The Ψiioniic / The Helmsman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2014-12-01 01:23 am
biiowiired) wrote in thecapitol2014-12-01 01:23 am
Entry tags:
Why should they go out to fight?
Who| The Ψiioniic biiowiired and YOU
What| Arriving and scoping out possible escape routes
Where| Central commons, District 9 floor, gym, a street outside a train station
When| dec 01-02. Threads below won't happen in the order they were posted.
Warnings/Notes| mentions of slavery, abuse, language, lisping, Alternian society's (and Psii's) insensitivity towards the disabled
Training Center: Central Commons
He fucked up somewhere, but how? He was always so careful, so fastidious, so goddamn paranoid. And he didn't even have any memory of a fight, let alone capture. Did his friends make it out ok? Exactly how badly did he fail to protect them? He'd had no inkling of their deaths, no vision, nothing.... So they were alive, at least.
He couldn't fail to notice the voices of the dead were gone, now that he'd arrived here. He never thought he'd miss them, but now would be a really great time to have apeshit psionics up his sleeve. Trying to call up a bit of energy in his fingertips as he was marched towards the living quarters was fruitless. He was frustrated that he couldn't simply level this place and rocket out of here.
Once alone, the tall troll leaned his shoulder against a wall. His hands shook. A few reporters turned their heads to eye the wan Tribute with grey skin, fiery-colored horns, and scars head to toe. He had been dressed in clothes that weren't his, but accents of his District's yellow suited him anyway. He was a yellowblood, a slave caste on Alternia. Now he was a slave once again.... He wanted to retch. He knew from experience exactly what that entailed.
Training Center: District 9 suites dining area
He didn't have eyes for the wasted luxury on District 9's floor, only on possible escape routes. Reinforced windows, people guarding all the exits, and who knew what the city borders were like? His eyes were wide and alert, slightly manic with the knowledge that he'd have to endure and escape captivity all over again. He wanted to check every room for electronic bugs, but he curbed that impulse in front of the ever-present Peacekeepers.
Eventually he'd had enough of metaphorical buzzing against glass he couldn't break. He cornered one of the servants(?) in the dining area, speaking in a low mutter:
"Hey. I know you can hear me. Talk to me. How long have you been here? When do the peathekeeperth change shiftth? What'th border patrol like? Hey. At leatht tell me to get lotht if you're not going to thay anything."
Training Center: Gym
There was no point working out in the gym with the next arena just a few days away. But it was always good to get an idea of the competition.... God, if he was already thinking of his fellow slaves that way, how would he fare in the arena? He didn't want to fight anyone; his real enemies were the ones in the Capitol pulling the strings.
And yet there he was, in a suitably dark corner, his red and blue eyes scanning every Tribute. He was looking for strengths and weaknesses. Fights among slaves back home weren't unheard of. If anyone here really bought into this killing game, he'd have to watch his back.
Capitol: Street outside a train station
He squinted against the sun, hardly daring to believe he could go out during the day and not be horribly burned. Damn the curfew anyway, he was nocturnal. He groggily kept to the shadows, rubbing drowsiness from his eyes. He was clearly marked as an off-worlder, Capitol fashions having not quite reached the point of grey skin, orange horns, and eyes in bright red and blue, schlerae and all. He'd also shrugged off the attentions of the stylist (for now), which meant his hair was still on end from worrying fingers through it, and he looked like he could use a meal and a good day's sleep. Both were available to him, but he didn't have much time to waste.
He was willing to bet that his best chance of escape would be after he left much of the Capitol's surveillance, en route to the arena. Other than a jet, the train seemed to be the fastest way in and out of the city. Psii hung around the entrances, scoping out the station. He knew Peacekeepers would be watching all points of exit. He'd probably come up dry on escape plans today, but what was he supposed to do? sit and twiddle his prongs in his respiteblock? train in the gym to kill people who should be his allies against the Capitol slavers? He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to spin his wheels in their shitty Games.
biiowiired and YOUWhat| Arriving and scoping out possible escape routes
Where| Central commons, District 9 floor, gym, a street outside a train station
When| dec 01-02. Threads below won't happen in the order they were posted.
