thecapitol | I’m the reason you’re guilty, I’m the other man’s arms

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I’m the reason you’re guilty, I’m the other man’s arms

Who| Initiate + Signless & Psiioniic
What| A clown has enough and forces some reconciliation. This can't possibly go wrong.
Where| Psii's room.
When| Just after Initiate's Daywalker self is killed in arena.
WARNINGS| Language.

He didn't rush in immediately. He took the time to mull it over. Really. But ultimately, it all led to the same damn thing.

There little trio of misfortunate needed fucking sorting. He wasn't going to play ash, it didn't even call for ash. But they did need something, and it was something no paps by his hand were going to bring. Perhaps that in itself was indicative of the way this situation was and was meant at to motherfucking go.

He's already heavy with dread regarding the Psiioniic. All this would be is a new breed of it. Just maybe one he could fucking learn to deal with betterlike. But first, those two had to be dealing by their own.

And so, he grabs Signless, saying, "YOU'RE COMING AT WITH ME." And no more than that. He'd drag Signless if he had to. He'd pick the little brick of a troll up and carry him if it required. They were doing this. He was making this shit motherfucking happen.

Right up to the Psiioniic's door he goes, and miracles that, the doors open a bit already. Perfect. He throws the Signless in, shuts the door behind, and leans up against it.

"I'm done. I'M MOTHERFUCKING DONE WITH THIS, YOU GETTING ME?" He calls through the door. "You two are sorting this. YOU'RE GOING TO GET YOUR MOTHERFUCKING TALK ON. And I ain't moving until something's getting met." Now he's the bad guy. As it should be.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He'd left his door open to listen to the hall better. He wasn't doing anything particularly private, like rolling in the cooing pile of tribbles that sat in the middle of the otherwise pristine floor. Psii heard that telltale sing-song dichotomy of talking plus shouting a mile off. He jumped out of his seat, fought down the instinct to panic at a Subjugglator marching up to his block, got angry at himself for being scared, but decided to keep his grip on a hefty library book on herbs.

"What the fuck are you doing humping my door you pan-addled clown shitthuck—SS?" He lowered his arm. "What are you doing here?"

Well, he needed to talk to Signless anyway, but he didn't expect it to be with a clown at his door calling for the same thing. Funnily enough, that clown had been the one to tell Psii that Signless pitied him in some manner. Psii hadn't wanted to confront Signless, but even so, he couldn't wait. Signless needed Psii at his best, and he felt the only way he could be that was to be straight with him. Psii felt being brutally honest was a staple of their friendship.

He just hoped the clown outside wouldn't burst into his block on a murderous rampage because Psii was somehow in the way of his pity party. That would suck globes.

"I'm not sure," Signless said, straightening himself from where he'd half-stumbled upon being thrown into the other troll's block.

"I'm supposed to be sorting something out with you, but I couldn't tell you what."

Which wasn't strictly true -- he had some idea of what Kurloz was expecting to happen here, and he and his moirail were going to have a very long and very serious talk about it once he got out of this room.

He kicks his heel back at the door. Not hard enough as to go through it, he's very careful of that, but enough to make noise.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO HIM, SIGNLESS, YOU DAMN WELL KNOW WHAT AT THIS IS BEING THE FUCK ABOUT!" He folds his arms, staring at the wall ahead. After a moment, he sighs. "Just sort it out, aight. AIN'T GONNA GET PISSED. Ain't nothing as I don't know already."

He doesn't want to be the one to say it. He doesn't want be the first to say, you pity each other, stop fucking around. But it does need to be said.

"YOU'RE BEING BEST MOTHERFUCKING FRIENDS. Brother best, you cannot afford to pass up taking that back." He'd give anything to be in the same place. "AND THE PSIIONIIC NEEDS TO STOP THINKING YOU'LL TRASH HIM IF HE DON'T BREAK HIS FUCKING BACK TRYING TO HELP ME! We all damn know he's only doing it for you!" And he can't stand it. So there. There's his selfish reasons.

"TALK TO HIM."

He could just tell Initiate that he was tired of leaving people to die, that he might even help an enemy near death because holding grudges paled in comparison with the grand scheme of things. Here, that was overthrowing their Capitol masters and getting their freedom back. Psii would be a shitty follower of the Signless if he went and killed people he didn't like. As far as Psii was concerned, leaving them to die was the same as killing. But sweeps of hiding his true sentiments from all but a select few kept him from admitting what would be seen as a weakness, especially to a highblood. God forbid a troll actually shy away from killing.

"Thtop kicking my door! Tho what if I do thtuff for a friend, that'th my buthineth!"

Psii even helped strangers and douchebags. He had a problem.

