thecapitol | [Closed] All we are is entertainment

Entry tags:

[Closed] All we are is entertainment

WHO| Jet, Albert, Jet's parents
WHAT| Albert reacts poorly to his exposé and Jet's dad suffers for it.
WHEN| Immediately after Albert's exposé airs
WHERE| Jet's District 2 suite
WARNINGS| Bilingual swearing, homophobia, talk of death, violence, abuse, thoughts of patricide (patr-in-law-icide?)

The music fades out and some commercial for body wash or something comes on, the cheery colors playing across Albert's utterly unreadable expression. He's silent and stalk still, standing with a rigidity that he hasn't had since he'd been mostly mechanical. It's nearly unnatural; it would be completely if he wasn't practically crushing the remote in one hand.

A moment later and he's thrown the damn thing against the far wall, the abrupt impact popping off the battery casing and landing on the volume button so the common area is suddenly silent. He whirls and retreats into Jet's room, a ball of silent and cold fury.

They made a mockery of him, of his life. Nevermind the implications of how they came by any of the footage, they'd taken the most painful and difficult experiences he'd ever been through, spun them in the most disgustingly vulgar contrivances, and put them on display under the umbrella of entertainment. He had been kidnapped, experimented on, remodeled, killed, tortured, made to do unspeakable things, but this, this is the most violated he's ever felt.

They hadn't even gotten Hilda's name right.

With an explosive shout of German profanity, Albert sends his foot into the wall, drywall cracking and buckling under the sudden strike. The worst part is that those things had happened. Not in the way the narration had said, hardly, but he'd taught children to fight, he'd gotten his fiancee killed, he'd...

Had Jet really turned into a somnua? Was that something that had happened before Mocawa?

Feeling dizzy and sick with rage, Albert leans forward to rest his forehead against his arm on the wall, breathing raggedly. "Himmel, arsch und Zwirn..."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Jet had been watching at the same time as Albert. He'd started standing, half leaning against the couch, but by the time the damn thing had ended, he'd been sitting right next to Albert, transfixed by what he already knew was a hundred percent distortion.

He hadn't been there when Albert had lost his first fiancee, but he knew that wasn't how it went down and that definitely wasn't her name--he was angry for that part on her behalf, but he knew his partner was angry enough for all of them and then some even before the remote had left his hand.

He didn't let himself think about the part that had churned his stomach, the part where 'he' had gutted Albert and they'd died together, for all they knew it could be fake. It wasn't like their time in Black Ghost was portrayed a hundred percent accurately, Jet hadn't looked as he did now. But it still made him more uncomfortable than he liked to think about.

Besides, right this second, what he was concerned about was the older man and the small explosion that left the remote and one of the walls in Jet's suite victims. The blond crossed the room slower than his partner had and closed the door behind them once they were in their room; like he was shutting everything else out, leaving the only Albert at the center of his attention.

Gently, his hand found the shoulder nearest to him as his mind tried to find something to say. "Al..." What could he say? There wasn't much he imagined would help.

"Whatever technology they're using to pull tributes here must allow them to see into our histories and futures." His voice is low and cold, as calculating and stoic as he can make it, but there's turbulence under his still waters and it puts a dangerous tremor through his tone. "It's not enough to watch us kill and die in the present, they have to spy on everything else."

He shoves off the wall, stalking across the room to little effect other than be moving. "They can't get away with violating human rights so completely. Someone has to make a stand."

"And we will." It's not said placatingly, like he's just saying it to get Albert to calm down--he does want him to calm down, but he knows Albert's right, too--he means what he says. "We just can't right now."

He stays where he is instead of following Albert around and crosses his arms, mind racing for what to say. "I'm sorry they made that shit, it was probably to mess with you, but it's not gonna work for them cause we're still going to take them down. If anything, I think these things'll make more of those like us think about taking a stand."

He could remember what Enjolras had said about people being too scared or simply not having that kind of fight in them and he had to wonder if he felt any differently after Venus' own 'T.V. Special;' Jet certainly knew watching Albert's had just made him more determined.