Warnings/Notes| mentions of slavery, abuse, language, lisping, Alternian society's (and Psii's) insensitivity towards the disabled
Training Center: Central Commons
He fucked up somewhere, but how? He was always so careful, so fastidious, so goddamn paranoid. And he didn't even have any memory of a fight, let alone capture. Did his friends make it out ok? Exactly how badly did he fail to protect them? He'd had no inkling of their deaths, no vision, nothing.... So they were alive, at least.
He couldn't fail to notice the voices of the dead were gone, now that he'd arrived here. He never thought he'd miss them, but now would be a really great time to have apeshit psionics up his sleeve. Trying to call up a bit of energy in his fingertips as he was marched towards the living quarters was fruitless. He was frustrated that he couldn't simply level this place and rocket out of here.
Once alone, the tall troll leaned his shoulder against a wall. His hands shook. A few reporters turned their heads to eye the wan Tribute with grey skin, fiery-colored horns, and scars head to toe. He had been dressed in clothes that weren't his, but accents of his District's yellow suited him anyway. He was a yellowblood, a slave caste on Alternia. Now he was a slave once again.... He wanted to retch. He knew from experience exactly what that entailed.
Training Center: District 9 suites dining area
He didn't have eyes for the wasted luxury on District 9's floor, only on possible escape routes. Reinforced windows, people guarding all the exits, and who knew what the city borders were like? His eyes were wide and alert, slightly manic with the knowledge that he'd have to endure and escape captivity all over again. He wanted to check every room for electronic bugs, but he curbed that impulse in front of the ever-present Peacekeepers.
Eventually he'd had enough of metaphorical buzzing against glass he couldn't break. He cornered one of the servants(?) in the dining area, speaking in a low mutter:
"Hey. I know you can hear me. Talk to me. How long have you been here? When do the peathekeeperth change shiftth? What'th border patrol like? Hey. At leatht tell me to get lotht if you're not going to thay anything."
Training Center: Gym
There was no point working out in the gym with the next arena just a few days away. But it was always good to get an idea of the competition.... God, if he was already thinking of his fellow slaves that way, how would he fare in the arena? He didn't want to fight anyone; his real enemies were the ones in the Capitol pulling the strings.
And yet there he was, in a suitably dark corner, his red and blue eyes scanning every Tribute. He was looking for strengths and weaknesses. Fights among slaves back home weren't unheard of. If anyone here really bought into this killing game, he'd have to watch his back.
Capitol: Street outside a train station
He squinted against the sun, hardly daring to believe he could go out during the day and not be horribly burned. Damn the curfew anyway, he was nocturnal. He groggily kept to the shadows, rubbing drowsiness from his eyes. He was clearly marked as an off-worlder, Capitol fashions having not quite reached the point of grey skin, orange horns, and eyes in bright red and blue, schlerae and all. He'd also shrugged off the attentions of the stylist (for now), which meant his hair was still on end from worrying fingers through it, and he looked like he could use a meal and a good day's sleep. Both were available to him, but he didn't have much time to waste.
He was willing to bet that his best chance of escape would be after he left much of the Capitol's surveillance, en route to the arena. Other than a jet, the train seemed to be the fastest way in and out of the city. Psii hung around the entrances, scoping out the station. He knew Peacekeepers would be watching all points of exit. He'd probably come up dry on escape plans today, but what was he supposed to do? sit and twiddle his prongs in his respiteblock? train in the gym to kill people who should be his allies against the Capitol slavers? He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to spin his wheels in their shitty Games.
Commons
That all crashes down around his pointed ears when he sees the familiar red and blue eyes and double horns from across the common area. This isn't the first time he's had this unpleasant deja-vu, only the last time it wasn't actually the Psiioniic, just a troll who looked very much like him.
This time it's the real thing. He knows the look of his best friend, knows the shape of his face and the way he stands and how he looks when he feels wary and uncomfortable. Why would they bring him back? Is it because he and the Initiate have grown so close, is it an attempt to add more drama to their budding pale relationship? Just once, he'd like to have something good without it becoming a complicated mess.
Everything in him wants to turn and leave. The Psiioniic -- the Helmsman -- wants nothing to do with him as of the last time they talked and he has no reason to think things would be any different now. On the other hand, he's already repaired one bridge he thought was long-since burned beyond saving. Maybe this can be another.
