agentlelog | past the castle gates

[Although his own experience as a mercenary was nearly all on foot or horseback, the company of sailors at the Draegaís port still felt familiar to Guts. The creaking of wood, the clattering of heavy chains, the calm current of fresh water. There are loud voices organizing the disembarkation of cargo from the riverboats, playful chatter between crewmates, and the stench of fish. The ships' appearances were wrong, the magic was wrong, but the energy of the bustling port still felt right.

Needless to say, he’d be interested in doing more than just passing through once he got ear of activity beyond the city walls. He wasn’t usually one to stick around people, but he could make an exception here. Maybe it was just the air of the crowd.

He’d soon be among the crewmembers unloading the various crates and boxes of cargo to land, and has the sense to remove his cloak and pauldrons to free up his shoulders. As he walks down the thin boarding ramp back to the dock, the steel point of his boot finds something - or someone - obstructing his path back to the wooden docks.]

Move.

[Truthfully, it's a mystery how Emil got here in the first place. He definitely doesn't carry himself like someone who wants to be spending the afternoon hauling crates around, especially at the docks reeking of fish and sweat and saltwater— really not his scene. And yet, he's here anyway.

It's entirely possible this is a mistake and someone much bigger and more intimidating than he is gave him just enough mean looks to keep him there, or one of the sailors convinced him to push crates around as a joke. No matter; whatever the reason, there is one (1) more prissy pretty boy on this dock than usual, currently leaning his elbow on a crate and not moving it at all. It's break time; he deserves this.

But, ah- being nudged with a boot is so... rude!! He turns and looks up - literally everyone here has at least a head on him, jesus - and then—]

Ah! [POINTS..... this is like, the third time he's done this, but the first time outside of breakfast.] You!!

[Emil’s presence was an utter mystery to Guts, too. He even forgets to be annoyed at that same stupid finger point that happened every time they brushed each other. Yes. Him. Hello, tiny egg-thrower. Or was that the other one? He honestly couldn’t tell the difference.

The boot comes back around to nudge him off the crate with a little more vigor. Next time he may just kick him aside.]

Out of the way.

[Gosh, Guts, Emil is the coin-thrower, get it right. He will continue to do this point-and-exclaim thing each and every time he sees Guts for the foreseeable future, sadly— but at least this time is genuine surprise and not indignation. Unlike at breakfast, he will permit Guts' presence here on the dock.

But maybe not for long if he keeps being nudged, what the hell!!]

Stop that! I'm doing my job— go around!

[No, Emil, he's not going around. The boarding ramp wasn't wide enough for that. He is most definitely not going to stand there and wait for him to finish "working", either.

He takes one look at that cargo box in comparison to this small twig boy, and quickly realizes what the issue is.]

You dragged out somethin' that's too big for you, huh?

[He's not a twig!!! But he is tiny, that much is true, and this thing comes up to like, his waist. Mistakes were made.]

I kicked it all the way over here, actually.

[No one stopped this.]

[SIGH]

[For all Guts was annoyed, he did seem empathetic to Emil’s struggle here. How many times had he done the same thing as a kid? Too many! That’s how he ended up with a sword the size of a table.

[He is going to pull Emil away from the box by his shirt, though. Out of the way, punk. He’s going to carry both of these boxes.]

[Oh

my god???]

Wh— [Emil is honestly too shocked for a moment to do anything, then he bristles and swats pointlessly at Guts' arm.] E-Excuse me! Stop that!

[Oh my god!!!] I'm trying, alright? A lot!

[Being swatted by tiny hands is about as effective as you would expect it to be. That is, not at all. Emil gets unceremoniously plopped behind him.

Guts switches his own cargo box to his other arm, holding it in place over his shoulder with the prosthetic hand. He bends over to pick up Emil's box and hold that one under his armpit, fingers gripping the bottom ridges.]

I got it.

[He really does. The doubled weight doesn't seem to bother him at all. Now, don't mind him continuing to walk down the boarding ramp.]

But— hold on!

[Hold! On! That's Emil's box! How is he supposed to, uh, get silently laughed at by all these big, scary sailors if he isn't kicking a box down the dock? It takes him a moment to shuffle forward a bit and then hurry after Guts, slapping his hands onto the side of the box. Hello!!!!]

This one is mine!

[Why wait for him to put it down? The surprise box percussion is enough to attract the amusement of a few sailors around them, if only for the image of the pair of them tagging along with each other. Emil is really ruining his badass mercenary cred, here.

Nonetheless, Guts approaches the unloading area where the rest of the cargo was being gathered, regardless of his whining. Tweedle Dee lost his box privileges when he backed up the boarding ramp.]

Try gettin' a smaller one.

Edited 2019-04-09 00:35 (UTC)

[This is how Emil earns his keep, actually- entertainment value. One might call this, like, court jester level of entertainment... but it still counts. He has no idea.

He slaps the box again for good measure. Guts!!]

But this one is mine! [He's a spoiled only child, is it obvious?? Give him his STUFF back!] I can move it if you just stopped!

[Now, Guts is usually inclined to just get the job done and move on. He had enough of a sense of practicality for that. But for this? He's going to make a special exception. Be it with flaming ghost brats or real living brats, you gotta make your stand.

And so, he stops mid-stride, and looks down at him.]

Alright then. Take it from me.

[Prove yourself, Emil. Snatch this huge box right out from under his arm.]

[Oh okay, that gets him to pause.]

Um, what?

[He glances around, like, in front of everyone? Sadly, there are just enough bored sailors watching this still that he can't back down now!! Death warrant: signed.

...Not that he has any genius ideas besides just quite literally trying to climb onto the box from here. Give him this!!]

[Hrm. Well, Emil is making a valiant effort, at least. Can't blame him for trying to back up his whining.

Of course, attempting to climb up really only jostles the box and Guts' arm for a bit before he just kind of... casually shakes him off. You done embarrassing yourself, buddy?]

Edited 2019-04-15 17:11 (UTC)

[bruh.........

Well, Emil is very small, so it's not hard to shake him off even for someone who isn't the size of a small house. But is he done? Is he?? No, he's not, he's going to try it again, with more gusto!!]

Give me my stupid box! You don't even like helping!!

[Well, his original plan was to knock Emil off once, watch him get disheartened, and then tell him to shut up. But, uh, that’s not happening. He’s climbing on even harder???

What a stubborn brat!!]

You aren’t gonna give up, are you?

No! I know how to do my job, and you're just- big!

[Yes, a fine argument. He's a one of a kind box barnacle.]

...

[Wasn't this clambering barnacle just spending an hour on his break?? No, Guts decides, he does not know how to do his job.

And so, with a great big sigh of resignation, he keeps walking forward with his box, Emil's box, and Emil dangling from somewhere on his body. If a sailor or two sends a question his way about the whole predicament, he blithely ignores them.]

past the castle gates

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