"Whatever it ith," he whispered to Signless, "it'th thomething private. I don't like talking about private thingth in front of" clowns "....people I don't know well." He grasped Signless's sleeve and tried to tug him to the far end of the room. He'd pull Signless into his closet if it didn't seem so silly.

"Doeth it have anything to do with thome inthanity he was thpouting at me in the arena? I've been wanting to athk you about that anyway.... There'th no telling what the future holdth, and we can't be thtrong if we're doing.... whatever thith ith." He gestured vaguely at the door and around his room. He wasn't exactly sure what "this" was, but he hoped Signless knew, as Initiate seemed to believe.

At the mention of the arena, Signless's ears drooped with knowing sheepishness. That was probably more telling than an outright answer, though he didn't intend to be so childish as to try and avoid the issue by refusing to talk. Not now that he was here, even if he wasn't here by choice. He let Psii lead him over into the corner, glancing at the door and deciding that the Initiate could do without hearing every detail of this even if he'd probably get a summary later.

"If you want to ask about it, then I'll do my best to answer all of your questions. I know what he wants us to talk about but I'd rather address your concerns first. They may very well be about the same thing."

He calls through the door, "Doing up on that noise at to me make it my motherfucking business too! YOU WANT TO SAVE ALL EVERYONE ELSE'S ASS, BE MY GODDAMN GUEST!"

Then comes the point where shit gets quiet. That time what gets being of sitting and waiting.

He rests his head back against the door, arms folded over his chest, and he closes his eyes.

"I want your clown to thtop subjugglating my door. That ith my conthern," he said, glancing dubiously at the now quiet doorway.

He searched for the words, biting his lip and fidgeting. Truthfully, Psii was most concerned that Signless could make a bad decision and feel pale for him. Psii thought anyone feeling pale for him was bound for disaster. He had too many mental wounds that hurt when pressed, too much shit for anyone to sort out, too much fear of intimacy. It was hard to let feelings show when he was young and enslaved. Then he ran away and got swept up in the tides of heresy and rebellion.

He'd rather not think about reopening old woulds like moirails did, or the way Signless asked after his feelings or touched his face. He decided to discount the possibility. Instead, he concentrated on the immediate situation at hand, like he always did when he shoved his true fears down. There was a clown yelling nonsense through his door.

"In the arena, he thaid you pitied me. But he doeth too, even if I'd rather be fed to a rabid thchool of cannibalithtic thea dwellerth than get papped by him. He lookth diamondth at me becauthe of the Helmsman thing. I'm thorry—"

It wasn't an easy thing, telling a best friend that his moirail still had feelings for another. His words picked up pace, half tripping over themselves.

"I don't know what to do. If I tell him you pity me to get him off my back, that would make you unfaithful and he'll flip hith shit. If I tell him you don't, he'll keep thinking I'm hith Helmsman until I flip my shit." He looked away, crossing his arms as if he was cold, though the block remained temperature-controlled as ever. "Why ith thith even happening?"

"Because romance is far too complicated for something that's supposed to make people happy," Signless said, running a hand tiredly up his face and through his hair. It really was a mess they were in, wasn't it? Two moirails who not-so-secretly pitied a third troll that wanted nothing to do with either of them.

"You don't have to worry about him thinking that I'm unfaithful, at least. He knows that I consider quadrants more of a loose guideline than law. He knows that I pity him."

At least he hoped so. Lately, what with the Initiate's insistence on shoving him toward the Psiioniic... he couldn't help but worry.

"And I do pity you, after a fashion. Pale feelings are the kind I feel easiest, and you are easier to pity than most. I haven't acted on it because I didn't want to hurt him by taking what he wishes he had and because I can care for and comfort you perfectly well as your friend. I'm content with that. It seems best for everyone involved."

Seems was the key word, but what else could he do? This was a delicate balancing act and he feared changing anything would send it all crashing down.

"Are you—"

He mouthed wordlessly for two seconds before exploding.

"Are you fucking theriouth?! Why in the globeshitting fuck—No, how thingth are now ithn't betht, obviouthly, or we wouldn't be here, but—You have awful tathte, and altho you don't need more shit to deal with, tho kindly don't get into mine, you really don't want to, I can promithe that. You really want to thit in a comfy pile of tribbleth and talk about Alternian thlavery when you've got two other boyfriendth with God knowth how many thcarth, what the hell are you thinking?"

His hands flew around animatedly.

"I'm thuppothed to be helping you, not dragging you down, I'm the latht perthon you should even think about pitying or 'caring for' or whatever you feel like calling your cathual papping altercationth. You're a shitthpewing idiot, you alwayth were, and you never lithten to me, not when you debated with fucking highbloodth, not when you dethided to thail acroth an othean, and thertainly not when I tell you that pitying me ith a bad idea.

"Altho, would a hypothetical palemate give you thuch a thteaming nutrition platter of 'fuck you,' becauthe I do believe that'th what'th for dinner."