"Helmsman?" he ventures, uncertain and reserved, keeping a healthy distance in case his approach isn't welcome.
no subject
"Thith ithn't the time for thick joketh, jackath," he hissed, marching over to Signless. "Why don't you tell me how I fucked up and got caught by thethe alienth while you're at it, and altho why you didn't follow all our contingenthy planth and hide when I wath captured, and then I can punch you for calling me that."
His voice gave the barest tremble at last. This was all wrong. Signless wasn't supposed to be here. Psii had enough to worry about escaping on his own, but now he must protect his friend. His friend who had never been through slavery and clung to his pacifist ideals harder than a barnacle to a sea dweller's ass. Signless was fucked. They were both fucked. Psii didn't have his powers. He had one job, and he failed to prevent all this.
no subject
Oh. The gears in Signless's head screeched to a halt and then began to work again, now with several radically different assumptions about how this conversation was going to go. He was not going to lose his best friend again. For some reason he'd been blessed with an opportunity to undo his past mistakes and to have the Mituna he remembered back in his life, and he was going to hold onto that until someone pried it from his cold, dead claws.
"There is a lot that I need to explain to you. It may take a while, so I'll be sure to let you know when I'm done, at which point you can punch me however much you feel is appropriate." Talking to the Psiioniic was no longer a thing as easy as breathing. The usual familiarity simply wasn't there any longer and so what might have been a joke before came off as disturbingly sincere.
"I don't know how they captured you and we weren't taken at the same time -- I've been here for over half a sweep now. You wouldn't have noticed me missing; time is strange here and it isn't uncommon for two people to be from wildly different points along a shared timeline." His voice got heavier and heavier as he spoke. He knew what he was leading up to and he knew he couldn't hide it, not when he'd gone and said the word, not when the Psiioniic would find out eventually anyway.
"That is why I addressed you as I did. I knew another you here, a you from thousands of sweeps after our time, who had been a helmstroll. You know I would never joke about something as horrible as that."
no subject
No wonder he'd looked so scared when he approached him with his usual hotblooded griping. Psii didn't want to think what they might have done to Signless while he was here, but his loser brain thought of it anyway. Fear conditioning. Corporal punishment. Torture. How could Psii have let this happen to his friend? He'd joke about punching being a come-on, if Signless didn't look so serious, and if Psii didn't feel so sick.
"But you can't jutht fuck up time without...." he trailed off, letting him finish. He wished he hadn't.
He closed thin fingers over his mouth, and his knees buckled. He put his free hand against the wall, trying to keep himself standing as the world swung. No, he couldn't afford to lose it here. Weakness was cause enough for punishment. Being constantly watched by Peacekeepers was weighing on him, pushing him back to the slave he used to be. He fought it, but moments like this could break him.
He no longer saw anything in front of him, and this was bad, he could be ambushed at any time, picked on for looking different, attacked for being a heretic. He had a purpose that was more important than sinking to the floor in a gibbering mess. He needed to keep vigilant for Signless. Keep it together, Captor. He slowly removed his shaking hand, hoping he wouldn't suddenly vomit.
"I need a pile," his voice was a quiet, pallid rustle.
Where the fuck even was his block? ....Fuck that anyway, it'd be cold and scentless and severely lacking in piles. He could deal with this. He could. He just needed this one thing, one goddamn thing, and everything would be fine. (No it wouldn't.)
no subject
He confined himself to settling a hand on the Psiioniic's shoulder, a gesture that wasn't pale enough that it might cause problems later. The metal cuff around his wrist that marked him as a traitor to the Capitol made a dull noise against the fabric of the other troll's shirt.
"Come to my block. I have one made up." He didn't have to join the Psiioniic in it after all. He could just allow him the use of it until he'd calmed some. That would be fine. That wouldn't hurt Fraysong too badly, should he find out.
Fraysong. He'd have to explain. He'd have to explain to this troll who had spent so much of his life under the heel of highbloods that he was now quadranted with one and somehow convince him that it wasn't going to go up in flames. It was a tall order, especially when part of him still worried about that very thing.
"I know that it's a lot to take in all at once but it's better that you know as much as I can tell you. It will make things less disorientating in the long run."
no subject
"I know, bad newth firtht, I know. I'm thorry I can't—" keep it together.
