.
.
The skin around Diarmuid's arm was numb from where it was cut, and there was a throbbing pain in his arm and shoulder that persisted despite his Master's attempts to give him relief. If Diarmuid moved his shoulder wrong or overused the limb, he would feel a sharp, electric jolt of searing pain, which would make him take a sharp intake of breath and stop whatever it was that he was doing.
It was a shame that he got so injured, but on the other hand, it made him feel less like a disembodied ghost reanimated by magic, and more as if he still had a flesh-and-blood body, a human with the same human weaknesses he had in the past.
That thinking, however, irritated his Master.
"How are you not pissed?" Waver said, as Diarmuid quietly changed the dressing around his arm. "You're a Servant, you're supposed to be invincible! But here you are stuck with this crappy wound."
"It is true, this wound does hamper my abilities somewhat." Diarmuid winced a little as he pulled back the gauze, which was crusted and oozing and sticking to his wound. "However, it also helps me feel more grounded."
"What do you mean, 'grounded'?" Waver said. Diarmuid smiled.
"It is easy to fight when you feel no exhaustion or pain, and consequently it is easy to forget your life may go forfeit. This pain reminds me that for all my abilities, I am still mortal. My body may not be flesh and blood, but it will still bleed the same if I am struck.
But more to the point, my lord: it pleases me that I can fight despite this," Diarmuid said. "It makes me feel as though I am still alive."
"So you're saying you're glad you almost got your hand cut off," Waver said. It wasn't a question. Diarmuid nodded.
"Indeed. Were it not for this wound, I would not have gotten this sword, and I would not have seen firsthand how much my lord values me."
"O-oi!" Waver said. "I got you that sword so you could fight, idiot! Don't turn it into something embarrassing!"
"It is not embarrassing, my lord. It represents your faith in me."
"Ugh," Waver said, and he sat down. "You're too optimistic, you know that?"
"Optimistic, my lord?"
"You know. 'The glass is always half full,' or, 'every cloud has a silver lining,' or, 'I nearly cut off my hand but my Master got me a sword'..."
"...Oh."
"Yeah. And after awhile it gets really annoying. You should be complaining that your arm hurts, not being all philosophical and grateful for the pain, or whatever."
"Well...it does hurt, a little," Diarmuid said. He wondered if that admission would please him.
Apparently it did, because Waver crossed his arms and nodded.
"Okay. See? Wasn't that easy? Just be a little more truthful to yourself," Waver said. "If things suck, just say they suck. You don't have to try and make it out into a freaking Life Lesson, you know."
xXx
.
They took the train into the city, Diarmuid taking spirit form while his Master entered the car. It was crowded, but somehow the passengers around them gave them a wide berth. Even though Diarmuid was in spirit form, women around him still managed to catch a whiff of his curse, frowning and turning their noses, looking around.
"Ugh, do you smell that?"
"It smells like something died in here."
"You think it's that kid?"
He saw his Master shift, uncomfortably.
"I'm going to leave you at home from now on," Waver said. "Unfortunately the curse is too strong, being around me is turning into a distraction."
"My lord. Are you sure that is wise?" Diarmuid spoke to him in spirit form. "You will be defenseless if you are attacked."
"No one is gonna attack. In fact I'm fairly sure people think we're a joke, no one is gonna bother."
Diarmuid frowned, and hovered uneasily.
While he was vaguely aware of the curse's effect, he really had no idea just how bad it was. Judging from the reactions of the women around him, he could at the very least surmise that he had the appearance of someone grossly deformed, unkempt and filthy and exuding a smell not unlike festering garbage. Even Martha, the lady of the house, would frown and occasionally sniff the air.
"Waver, do you smell something?" She held her basket of laundry and frowned. Fortunately Waver had erased her memory of the prior incident; Diarmuid stayed in spirit form, hovering anxiously. "It smells like the septic tank backed up. Were you having trouble with the toilet, earlier?"
"The septic tank is fine, I don't smell anything," Glen said. "Do you smell anything, Waver?"
He saw a drop of sweat form on his Master's forehead. "No."
Because he was curious, Diarmuid asked Saber for her opinion. "If I had to put it into words," Saber began, and she frowned.
"It is rather like the smell of human excrement. Or perhaps the smell of corpses, decomposing on a summer's day. But is not that bad," Saber said, and she smiled kindly.
"You smell fine to me," Waver said, evidently aware that Diarmuid was starting to feel self-conscious. "It's the nature of the curse, Lancer, they're going to think you're as repulsive and disgusting as possible."
How strange. In life, Diarmuid had not the stomach for the crowds of smitten maidens and jealous lovers that followed him, often finding himself wishing in earnest that he was born like everyone else. To that end, he avoided women whenever possible and took a vow of honorable chastity, which he had managed to keep until he fell in love with Grainne.