But, in the end, they still needed a plan, you didn't just march on a government and hope for the best.

"Why not right now? It's not going to get any easier magically when they have all of this influence. Those are the most disturbing portions of my life, Jet! Trotted out for the entirety of the world to see and judge." He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging a bit at the strands as he turns away.

"We can't wait for some mysterious benefactor this time. I'm through, I'm done. What do we have left to lose?" He expects Jet to take up with him. He's always been a fan of the run in and shoot method.

I get that it was, but they didn't just play them out like they were a documentary, they lied about almost all of that stuff! I mean not a freakin' nazi, you didn't traffic people, it's not like--"

A loud banging echoed through the room and cut Jet off, rattling the door on it's hinges as whoever was on the other side did their best to try and break through.

Jet paused and glanced over to Albert before turning to open the door, already an idea forming of who it could be. The door was barely open when it got slammed open out of the blond's hold and a meaty fist yanked Jet through the doorway by his shirt. He barely had time to recognize his father's face, deep red and practically purple in his rage, before the large man's other fist slammed into Jet's mouth. He felt his lip split against his teeth and his ears rang with the impact, his mother might have said something, but he couldn't hear her over the overwhelming rage that his father was spewing at him.

"È disgustoso frocio! You spineless freak! It isn't bad enough that you ruin everything and run away like a coward, you jump into bed with some Uomo anziano, come una puttana!"

He slams the blond against the wall of the hallway and pulls his fist back to swing again. Jet's head was still reeling from the first punch so his only reaction was to wince and try to pull away like the wall could swallow him whole and protect him.

When the banging on the door started Albert went rigid, thinking the peacekeepers had come for him, having overheard his overt sedition through some bug in the room. Instead Jet's father appears, red faced and spewing language he doesn't understand but is apparently profane just by tone.

The first punch lands because Albert is caught by surprise.

The second doesn't.

Albert's hand grasps Ciro's white knuckles in a vice grip, the expression on his face blank but somehow terrifying in its intensity. With his whole being he's standing in Ciro's way, naming himself protector to the blond that he's chosen to spend his life with.

He doesn't give a warning, barely even pulls back, but the punch that Albert drives into the center of Ciro's face has not only Albert's weight, but his rage at the issues before the other man had come barging in as well. It's enough to send the taller man sprawling feet away in a heap. Albert steps forward, interposing himself between Jet and Ciro with purpose.

"You won't touch him again." His tone is as cold as his gaze, frost crackling around the edges dangerously.

His entire lower jaw is throbbing, but his head cleared just in time to watch Albert punch Ciro in the face, sending the man to the ground with a satisfying crash. He's both intensely embarrassed and grateful that Albert was there to stop the irate Italian; Jet honestly wouldn't put it past his father to kill him over his sexuality.

He pressed his sleeve to his lip to staunch the blood and stepped closer to the German, the fingers of his other hand reaching out to graze along Albert's back, a gesture caught between gratitude and a desire to calm that frozen anger he could feel in his partner's words. That's what he'd been trying to do before Ciro had showed up.

Ciro, for his part, recovered slowly from the punch, partly just from shear surprise that anyone would hit him back. It made him embarrassed--much as the reveal about his son's sexuality had--so it just stoked that anger.

He gathered himself and stood, already preparing to throw another punch. "Vaffanculo! It's your fault, isn't it!? You poisoned him into this! You ruined my son!" He launched forward, intent on punching Albert as hard as he could.

Edited 2014-05-10 01:38 (UTC)

Ciro's a big guy.

He's broader than Jet, with a long reach and enough weight to throw around effectively in a fight. He's got at least three inches on Albert too, and likely enough rage and alcohol damage to deaden his senses and make him keep going past what his endurance should allow. A man like that could be dangerous.

To someone else.

To Albert, trained and experienced in combat, he's little more than a schoolyard bully.

The German sidesteps the punch and lets Ciro far enough past him so that when he grabs the man's arm, his own momentum wrenches his shoulder. With one more step, Albert has the injured arm sandwiched brutally between his knee and the small of his attacker's back, riding him down to the floor so the Italian's long nose is pressed into the carpet none too gently.