Psii's double middle fingers were something special. True, he flipped double birds more often than single ones, but the duality always gave him comfort and satisfaction. He knew Signless could always count on him to call out his shit, real or hypothetical, with a flourish of rude gestures.

The downside to Signless expecting this kind of treatment from his best friend was that it did not at all have the intended effect. Instead of being cowed or properly apologetic for his momentary gigantic lapse in pale judgement, he just smiled fondly at those twin middle fingers.

"A hypothetical palemate might not, but you aren't hypothetical. Are you really asking me whether I'd want to talk about slavery when I spent most of my life talking about it to anyone who would listen? Just because the scars you carry are deeper and more extensive than most doesn't mean that you don't deserve help dealing with them. If anything it means you deserve it more."

Signless should have been surprised, offended, or at least disapproving. Instead, he wore the most smug smile in paradox space. Psii thought it looked incredibly punchable. He'd fallen apart in Signless's arms once or twice, sure, but punching his stupid face was the furthest thing from what a hypothetical moirail should want.

"I am hypothetical, I haven't agreed to shit. Your nutrition platter ith already too full, that'th exthactly why you shouldn't take on my problemth too. Thome other perthon can do that, I jutht haven't found one yet becauthe I'm a fucking failure at it. Thankth for reminding me what a chump I am, athhole, you're a real pal." He bared his fangs scathingly, a hiss of exhaled breath forcing its way between them.

Being that intimate with someone put fear into Psii's heart. He feared himself. A pale quadrant would reveal all his dark corners in a way no other quadrant could. Avoiding vulnerability was the way to survive in slavery, he thought. He was a slave again here, under more surveillance, so why shouldn't he do the same? He never thought of this consciously, but past conditioning made pushing Signless's holy papping hand away seem like the easier path.

Plus, he was being a nookslurping idiot.

He wasn't the only one. Signless wasn't nearly at the level of wanting to punch the lisp right out of the Psiioniic's mouth, but he was starting to get annoyed at all the... well... all the doomsaying. It was a singular peculiarity of the Signless that he often was able to be far more patient with those he didn't know well, perhaps because he could more easily give them the benefit of the doubt. He'd known this particular troll for quite a while, and he knew the ins and outs of him well enough to see through the thin veneer of concern to the dedication to pessimism and putting himself down.

He didn't like it. Not one bit. His fond smile faded into a displeased frown.

"Perhaps you haven't found one because you insist on pushing them away like you're doing now-- only, if you haven't forgotten, this isn't a pale proposal. I've already told you that I won't do that and for very good reasons. What I meant was that, in general, you deserve pale affection. Anyone with half a pan can see that you need it, even you, but whenever anyone tries to actually help you you spew negativity at them until they give up. I know you well enough to know why you do and so I stay, even if watching you continually shoot yourself in the walkstub gets tiring. That's what a friend does, Mituna. He puts up with your moody bullshit because someone has to."

Edited (fixed some phrasing!) 2015-04-09 10:15 (UTC)

"Well what ith it then, you pap-happy theedflap? What the fuck do you want with me? Why ith there a short, nubby troll thpewing shit about quadrantth at me in my block, and a pan-addled clown outthide my door? Why do you choothe now of all timeth to remind me of problemth that i'm working on?" It seemed Psii's emotional problems were always a work in progress.

"We're already friendth, but you are really being a frondthtem up the ath. I don't even know how you do it, it'th like you're jutht thome vortexth of shit thwirling around an incredibly annoying fecal thenter."

Signless was beginning to pepper his words with curses that Psii used every other sentence. Psii knew they were heading into one of their spats, but as usual, he didn't do much to stop it. In fact, he took a step closer, getting in his face to emphasize his words. Sure their arguments were stupid, but at least they could let off some steam. Psii had been unable to divert his energy into his usual hobbies here, and he could use the familiarity. It was like home.

"Jutht becauthe you're a literal martyr back home doethn't mean you have to take on tho many problemth here!"

Edited 2015-04-11 08:06 (UTC)

In a way it was a lot like the argument they'd had in front of the bunker. That argument had been stupid too, though the Signless had in some ways engineered it to be as stupid as he could get it. This was actually stupid and that made it a lot harder to keep calm about it. He didn't back down when Psii got closer, instead closing the distance between them even further (or as far as the difference in their heights would allow).

"It has nothing to do with whatever I was back on Alternia!" He ran a frustrated hand down his face and then back up into his hair, making the springy curls even messier.

"This was not my idea. I'm here because that pan-addled clown thinks I should be, because he thinks you need me, and I'm starting to agree with him. If telling you that you're being an unreasonable sack of shit is annoying, then I'm going to keep annoying you. You are important to me. Your problems are my problems, and you're not going to stop me trying to help you no matter how big of a self-deprecating temper tantrum you throw. Like hell am I going to let you stew in your own self-hate, I've seen what that does to people. It nearly killed me, I'm not letting it kill you."