The only thing he knew to do now was to kill all feeling until he could get to a safe place. Like he used to, sweeps ago. Breaking down never kept danger away. In fact, it often invited it. Psii steadied his breathing and made his face like grey stone. A blankness curtained his eyes, though they still stared seemingly forever into the distance, ringed with their usual shadows. He pushed down his horror, forced himself to get his bearings; where the Peacekeepers were standing, how many exits were in this area, and which direction the elevator was.
He followed Signless mutely to his block. When he got there, he hardly looked around at anything but the troll leading him. No matter what Signless deigned to make his pile out of, Psii folded onto it. Better. Now his shoulders could shake, and he could wring his hands without Peacekeepers watching him scratching yellow marks on his palms.
He didn't ask Signless to join him, romance being the furthest thing from his mind. He didn't want to be a burden of a best friend anyway. A troll in Signless's inner circle had to be prepared for all sorts of hells. The need to be stolid kept him sitting up, even if a pile's instant comfort temped him to lie down and curl up like a grub. And he didn't cry. He had long since stopped wondering why he couldn't. In truth, he hadn't felt safe enough to in a long time.
"Ith that really my fate?" He swallowed, trying to sound like anything but dry leaves, trying to gather his thoughts and string together words of some coherence. They were in some deeper cosmic shit than just visions. He remembered things he'd studied, theories on multiverses, walls of calculations in red and blue. "Are we copieth from multiple timelineth? My vithionth only foretell one.... the one that mutht happen. Wath.... that helmthtroll from the future that mutht be?"
That helmstroll. He couldn't bring himself to say that was him.
no subject
He sat just outside that nest, cross-legged, watching the Psiioniic for signs that he needed more hands-on care than just a listening ear. He could provide that if it really came down to it. Being friends with the Psiioniic was something he was not longer used to but he was finding that it was something he could relearn easily. Caring about this troll just felt right.
"I... I don't know. I'd like to think not, but thus-far everyone has been from more or less the same timeline, just at different points along it. But it needn't be your future here," he added quickly. "Think about it. This is part of a timeline that should not exist. We aren't bound by the futures we know anymore."
He should tell him. He should tell him now before he finds out in some worse way-- from a recap, from another tribute, from some godawful exaggerated tabloid.
"The Helmsman I knew and my Disciple, when she was here, both told me of my death as they had witnessed it. They told me of my capture by the Empire and my execution and my failure. For a very long time I thought I would eventually have to go back to Alternia and die in order to fulfill some greater plan for our world, but I don't believe that anymore. We've deviated from where history wanted us placed; our timeline is not the true one anymore. We are free to do as we like in the here and now."
He still in all truth didn't really understand it, but he trusted Terezi and he wanted so badly to believe what she'd told him. He could still have a purpose beyond dying for a cause, even if it was a cause he'd always been prepared to die for. He could still help people, could perhaps succeed in Panem where he'd failed on Alternia. He could still have hope.
no subject
"I'm thorry, SS, I fucked up, I couldn't prevent anything."
Getting captured and dooming himself, sure, that could happen. But failing to protect his friend? Making Disciple watch his death? And what happened to Dolorosa? Fucking up two people's lives was bad. Fucking up several people's lives was the work of a master loser. Where was he in all this, if not failing miserably? The thin fingers gripping the blankets released them in favor of wrapping his arms around himself, his claws digging into his upper arms. He bent double and shook like leaves in a storm, matching the tremble in his rambling words. So much for keeping it together.
"I should have known better, I won't be thtrong enough, it'th the kind of troll I am. You'd have to be a real dumbath to keep me around after theeing how much of a tool I'll be. I'll jutht let you down again and you'll die here, too. You're too important," to your followers, to anyone oppressed, to me. Signless had been the one to raise him up from despondency, and this was what Psii had to show for it.
"I'm thorry, God I'm tho thorry—"
Panic cut silence into him when he felt something streak down his face. He nearly took an eye out trying to wipe it before anyone saw. No one's here, you stupid fuck, no one's going to punish you for being a crywiggler, get a grip, was the mantra he repeated over and over in his head. He'd been so thoroughly enslaved again by the Capitol, he was slipping back in time.
no subject
"Listen to me. We always knew it might happen. I was at peace with it being an eventuality long before I met you and nothing you did -- nothing -- is to blame for it. It was my decision to speak out and all responsibility for what happened because of it rests on my shoulders. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. If you hadn't followed me perhaps your future would have been better."
