's interesting quirks and qualities. She loved animals but was terrified of snakes, and she was rather shy when it came to topics she was unfamiliar with (understandable, given her lack of social skills). She attempted to be sassy to mask her timid persona, but felt most empowered when defending others.
The Knight listened intently, and interrupted only to encourage more of her positive feats that she seemed to omit. Like how she was braver than she admitted, as she faced trials that would make the average person shake in their boots; or how despite the negative precedents, she remained bright and optimistic.
"That is actually something I quite admire, Lady Haley. You are forward, and remain true. I feel it is no longer common to find such as you," Diarmuid stated felicitously, swiping his hand beneath her bangs to bestow a feathery kiss to her forehead. "I am fortunate that you have chosen to commit to me: a simple, Forsaken Knight."
"You say such… nice things about me, yet to refer to yourself so poorly. Don't do that, Diarmuid. You are worthy of so much more than you think," Haley said matter-of-factly. "And don't refer to yourself as, 'Forsaken.' I really hate that terminology..."
Diarmuid's complacent nod would have left Haley agitated, as she really detested whenever he lowered his value—however slightly—but the benevolent way he kissed her lips, and muttered his appreciation left her furloughing the disdain for later. After all, they were enjoying a stellar morning, and there was no need to revel in melancholy, anyhow.
—
The Library was sanctioned off, on one of the lower floors of the gigantic, seemingly unoccupied tower. Where once the Hotel's rooms had stretched down the corridor, only blank walls remained... as if they had never existed in the first place.
Now that Haley thought about it, as she entered the magnificent display of shelves lined with blocks of stories and knowledge: the Hotel had seemed to shrink from the gigantic mass of architecture that it had previously been. The minimizing only left a searing throb, that lessened as her focus realigned with the reason for her personal visit to the book repository.
The only issue she had was where to start. The wide angle of predellas in the two story room left massive amounts of tomes for the psychic to sort through. She skimmed the layers of titles, disgruntled that there were no markers for what types of books lay in the aisles, until she came across a familiar sight.
At one of the long tables lined across the walls in the back of the room, sat a man whose attention was centered on whichever book his eyes trailed across. Haley's breath halted in her chest as she debated internally if she should approach or turn tail. As she shifted from one boot heel to the next, she finally decided to say hello.
As the woman crept toward the Observer with zero assurance, the curly-haired man lifted his attention from the book and raised his eyebrows.
"I don't know what you think you're going to get by accompanying me, but I assure you it'd be best you go elsewhere." Ozzard's flat tone only reassured Haley that while she might be unwelcome, he was still somewhat reasonable in his affairs.
"I… just want to ask you something. And then I will leave you be."
Ozzard sunk back into his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose. Might not get an answer, though."
Haley nodded. "What happened to Trista? I can't imagine that her… disregarding the panel the way she did went over too well."
The Observer sighed heavily—as if the question burdened him terribly—then shut his book. This might be a lengthy, unanticipated chat. "Such matters are not generally up for discussion with... Well, you."
"Please… I have to know," Haley urged, as the man's thick eyebrows scrunched together. "Is she okay?"
The pensive man shot his eyes across the quiet, desolate space, then back to the iris that dilated with her concern. An exasperated sigh left his lips; it was pointless withholding the information from the girl when she looked at him like that.
"You'll keep quiet about this. And you definitely won't go rambling, as you did in your match."
"I promise. This conversation never happened... So, please…"
Ozzard exhaled heavily. "Loki was fuming. Trista did not have the clearance to make the decision she did. So she is being chastened." His thick index finger grazed the edges of the book, but his stare never left the woman's trembling countenance. "They won't disperse her spirit, but she will be out of commission for a bit."
Haley battled between feeling relieved that the warrior was okay, or saddened by the fact she was being penalized for her actions. Who knows what exactly they were doing to her? Given it was the Norse God that had her imprisoned... it could be anything. "Shit, Ozzard... I'm... I'm so sorry. I—"
Ozzard flapped his hand, dismissing her apology. "No. It was Trista's choice and she knew the risks. She's one of the toughest, seasoned Observers we have here. She will be alright."
"Are you… sure?"
Ozzard thrummed his fingers on the wood. "If I weren't?"
Haley opened and closed her mouth, a rebuttal absent. Those three words were clear, just as the jab was from Cu Chulainn the other night. Her actions… had definitively caused… negative effects on those around her. If only she had realized sooner…
"Listen, I can see you blaming yourself in that ugly face you're making. Let it go. Your Forsa— your friend is safe, and Trista will make it. No harm, no foul." Ozzard chose his next words carefully, eyeing the room as he pushed out of his seat. "Observers were lost in this tournament; let's be glad she wasn't one of them," he stated somewhat maliciously.
The Observer waltzed around the table, halting next to the girl. "I don't know if you saw it, but your friend… he could have ended her. But he didn't. There is respect going around, be glad you have it." He said nothing more, as he left Haley alone.
Alone, to absorb the heavily implied message Ozzard related to her. The Observers were pissed; and that she figured, was not... a good thing.