His arm swung to point at the door.

"What about him? Are you thuppothed to tell him all my thecretth during feelingth jamth becauthe you're hith honetht do-good moirail? Am I thuppothed to feel guilty when you want to hold my hand and he'th around?"

Temper tantrum, was he fucking serious? Psii had every right to be mad and derail out of control into a speeding train of spiteful anger heading for a broken bridge. Totally. And Signless had the nerve to keep badgering him, hitting him where it hurt with truth punches. Signless was dumb, his face was dumb, his messed up hair was dumb. Psii let out a low, chittering growl directly in his face, and his dark lips peeled further and further from his fangs.

"Well congratulationth, now I hate you more than I hate mythelf!" he snapped. "You've won the award for biggetht pain in my ath, come get your prize!"

Signless being in his space just made Psii want to push him. So he did, with the kind of light shove to the chest that was meant to rile rather than actively push away. Then a second one for good measure. Always do things in twos.

"I am not trying to make this into some ridiculous pity triangle!" Signless snapped. "This isn't about anyone feeling guilty."

Why did they both have to keep making this more complicated than it had to be? Why couldn't the three of them find some middle ground, some happy medium where nobody had to feel like they were a burden or an unwelcome third wheel? It was so beyond frustrating and if he weren't dedicated to keeping at least a shred of his dignity intact he would probably stamp his foot and throw a tantrum of his own about it.

"I'm not trying to be a pain, I'm just--" He broke off and bared his own (significantly less impressive) fangs when Psii pushed him. Fine. If this was what he got for trying to help, then clearly just trying to talk reasonably wasn't going to work. If he had to yell and shove and be a pain in the ass, then it was like he'd said: that's just what he'd have to do. Sometimes the only way to help someone was to browbeat them into being marginally less terrible.

With all that in mind, Signless reached up to grab the front of the Psiioniic's shirt. Instead of shoving him back (which would probably be what he was expecting considering a slap fight would not at all be amiss here), he yanked him down and a pressed a brief but hard kiss to his stupid snaggletoothed maw. It had been over a year and a half since the last time he'd kissed this troll (or at least a version of this troll) in a moment of unplanned black passion, but this time it felt far less sad and weird and desperate. It wasn't a last resort, an attempt to force a relationship so that there would still be a relationship.

It was just that the Psiioniic was a massive fart, and someone needed to tell him so.

That escalated quickly.

Psii simply expected to get into one of their slapfights, or maybe even a bit of a tussle. Like friends do. Just friends. There was nothing at all caliginous about wanting to punch his stupid face a little because he was being a fucking twat. Not at all.

What he got was entirely different. Psii could only make a choked sort of noise at being yanked down by his shirt before fangs were mashed against his own. His lip protested with a twinge of pain, which Signless's warmth did nothing to alleviate. Psii's hands flailed a bit in surprise, but he was still so incensed at this short nubby douchelord that he didn't move. To do so would mean defeat, and he wasn't having any of that. True, this wasn't a slapfight, but it was still in the same contentious vein. He could work with this maybe. Figure out an explanation or pick up the pieces of this sort of embarrassing debacle. At least it wasn't "some ridiculous pity triangle."

He bit down, hard. At this point, he didn't care if he drew his own blood with Signless's amidst their tangle of fangs. Fuck him. But he still needed answers to his questions, so he jerked back enough to hiss in his face,

"Thith doethn't anthwer any of my quethtionth, bulgebiter! In fact, it doubleth them!"

He probably should have expected that. Captor teeth were dangerous even at rest, and when actually put to use they were doubly so. He glared up at the other troll, red dribbling down his chin from his mangled lower lip.

"I've answered every question you've asked me to the best of my ability. It isn't my fault you haven't liked the answers. But if you want to ask again, by all means, ask again! I just love being vastly misinterpreted. It's my very favorite thing."

"Oh good, I'm tho glad to know that you're the embodiment of all that ith right and true. What a knucklethponged idiot I turned out to be, well, you thure showed me!"

Psii reaffirmed to himself that one of his life goals was to make sure Signless didn't build a petty self-righteous bubble around himself. Psii would personally bust it. It occurred to him, now that the subject had been broached, that this was akin to some forms of blackflirting. But it was a bit too late to change that about himself now. So what if they crossed swords now and again? Friends did that.

"What you've been telling me ith that you thtewed around wanting me in thome nebulouth quadrant and you didn't tell me. You were bathically being a little nookthmear inthtead of being thtraight with me. What, exthactly, ith right about that?"

Two long fingers jabbed at Signless's chest.