But the burden of that spot was nothing like this curse now, which utterly repulsed and horrified the women around him. It brought back painful memories of his childhood, the loneliness and isolation of his youth, knowing that his visage alone could inspire such unease.
But he supposed it was not all that bad. He could walk down a street unmolested, if he so chose; and while the shrieks of horror and disgust seemed to batter him at all sides, it was easy to remember that they were not reacting to him, but rather the power of his Master's magic, which was strong enough to overtake his curse. How fortunate was he to have a Master whose magecraft was so strong!
Unfortunately, the fair Martha had recently taken it upon herself to try to find the source of the smell that had been plaguing the upstairs of their house. Much to Glen and Waver's consternation, she forced herself to root around high and difficult to reach places, ignoring the arthritis in her hip and the dust that seemed to sear at her lungs. The only solution, Diarmuid thought, was that he should stay away from the house. The Mackenzie stronghold was within walking distance to the woods along Fuyuki's periphery, and with Diarmuid's agility rank, he was confident he could still guard his lord should anything go awry.
"Huh?! You can't just stay in the woods like some kind of ogre!"
Waver was staring at him as if he had three heads, but in truth it was the best solution Diarmuid could come up with. "I do not mind," Diarmuid said. He sat next to Waver and smiled. "In truth, I am well-accustomed to staying outdoors. Please do not trouble yourself over me."
"...I guess," Waver said. He looked at Diarmuid doubtfully. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, then I guess I'm okay with it. But you really don't have to."
"Nonsense," Diarmuid said, and he stood. "If you have need of me, please use our telepathic bond and call for me. I will be at your side post-haste."
"But what are you gonna do if you're attacked? If you stay in spirit form, you can't take your sword."
"You forget, my lord," Diarmuid said. "I still have access to my spears."
It was a strange sensation, staying in spirit form. The heft and weight of a physical body was something he had taken for granted; as a spirit, it was difficult to sense the boundary between himself and the darkness of the woods surrounding him. Above him, the dark line of trees swayed gently in the moonlight, and he could hear the soft sounds of insects creaking underfoot. It was the feeling of being everywhere and nowhere at once, as if he were something bigger than himself, the smooth edges of a gentle breeze.
Somehow, it reminded him of his flight with Grainne.
To be sure, their escape from the Fianna was marked with terror and uncertainty, the desperation of their act underscoring the sense that they had to keep moving. They never stayed long in one particular place, sleeping in short, rough intervals and moving beneath the cover of starlight, always keeping watch for their enemies coming to find them.
And yet, there were quiet moments. The warm touch of her hand against his shoulder as they rested. A soft smile. She was small and fair and so much more delicate than him, and there were times, when his resolve wavered and he was plagued with uncertainty and doubt, that it seemed as though she were the one protecting him.
"I will come down to you, Finn, and to the Fianna. And I will do death and destruction on you and on your people, for I am certain your mind is made up to give me no rest, but to bring me to my death in some place. And I have nowhere to go from this danger, for I have no friend or comrade under whose protection I could go in any far part of the great world, for it is often I fought against the men of the great world for love of you..."
Grainne. More beautiful than the green trees under blossom, so pure and sure in her love. And yet he knew her love would pass as quickly as the cold cloud at break of day, for no woman could look upon him and say that she truly loved him.
A gnawing sense of loneliness took him then, and the wound on his arm ached. Quietly he shifted back into corporeal form and stood beneath the canopy of trees, watching the sliver of moon pass and darken beneath the haze of drifting shadows.
"Stupid stupid stupid stupid!"
Diarmuid started. His Master was pushing his way through the woods, dragging a sleeping bag and swearing, loudly.
"My lord?!"
"Why did you have to go so deep?" Waver said. He hefted the bag down with a thud. "This thing was a pain in the neck to carry! And by the way, you passed the ley lines that are most compatible with you awhile ago, if you were gonna spend the night here, you might as well have set up camp there!"
"What are you doing here?" Diarmuid said. Waver glared.
"I'm staying with my Servant," Waver said. "I'm only here because some idiot thought it'd be better to hang out in the woods instead of the house, where it's warmer and more comfortable and aggh! What the hell did I just step on?!"
"Er, that appears to be feces," Diarmuid said. Waver groaned and threw down the bag.
"Here's your sword," Waver said. "And here's your bandages, since I knew you were probably too stupid to remember them."
Diarmuid was touched that his Master was so worried about him. "Thank you," he said, and he took the sword and the bandages from Waver, quietly. Waver rummaged through his pack, and continued.
"Martha is carpet-bombing the second floor with air freshener," Waver said. "So even though you left she still thinks she smells something. It's a pretty powerful aura, I guess. So there really was no point in you staying here.
And don't worry," Waver added. "I'll find a way to break that curse. Even if I have to curse you with another love spell, then so be it. If I overshoot, at least this time it'll be something that you're used to."