"You lost the privilege of his being your son when you started treating him as your personal punching bag." There's hate in his voice, calm and restrained, but hate nonetheless. "If you come at us again, I will kill you."

It's not a threat so much as a simple statement of fact. It's what will happen if that's what Ciro does. End of story.

It's an odd sensation, hearing your partner threaten your father's life and not giving a shit if it actually happened. Maybe he was messed up for feeling that way, but the only reason he would even care at all would be because he didn't want Albert to get in trouble for it.

That man that had showed Jet how to make paper airplanes and had read to him and painted with him and lifted Jet over his head so the little red-head could feel what flying was like was long-dead in the blond's mind, this guy wasn't him.

Alba, however, hadn't given up on the man she'd married and it scared her to think Ciro might not listen and Albert would carry out his promise--she hardly doubted he was capable of it--so she stepped up for once, voice quiet and a little shaky, but audible nonetheless. "Ciro...please...leave them alone."

She breathed a sigh in relief as Ciro struggled a bit against Albert at first, but stopped when he found he wasn't going to get his way. He wasn't a stupid man, he could hear a threat of violence and know when the issuer could follow through. "Fine. Get off of me." He muttered something else to the carpet, but it was quiet enough that it couldn't be heard. Sure enough, as soon as he was let up again, he didn't try to make another move.

In fact, he turned to leave, only one last thing to say before he did. "Gianni, I don't ever want to see your face again."

Alba, however, didn't immediately follow her husband--not that it seemed like he cared--instead, she loitered near the pair, uncertain what to say but clearly wanting to say something.

At Ciro's exit, Albert almost spits. It's an old insult, something he'd done on the schoolyard as a boy, but defending against Ciro had felt more like a schoolyard altercation than anything else. There'd been no contest. Albert's surprised he had enough restraint not to break the man's arm in several places.

He stands there, seething, for a long moment then turns his head slightly to look at Alba. He's a little surprised she's stayed behind, men like Ciro having a certain effect on their wives. He'd treated her like property this entire time, dragging her around like some disobedient pet he was frightened would run away. She should, quite frankly, but her time is not one where a woman can do that and manage well.

"What is it?" His tone is not unkind, even if the dregs of his rage still frost the bottom of his words. It's hard to rebury that much negative emotion once it's been set loose.

She took another moment, looking between them before her eyes settled on Albert and she drew in closer. Gently, she leaned up and pressed a kiss on his cheek and gave him a smile once she'd pulled away again.

"Thank you." If there was any doubt in her mind about Albert keeping his promise to protect her son, it was gone now and replaced with a sad affection for the German. She wished she had a chance to get to know him better, but she knew he was a good man and that was good enough for her.

She faltered as she looked away and finally her eyes came to rest on Jet who instantly looked away from her. She hesitated and almost just turned to leave, but this could very well be her last chance to see him again, so she wasn't going to waste it.

The slight woman stepped up to her son and stood as tall as she could make herself to kiss his cheek as well. If she was affected by the fact Jet's response was to go as rigid as a board, she didn't show it. "I'm sorry, Gianni...but I want you to know, as little as it may mean, that I am so proud of you."

Her hands found both men's sleeves and she smiled at them, even as Jet seemed to continue to steadfastly ignore her. "I'm happy to have gotten a chance to see the man you've become and to have met you, Albert."

There were tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away and put on a smile before turning to finally follow her husband and leave the two alone again.

Alba's reaction sends much of the anger in Albert to rest, the kiss both poignant and unexpected. Unexpected enough that he mumbles his gratitude and doesn't say anything else until Alba's already nearly to the door.

Expression still unreadable, Albert puts a hand on Jet's arm and leans his head slightly in the direction of his retreating mother. Ciro may be a useless human being, but Alba... for whatever mistakes she's committed that caused hurt to Jet, she's obviously repentant and loves him very much. And Albert can tell that despite the pain of those years, Jet loves her too. Hell, it's likely why it hurts.

So he encourages Jet, gently and without words, to take this opportunity and tell her what he really wants to say in his heart of hearts.