"Maybe you're not in the right about every little fucking thing. It'th not my fault you have to get your undervethtmentth in a twitht every time thomeone doethn't agree with you. Taking a burdenthome troll in a quadrant ith not going to fixth thith tiff you're having with your moirail. You don't fixth problemth by collecting more problemth!"

Yellow creept to his cheeks, because he was both embarrassed and incensed. But he held fast, even as their faces remained close via Signless's viselike grip on his shirt.

"I would love to mindlethly latherate your inthipid fathe with my fathe, but that wouldn't fixth a goddamn thing! There, I thaid it!"

"It isn't as though I spent nights pining after getting you in a pile," Signless spat (no, really, there was blood in his mouth and it was annoying. A splotch of red landed on the Psiioniic's shirt).

"The both of you are assuming things about my feelings and ignoring what I am actually saying to you. He thinks I'm desperately pale for you to the point where it will hurt me to ignore it. You think I'm trying to be some kind of martyr when all I want to do is help a troll that I care deeply about, even if he's a nooklicking sack of shit. I could have gone on being your friend, and nothing more, for the rest of my life! And now I'm here instead having this asinine argument with you that won't solve anything because there is nothing to solve except why the both of you are so sure you know what I want better than I do!"

He let out an aggravated groan and finally let go the Psiioniic, wiping his bloody mouth on the back of one hand.

"Maybe I want you to mindlessly lacerate my insipid face with your face. It'll do as much good as anything else, and at least it will be cathartic."

Edited 2015-04-23 01:48 (UTC)

Psii glanced briefly down at his shirt, as if affronted that Signless would stain it, even when he didn't give any shits about his clothing anyway.

"Don't make me punch you, Vantas, I thwear I goddamn will—platonically!" he added belatedly.

He still had no fucking clue whether Signless wanted to to pap or punch him in the grand scheme of things. If it weren't for his low view of himself, he'd suggest doing both things simply because of duality. Psii flip-flopped his moods at the drop of a hat, and this dichotomy made it easy for him to mix up red and black when flustered, even while not realizing it.

The breadth of Signless's feelings for others crossed quadrants he never toed to begin with, and it left Psii feeling far from up to the task of fulfilling any of his wishes. He'd stuck by him for so many sweeps. First he was his savior, then he was his friend. Psii felt he could never repay that, least of all with the balance a lover should provide. But now Signless was telling him quite plainly what he wanted, which answered at least one of the questions bouncing around in Psii's think pan. His close friend, with whom he shared many an argument, wanted to have sloppy fanged makeouts. This at least made some sort of sense. Psii could handle that, maybe. Just casual hatekissing between bros, no big deal. He already thought Signless was being a giant pile of putrid leavings.

He touched his own mouth and found cherry blood there. He resisted the urge to lick his lips. Psii stared at the red on his fingers, his own blood boiling until it hit a switch in his head. His eyes flicked back up to his friend. Then he carefully, deliberately wiped them down Signless's shirt. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

He leaned close and breathed, "Make me, shitlord."

Honestly, Signless didn't know if he wanted to pap or punch the other troll either. For some reason this lisping asshole was deeply important to him. What he felt wasn't as simple as pure blackrom -- his unique history with Psii made that impossible, in his opinion -- but even if his feelings weren't strictly black, black felt best right now. Certainly more right than strict pale when being kind and patient could only ever go so far in opposition of the Captor cynicism.

He looked down at his shirt, which was made of delicate Capitol fabric and would now have to be dry-cleaned, and then back up at the other troll. His lip curled, baring blunt fangs in an expression that was equal parts snarl and smile. He lifted his hands, placed them on the Psiioniic's chest and shoved with all his strength.

It was difficult (and frustrating) to deal with Psii on a good day, especially for those close to him. His moods swung more wildly than they had any right to. Like now, when he went from mildly alarmed to all-out locking horns (metaphorically, to the disappointment of Capitol fans everywhere).

There were certain qualities that Psii admired in Signless. His empathy, bravery, and way with words, for example. But there were so many things that infuriated him as well. He could be reckless, petulant, noisy, and—dare he say—preachy. Hands like hot brands lay themselves on him, and the hairs on the back of Psii's neck prickled as a charged exaltation surged through him. He was fully prepared to start either pawing or punching, when suddenly the world tipped backwards.

I'm taking you down with me.

He hissed and clawed at any part of Signless—his shirt, his arm—he might possibly reach. His bony ass slammed into the floor, and a ringing in his head sounded as the tips of his horns clipped the ground.

"Fuck!"

If there was one thing one ought never to do, it was tell Kankri Vantas he was preachy. Sure, the Psiioniic hadn't said it, but he was thinking it and that was enough. Psii's claws caught in his sleeve and he was too busy snarling to notice until he was already too far into falling to stop himself.