He sighs and his grip loosens just slightly.
"I know that it's a lot to take in and I know that it hurts, and for a long time it won't stop hurting and you're going to feel like you're a failure and your entire life was a waste. That's what happened to me. But I'm here, and we're together, and I'll stay with you for as long as you need me."
no subject
He could do this. He had to. He'd received a blow, but he wasn't out of this yet. He was still in captivity, and so was his friend. Psii kept his arms gripped around himself, but he managed to look up. It was a while before he could speak, stammering a bit.
"Thtupid. I followed you. I made the choithe, becauthe I wath tired of having them made for me. Of courthe, I thought you were an idiot, that'th never changed, but you don't get to take my bad life dethithionth and thay they're your fault." He gave a short, choked laugh that was half a sob. "You can't take all the credit, athhole."
He sniffed, eyes darting around the room as if his scattered thoughts were hiding in one of its corners. His gaze fixed back on Signless again.
"And what if I didn't follow you? They probably would have dithcovered my powerth anyway. I don't want to think about who I'd be if I never met you." His voice trembled, "Don't thay that me thtaying in thlavery would have been better, or I'll actually punch you. I wath thort of kidding before, but I'm not now."
His shoulders eased a little of their tenseness under those warm hands. He stopped hugging himself. One of his arms hesitated awkwardly before going to wrap around Signless.
"I'm thorry, I shouldn't be thitting on a pile crying like a wiggler, I should be helping you...." After all, he was the only one of their little family who had experience busting out.
no subject
He didn't yet hug the Psiioniic back. He didn't know if he could, even now, even knowing this Psiioniic was not the Helmsman he had known and never would be. The wounds from everything that had happened between him and the last Mituna he had known in Panem still ran too deep, even if they had by now scarred over and faded. They only really hurt when someone accidentally pressed on them the wrong way, and the Psiioniic had the unfortunate problem of doing that simply by existing. Logically he knew they could start fresh, they could be friends again, he could do better this time. His bloodpusher on the other hand still had no idea how to deal with being close to a troll he'd had to force himself to stop caring about -- or at least firmly tell himself he'd stopped caring about, because honestly not caring about someone was not something the Signless was very good at.
The deciding factor here was that the Psiioniic both needed and wanted his care, and desperately. No matter how surreal and awkward it was, he was going to give it to the best of his ability. Any awkwardness could be ignored, letting residual pain get in the way would be selfish. He could do this.
"All I ever wanted was a good life for you, and for a long time we had that together. In my time here I've come to think of that as the important part, much less important than how things might have ended if I hadn't come here."
He leaned in so that their foreheads were just a breath away from touching.
"And now I have you back and I never thought that I would, Mituna, I thought I'd lost you forever -- and I'm not even the me that you knew, it won't be the same as it was. Too much has changed." And I don't want to disappoint you.
no subject
Psii was suprised, then, when Signless leaned close again.
"Um...." Even now, in a bugged building and in metaphorical chains, he felt a small heat creep on his face. Especially now, sitting on a pile and raw as hell, listening to Signless invoke his hatchname. Shit, he even still had a bit of wetness on his face. He sighed and shook his head, breaking the stare.
"Honethtly if you didn't change while you were here, I'd be worried for your thanity. Don't get me wrong, I thtill kind of am," he half teased, though there was no smile on his face and too much thickness to his voice. He looked at him askance, "You wanna talk about it? Thlave to thlave? You alwayth lithtened to my bullshit when you didn't have to. You do that with everyone, and you never get ath much time back."
no subject
It felt wrong to ignore the past but it also felt wrong to project it onto someone who had never lived it, and trying to navigate the delicate balance was giving him a headache. He was bouncing wildly back and forth between wanting to stay away and needing to be close, between treating the troll before him as the Psiioniic he remembered from Alternia or the Helmsman he remembered from Panem, between his initial desperation for things to be as they had been and his more recent realization that that might fuck up what he had now.
But... what mattered was the present, and in the present his dear friend was worried for him. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted? For the Helmsman to care for him again? He could allow himself this one selfishness if it meant keeping his best friend this time around. He sat back, nodding, and let his hands slip to the Psiioniic's upper arms. Surely just talking couldn't hurt, even half in a pile.