He landed hard on one shoulder, having turned himself to try and soften the blow, but the impact still made him hiss. He was very briefly but very forcibly reminded of the last time he'd really fought a Captor; it had been an ungainly mess of flailing on both sides but at least he'd managed to win. With that in mind he rolled himself sideways, intent on pinning the other troll until he admitted defeat.

Reverberations ran down Psii's horns into his skull, and through the dizziness he felt the stocky weight of Signless on him. Being pinned would mean defeat, if this was nothing more than a platonic fight. But they had already gone past the point of hoofbeasting around. This wasn't over. No way would Psii admit defeat when the fight was just getting started. Shit just got smearious.

Psii grabbed his stupid hair and mashed his fangs against his mouth. The taste of blood made his own run hot. Claws grated over one short nubby horn. He hoped uncomfortable horn mishaps would dizzy Signless as much as it did him. He shoved his thigh between Signless's legs, less to injure and more to embarrass. Take that.

Maybe if he made the tussle more awkward than it had to be, Signless would admit defeat. He'd get off Psii's case in the interest of resuming their status quo, that being their prolonged but sporting game of human gay cluckbeast. Or maybe he would succumb to Psii's clearly superior wiles and be defeated anyway, because no way in hell was Psii going to back down now. Maybe if he pailed him silly, he'd get it out of his system. Signless would realize what Psii always knew, that he was a mistake, and there would be no trouble again.

At first, it's all too muffled. Then the volume grew and he was trying deliberately not to get up involvement with that shit, tuning it out. Passing Tributes, Mentors, and otherwise got nods. Passing Avoxes got smaller, more solemn ones and greater passage for slipping by.

Then the snarls got louder and he started glancing at the door, unsure if he should do something but ultimately reminding himself, no, he needs to stay out of it. This was theirs to sort on out and the Psiioniic didn't want him no ways near anyway.

Then the thump sounds and he's jumping up, wondering just how bad he's fucked up this time. Slowly, he reaches for the door knob, turning it. The door cracks open slow and he starts with a peek.

And then he's throwing it open. And staring.

"...What the motherfucking Minstrel's tits?"

They're on the floor. Making on the fuck out. Angrily. The Psiioniic's leg is between the Signless's, oh sweet Mirthful Messiahs no, nope, he didn't ever, ever want to see this.

Oh, shit, right, there was a baby clown outside the room who would probably be worried by all the yelling and crashing. Some small, dry-voiced part of Signless's mind says 'this is about as well as you thought it would go, why are you surprised?'.

He ignores that voice in favor of dragging his mouth away from the Psiioniic's and rolling sideways off him, one hand automatically lifting to press against the base of the pinged horn (his aren't sensitive like a psychic's might be but it still doesn't feel great to have claws dragged over them like nails on a nubby chalkboard). He keeps rolling until he's sitting flat on his ass with his face toward the doorway and the troll standing in it.

Shit. Shit. He'd like to say he can explain but he honestly has no idea what the hell just happened and he doesn't like to lie. Very slowly his hand moves down from his horn to press over his bloody lip instead.

"Uh."

He sat up at the sound of a third voice, disoriented. Psii too had forgotten he was there, preoccupied with owning Signless's ass, figuratively and literally. Lying would be pretty pointless right now, considering Initiate caught them right in the act. Also they both had blood on their lips. He was about to instinctively hiss at the bulgeblocking clown intrusion, but Signless's eloquent response re-demanded his attention.

"'Uh'? Thankth a lot lother, now I have to exthplain what the fuck'th going on while you have a debilitating therebral aneurythm."

He scowled at Inititate. Psii was right back at square one. There was still unresolved quadrant tension with Signless as well as a clown in his block--who had witnessed his sloppy makeouts. He might just die of embarrassment.

"By the way, I have no idea what the fuck'th going on! But he thtarted it."

He shoved at Signless's shoulder, attempting to shake him out of his reverie like a good hatefriend. Signless should be able to explain his own lapses to his palemate better, God.

He is a whole lot of gaping and his mind is a great buzzing of things. The first thought that becomes really truly clear to him is simple statement unto himself; I am not going to motherfucking auspisticize this.

Why? Why does he try to help these things. Or anything. It always, always blew up in his face. Good advice got twisted, people he tried to save ended up dead, and then... then there was fucking this. Whatever this was. As the Signless and Psiioniic so clearly explained.

He looks from Signless to the Psiioniic, then back again. His face pinches. He runs a hand through his hair and then shakes it out.

"NEITHER OF YOU GOT TO TALKING IT UP AND OUT. Aight. FINE. If that's how it's gonna up and be..."