"This place isn't like Alternia. On Alternia we could speak freely and so long as we could run further and faster than anyone who might disagree we were safe. Here I don't even have that when nothing we say is truly private and there's nowhere to run. And they -- if you speak out, if you displease them, they never just hurt you. They go after the ones you care for, they hurt you by hurting them. I've never felt so powerless in my entire life than I've felt since coming here."
He shook his head to clear it of the clouds of negativity.
"But I've learned to only care about the people I can directly help, because caring about everyone was killing me, and it's not -- it's not wrong to prioritize like that." He said it like he was trying to convince himself, because even now he still had to reaffirm it every now and again.
"I've learned to be satisfied with little victories and I've learned that I can't change Panem so I've put all my heart and soul into helping the people around me survive it instead. I've lost so many people I've come to care for and I haven't let myself go numb because I can't, all I have here is other people. I've lost three moirails in as many arenas and I still found it in myself to open my heart to another, and someone else besides, and that means I haven't given up completely on being happy."
no subject
"Thometimeth it may theem like there'th no end, and you detherve all thith until the day you're culled. You don't. No one doeth. You thound like me, and it'th thcary. Alwayth waiting for the shit to hit the thresher. I thought that wath my job, you ath."
His voice shook a little. He carefully pulled one of Signless's hands off his arm into the firm grip of a comrade, a brother, as much to give him strength as to draw it from him.
"You're right about not being cogth in the wheelth of fate. We're not prophetth here. Without our powerth, we're blind ath anyone elthe. You thay you can't change Panem...." A sudden mercurial flare of anger cut through his frown. Glaring, he gripped Signless's hand harder. "Well of courthe you can't, dumbath, not on your own! But you look into the eyeth of every poor schlub here and I dare you to tell me they don't want thomething better! They aren't thubmithive or complathent." He thought of the prick with the missing fingers in the gym, who said sparring was at least better than doing nothing. "They have more fight in them than the thorry wreckth I grew up with, more fight than me when I wath a thlave, and I thtill ethcaped. They can do better than I ever did."
He realized he was leaning forward and drew back. "'Can't change Panem,' my ath. It'th too late to thay that; their mindth are already made up. Give them half a chanthe, they'll blow thith plathe into orbit."
no subject
"Don't -- you can't say things like that, Mituna," he hissed, glancing at what appeared to be absolutely nothing -- but just because they weren't visible didn't mean there weren't microphones and cameras and gooodness knew what else in this room, especially when it belonged to a known troublemaker.
"Think it privately, but don't say it aloud, because once you're marked as a threat surviving here becomes much harder. The last time a tribute spoke out publicly to remind us of the option of not fighting each other, the Capitol blew people up. No warning. All those people dead, most of them permanently, just because someone suggested that there was an option other than murdering each other. There are ways to make change quietly, but the way we did it on Alternia won't work here."
no subject
"I didn't thay I wath going to do anything, dumbath. You really think I can right now? Thtop thounding like me, it'th making me want to thlap you upthide the nubth."
Normally remarks like that were accompanied with douchebag grins, but the tremor in Psii's voice was serious, at least about Signless sounding like him. He was honestly perturbed that Signless had taken on a paranoia similar to his. He wanted to hug him, but he already felt that wouldn't be welcome. And wasn't Psii like that too, so long ago? a wreck of a slave, leery of hugs, kindness, and generosity? He let go of Signless's shoulder and wrapped both hands around his. He didn't care that Signless was gripping him too hard, having been through the thresher so many times already.
"Kankri. I'm not trying to thay you haven't been through thome terrible mind-fucking shit. Lothing three moirailth.... I'm jutht thaying I've theen worthe. And thethe Gamemakerth are playing with fire, and you should probably watch yourthelf tho you don't get caught in the crothfire."
He shivered at the possibility of all-out war. He'd seen it often enough in his visions, what Signless's more violent followers were doing when they would die. It was better than nothing, but he didn't much like the idea. In a mess like that, someone always got screwed over.
no subject
His hand loosened its hold on the Psiioniic's, not letting go but no longer squeezing painfully hard. He was well-aware that he had always been the one to voice the idealistic views the Psiioniic could never allow himself to have. He had therefore become something of a way for the other troll to experience that idealism vicariously, but he couldn't be that anymore even if he wanted to. After everything that had happened there was no way he would ever be that troll again.