"There wasn't anything to talk out!" he says, indignation finally snapping him back to himself where the Psiioniic's shove hadn't. "We aren't going to suddenly be moirails just because you think we should, Kurloz. That isn't how it works."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing it more than it already was, and took a moment to breathe.

"I'm sorry. You're only trying to help, I know. And we did talk, it just didn't go in the direction you thought it should. This -- if our relationship does swing more toward black, it might not be a bad thing."

He looks sideways at the Psiioniic as though asking for confirmation, or at the very least to search for a reaction. They've always bickered, haven't they, always pointed out each others' failings and stupid decisions? It might work.

"I think we talked plenty," Psii drawled. "We've ethtablished that SS and I are shithive maggotth inthane."

Psii had more questions now than before these two entered his block. Didn't Signless say he was pale for him, not pail? How were they going to move forward from this awkward turn of events? And how the hell did they even end up on the floor? But his instinct was to posture and bluff in front of Initiate, or anyone else he didn't know well.

Talking to Signless however, he was more vulnerable. He knew it, and the thought sent embarrassed yellow creeping across his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to be pitiful now, not when he'd been wrestling him moments before. But there was no hiding his shortcomings from Signless, and, as Signless said, there was no preventing his care and compassion spilling over to those closest to him.

"I'm--I'm a shitty friend at betht, let alone a...." he stammered, trying to buy time to find the word for whatever he was supposed to be. "N-not that I don't want to, I jutht don't know what the hell it ith I'm doing exthactly. Ithn't vathillation thuppothed to be a bad idea? Either way, I'm not letting a clown tell me what to do."

He's about give out a frustrated growl of his own, an indignant twist coming upon his features, when his intentions are entirely misconstrued-- and it still apparently didn't result in anything being done up about it. But then Signless apologizes and he loses some the energy required to keep up that kind or anger. Things aren't how they used to be.

He ain't even going to argue that the lot of them ain't fucking nuts. They all three damn well know they're insane in their own ways.

He sighs heavily, "I DIDN'T GET ON EXPECTATIONS OF PAPPING AND PILES. I mean, figured it a possibility but that wasn't being the point all exact. JUST MEANT THIS SHIT NEEDED ON TALKING ABOUT. You ain't think it does because you want to leave that noise on behind you," He points out to Signless. A little accusing, but gently so. He's still pale for the motherfucker. "AND HE AIN'T THINK IT WORTH TALKING BECAUSE HE DON'T LISTEN TO ME FOR SHIT, NEVER MIND THINKING LIKE HE'S GOT ALL THIS CARE HE WON'T GIVE CAUSE HE AIN'T THINK HIMSELF WORTH IT. Sorry, brother." He throws it out to the Psiioniic even knowing he may well just be spit in the face for it.

"I NEED HIM NOT TRYING TO FORCE HIMSELF NEAR ME JUST BECAUSE HE THINKS IT'S WHAT YOU WANT AT HIM TO DO, KANKRI. It don't just tear him up, aight? I CAN'T STAND IT." And not because he was a lowblood or whatever shit the Psiioniic was ready to throw at him next. He breathes. Steadies himself. "...And I guess I ain't motherfucking want on finding out like you're avoiding him, getting missing out for as what's being a miracle chance at to you."

He takes a step back, raising his hands up, defensive. He's not going to play ash, that's for sure.

"APOLOGIES MINE FOR BUTTING UP INS. I, uh... I can go wait outside again..." He takes another tentative step back, looking to Signless's face for confirmation, avoiding the Psiioniics. Is this okay? Am I doing right?

You're doing fine, his expression says. It's a small, somewhat rueful smile. For all he thinks this was an awkward waste of time that raised more issues than it solved, he knows the Initiate was just trying to make sure he and the Psiioniic were both happy. It's impossible to be really angry with him when everything he does comes from such a good place.

He knows it's true, too, that part of him rejected this so hard because he doesn't want to open up the old wounds he still has from the Helmsman. He'd wanted a fresh start with this Mituna: in his mind he'd already moved on, and from his view there were no longer any problems. He already decided that avoiding the Psiioniic when he'd been given a chance to do things over again was stupid practically the first day he showed up. That it would still be a worry at this point wasn't something he'd even realized.

"You could have talked to me about this first. I would have told you that I never intended to avoid him. I wouldn't give up an opportunity like this, I promise. It just took time to get used to the idea. And I can't speak for him --" He turns to look at the Psiioniic, "-- but I should hope he knows I don't expect him to do things he isn't comfortable with for my sake."

All he wants is for the Psiioniic to respect what he has with the Initiate. That doesn't require him to like it, or to like the clown.

"What, you think me and human Sam should have jutht left you there to bleed out? How Alternian of you," he sneered, rising to his feet. He instinctively didn't like being on the ground in front of a clown for long.