"I have friends and quadrants to take care of, I can't be careless."
no subject
"You've been here longer. I won't quethtion you ath much ath I uthually do, but don't get uthted to it or anything. I'll try not to fuck up your prothpectth either, but given my future track record...." He paused, words catching in his throat as he grimaced. He would be caught, not only a helmsman, but the Helmsman. Who owned him and had the audacity to flaunt such a title like a new gold ornament?
Signless said he did terrible things, but so had they both. Did it hurt him more than it did Psii? Probably. Psii just couldn't feel bad for incinerating any asshole who tried to kill him or his friends, despite calling a pacifist his leader. Even now, Psii had to look away, trying to hide the twitching of his upper lip and the bloodlust creeping at the edges of his vision as he thought of the Gamemakers. They had taken a piece of his friend, never to be restored. The mind was a person's last refuge, and they had violated it.
"Everyone fightth, but they alwayth have thith look of shock on their fatheth when they die. You'd think people would exthpect it more. Don't athume your quadrantth won't be killed, even if both of uth try to protect them. But.... you already dare more now than I did before. I never really lived or felt anything until I heard your wordth. I wath too thcared to."
Psii's pusher ached for his sake, but he took comfort in knowing that Signless was only bent, not broken. Better to be a reed in a storm than a tree.
"If you promithe not to let fear unbalanthe you like that, I'll help you and anyone you'd like to thtay alive. You already know I would, but it'th good to repeat it onthe in a while, get it through your thick cranial math."
He softly bumped two knuckles against Signless's temple with his free hand.
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"I know. I don't assume anyone is ever truly safe here, not anymore, but that doesn't mean I won't fight to keep them as safe as I can. You understand. I can recover from loss but I don't want to have to if I can avoid it."
Well. Now was as good a time as any.
"I have... I'm not sure what you'd call what we have. It stands somewhere between red and pale, but it isn't a flip. I have a human quadrantmate, at any rate. Tall, male, missing two fingers -- I'll introduce you later. He's reserved but I think you'll like him, he takes the same logical approach to things that you do. And... I have a moirail. An indigo. I don't know if you ever heard me speak of the highblood I was friends with as a wiggler; that's him. Please, try not to be too suspicious of or harsh with him. He won't harm you." He thought of trying to explain the relationship the Initiate and the Helmsman had, but he decided that most likely was a thing best reserved for the Initiate to do himself. For now he left it at: "He was close to the Helmsman and he'll likely treat you with the same care and respect."
He considered listing more but he couldn't ask for the Psiioniic to care for everyone he knew. The most important things first. Everything else later, if there was time.
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"Oh, that athhole in the gym, he chucked a thword at me. Thort of. I wath in a mood...." he trailed off, shrugging, as if his being in a mood was his usual explanation for anything weird that happened. He fell silent and let Signless continue, even when he jerked his hand out of his at the mention of an indigo. He knew he shouldn't, given that Signless's message was for all trolls, but even sweeps later he was still fighting fear and resentment towards those who had trampled on him. Well, this was awkward.
"....You might have, but I don't remember. I think of the future more than the patht. Thorry."
He wasn't sure if he was apologizing for forgetting some wigglerhood anecdote or for reacting with repulsion. He meekly folded his hands and tried not to fidget. To his credit, he fought against the usual knee-jerking at the mention of someone so high on the hemospectrum rather well. He was still talking rationally.
"I gueth ath long ath he'th not flaunting the paint or thomething, I can thee an indigo joining your followerth. Any highblood with half a conscience should know what the Empire doeth ith wrong. But God, the oneth who're clownth...." he shivered, wringing his fingers together and looking away. "There'th a reathon I haven't told you the wortht I've theen them do. I'd like to never talk about it ever, actually. That damn cult, they cauthe nothing but pain. The blood...." He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders.
"Your moirail'th an unlucky bathtard, running away from a cathte full of thothe painted freakth. If it weren't a much better idea to run and hide, I'd kill thothe clownth on thight.... Thorry. I know how you feel about killing."