"I would have done the thame for thomeone elthe. It'th not all about you, or even about SS. I'm done with leaving otherth to die. That'th what maketh me uncomfortable. I left that life. Jutht do me a favor in the future and don't get hurt anywhere near me again." He crossed his arms dourly.

"SS, you chothe to befriend an idiot who thtopth to help people. Deal with it."

He sighs in relief, connecting eyes with Signless. He feels ever more like an ass. A better moirail might've known this shit. A better moirail would've worked it out. He should've talked. Next time he'll talk. Maybe after all this is overwith, him and his brother best...

He twitches at the sneer. That ain't fair. That ain't fucking fair and this brother should know upon it. (Being Alternian used to be a spark of pride, not a curse.)

"AIM LIKE A FUCKIN ARCHERADICATOR! Dead and dead. YES I GOT MY GUMPTION ON FOR THINKING SO! Pan's all full up about that unrigteous noise, and tell at you. YOU AIN'T WANT IT UP ABOUT ME, AIN'T GOTTA UP AND BE SO! Bestow balm and mercy all as gets up at in where all to your heart's at. BUT I AIN'T PART! What do I got to do, call you enemy mine before you get the picture? I DON'T WANT YOU TO UP AND HELP ME." He shouldn't say it. But he does. "You know I pitied your future so stop throwing it back at me and spitting on what's left of mine. I LEAVE AT YOU ALONE, YOU LEAVE LONESOME OF ME. Can we make motherfucking accord of that?"

Signless is there. This feels all like spitting the shit familiar. He doesn't like the taste no more and he didn't like it much back then. Guilt brings him down from his brief riling up.

He takes another step back, head down, eyes averted, hands up. Surrender. "AIN'T ASKING A SKEW OF IDEALS FROM YOU NONE. A little motherfucking mercy for memory, aight, that's all I'm asking of."

Signless looks between them, the Psiioniic all prickly and on-edge, the Initiate cowed and resigned, and frowns. He's getting the increasingly clear impression that if anyone needs to talk to anyone else it's the two trolls in front of him, but he knows better than to push for that. This whole thing has already made it clear that just trying to force two people to talk something out won't get the results one wants.

He stands as well, placing a bracing hand on the Psiioniic's back for just a moment. He isn't sure that a longer touch would be welcome with that confusing sideways tumble into blackrom still hanging over them.

"I think," he ventures carefully, "that it might help if you both agreed on a mutual truce of some kind. I'm not going to facilitate that, because it isn't my place to play ash for you two, but there must be some arrangement that you'll both be happy with."

"I'm thure Kankri didn't want you to jutht be left there, you fucking nookbiter! But take that up with him thomewhere that ithn't my rethpiteblock."

This was going nowhere. Turning his glare to Signless seemed a better course of action, though this troll was also two steps from driving him over a cliff, spinning and screaming as he executed diving flips off the handle. His lip curled.

"I'm not interethted in touching any quadrant with him, and I think he'll agree. I'm not interethted in being hith enemy either. He wantth to do hith goddamned betht to thtay away from me, and tho do I. It'th when he thteamrollerth over my moralth that I—"

Why did he care what a clown thought about his morals anyway? And why did he ever think that a clown would respect his wishes? Psii bristled, trapped in a conundrum he wanted no part of. For all he cared, the clown could go fuck himself regarding Psii's ideals. But Psii also didn't want to live with himself if he actually did leave someone to die.

"Fine! I thtay away from you, and you thtay the fuck away from me! You can thtart by getting the hell out of my block!"

He didn't wait for Initiate to comply. He had an overwhelming need to abscond in a huff, but he didn't want to try sidling past the clown. He he stomped over to his closet, stepped squarely inside, and slammed it shut.

Closest door slams. His first reaction is to start, old Avoxing bits keeping him jumpy. The next is to make a strangled noise of frustration, hands going up and claws dragging through his hair until they get on close toward his face-- the old Alternian rage struggling not to rear up.

And then finally comes the exhaustion, the middle ground between the two like the drop in a canyon, the fissure born of the two sides having once been forced together despite their resistance.

He wishes he hadn't bothered. He doesn't know why he thought he could fix anything. He guesses it's just his turn to make stupid decisions about ex-moirails.

"AIGHT, I'M GOING," He says. He shoots Signless a brief glance. "Sorry, Kankri."

Signless looks at the closed closet door with his mouth compressed to thin, dark line. Fine. Mituna sometimes needs to throw a tantrum before he feels better about something. He can have his closet and maybe in a day or two he'll get his horns out of his own ass and they'll make real progress.

He closes the distance between himself and his moirail, catches his hand, gives it a squeeze.

"You meant well," he says softly. "I know you did. It was a good effort."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I’m the reason you’re guilty, I’m the other man’s arms

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this icon but with a lot more teeth

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aaand this is just about done?