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It wasn't as though the Psiioniic was wrong to be wary of clowns. When he'd first come to Panem the Signless would have agreed with him without a second thought: clowns were dangerous, unstable, murderous. Worthy of being helped and invited into the philosophy, certainly, but not to be trusted with one's friendship and certainly not with one's quadrants.
Look at him now. Things really had changed.
"Right. Killing." Because it's that that has his expression so down. Obviously.
"Tuna... he wears the paint. He follows the scriptures." He rushes on, trying to head off or steamroll over any objection. "I know it's hard to believe just on my word but I swear to you he is a good troll at his core. Without the Empire to twist the teachings of the cult, much of what they preach is actually positive. Promise me you'll at least give him a chance. Everyone is worth at least that."
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"No. No." Psii was on his feet before he knew it, pile abandoned, pacing the floor as his voice climbed in volume. "Are you inthane? What did they do to you? What did he do to you? He'th tricking you! You haven't theen the shit I've theen, not jutht in my vithionth but firthhand too. You—you can't—"
Psii clutched his hands to his own head as if he had a vision coming on, but really it was just bad memories. This was a nightmare. The person Psii looked to for strength was being duped by a clown, in the most emotionally vulnerable quadrant, too. He didn't ask about this supposed closeness between Initiate and Helmsman, afraid what other crushing revelations might befall him. As far as he was concerned, Helmsman was a useless slave who let his best friend fall into the clutches of a clown.
"Kankri, they preach fear! They uthe their cult ath an exthcuthe to thcrew uth over! 'We're higher than you and you're all fucked,' don't you remember? Athk him about hith paint back home, how he got it tho fresh! Everyone knowth they uthe the blood of the freshly culled, dumbath!"
The bite in his words fizzled out, as it always did when panic and distress trumped all else, but that didn't stop more words tumbling out of his mouth as he barely stopped for breath.
"And I wath here! What wath I even doing? I let mythelf get turned into a ship and let a clown get the better of both of uth, FUCK!!" he shouted bitterly.
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"I remember. I know what they preach and know what their doctrine was used to justify on Alternia. You forget that I've seen things too, that I've witnessed just as much atrocity as you have-- and you have no idea what I've seen here."
It stings just a little to be treated as though he's insane, as though he's just foolish and naive. To have his words ignored is one of the few things that can really get Signless angry, and it hurts most of all coming from one of the few trolls he always thought would listen. Listen and question, certainly, but never dismiss entirely.
"This place changes people. It changed him too. Just as I've seen his cruelty and hatred, I've seen his sorrow and regret. In every troll there is good that can be nurtured and brought forth when they no longer feel bound by the shackles of a violent and casteist system. I always said that back on Alternia and I believe it even more now because I have seen it. He is not perfect. There is much that he still has to unlearn and much that he may never entirely rid himself of, but he's willing to try and why shouldn't he have a moirail to guide him?"
His eyes search the Psiioniic's for a moment before he relaxes and lets his hands drop back to the other troll's shoulders.
"Don't make me choose between you. Please don't. I can't leave him alone, and I can't lose you again."
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"Choothe? There'th nothing to choothe, you've made your choithe. Thtop touching me. If you want a hug that badly, you should go to your moirail. You know, the one who thtill wearth paint, even while knowing what it thtandth for! He probably hath a bottle thtashed away for when he cullth you and taketh your blood!"
He shoved at Signless, though not very effectively. He did it more to give himself the strength to release his hands and step back. It didn't really make him feel better; he felt more raw and alone than ever. He dearly wanted all of this to not be happening, but denial never got him anywhere.
"You can't lothe me unleth I thtop caring what happenth to you—which ith apparently what will happen when they thcramble my thponge and inthtall me on a ship! Tho why should you even care what I think? Didn't I fuck up?!" he gesticulated wildly. "I'm flipping my shit for you now, thure, but onthe the Empire getth their handth on me, that'th it, I'm done, everything I rithked my life for I jutth give up and watch my friend get cozy with a troll of the paint!"
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He'd gone into this so optimistic. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let this happen. Why did he always have to fuck everything up?
"I care what you think because you're my friend, my best and oldest and dearest friend." His tone was heavy and subdued. "Me caring for him doesn't mean I don't care about you anymore, doesn't mean I value you any less. But if you really no longer want me around you because of it... I'll respect that."
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