He didn't want to move. He was feeling too much and it was easier to just stay mad at her and let her go. But, at the same time, it wasn't easier at all. She would leave and he'd never see her again and he would remember this and think about how cowardly he'd been. Yeah, it was scary and yeah, it hurt, but Albert's hand on his arm and the sight of his mother's retreating back pushed him forward.

"Ma..." Alba stopped and turned just as he caught up to her. He hesitated half a second then reached out and wrapped his arms around her. She wasn't expecting it, so at first she didn't respond, but when Jet turned his face to whisper something to her, the tears she'd chased away sprang up anew and she returned a tight hug of her own.

It didn't last too terribly long, but Alba was smiling wider than she had the whole time she'd been in the Capitol when they parted, even more than Jet had remembered her smiling for most of his life. Her hands trailed on Jet's face for a moment, but then she turned to leave again, the blond returning to his partner's side.

They watch her go in silence, knowing that while the both of Jet's parents still have a indeterminate amount of time here, once they're taken from Panem, that will be it. Albert hopes Jet got some sort of closure from it, even if it was a painful experience. Judging by the look on his fiancee's face, he did.

All thought of what had riled him up before has fled the German at the evening's events, his focus completely on Jet and his well being instead. "Let's get you some ice, your lip is swelling." Though he does brush a small kiss across Jet's abused mouth before quietly drifting towards the kitchen.

Jet nods silently and follows along to the kitchen, perching himself on one of the chairs near the counter while he watched Albert bustle.

He felt like he should feel something, anything, after all of that, but he felt...nothing. But he wasn't so naive to think everything was fine, there was a stirring under the surface that told him something was there, just waiting for him to notice it.

But he didn't really want to notice it, either. Noticing it meant addressing it and whatever 'it' entailed seemed like too much. So he stayed passive and tried to think about nothing instead.

Methodical and careful, Albert scoops some ice from the refrigerator's ice maker by opening the door and sticking his hand in instead of using a cup and the dispenser. He doesn't want the loud clattering of the cubes coming down to break the mood. It seems precarious, an odd sort of peace despite the emotional turmoil still roiling in the background, though one look at Jet shows he may not feel the same. The ice is packed gently in a dishtowel and Albert brings it over to the blond to press lightly against what looks to be a painful but ultimately superficial cut.

"It's alright," Albert rumbles, referring to everything that Jet might be thinking or feeling. All of it is alright, all of it is valid, and none of it changes how Albert feels about the man in front of him.

The chill through the towel bites into his skin but is quick to numb the throbbing in his mouth and jaw.

His hand raises to hold the ice pack in case Albert wanted to let go and do whatever else, but his eyes stay on the German's chest while his mind fights to stay blank.

But it doesn't succeed.

Everything is there, everything that's happened even back to His Voice and being betrayed by Void. Every little thing he felt, all the anger and sadness and helplessness, every anxiety that twisted him up and made him want to scream and be sick at the same time refused to be ignored or shoved away.

Maybe it was thanks to having come face-to-face with the very thing that had ever made him feel that angry and that helpless, but none of what he'd buried was going away now.

Tears blurred his vision and fell hot against his face, like that inferno he'd carried for so many months had turned to liquid and chosen to fall from his eyes. He didn't try to fight it. Not this time. If there was going to be someone who would see him at his weakest, he'd choose his partner who'd already seen every other bad angle of the blond.

In all the years they'd spent together, Albert had only seen Jet cry once. It had been understandable then too, with his partner having only just woken up after nearly a month in a coma to a new face in the mirror. That Albert had understood all too well and he'd curled his arms around Jet to weather the tide.

Now he does the same, brushing one hand back through golden strands before encircling his finace in a secure embrace. Maybe he doesn't understand quite so well this time, but he does at least know when his partner needs him close and solid. It also helps that he can bury his face in Jet's hair this way to hide his own expression of worry and protectiveness. If Jet is going to cry, better to let him get it out, but it digs at Albert sharply that his partner is in enough pain to be so vulnerable and he can do so little about it.

"It's alright," he repeats in what he hopes is a steady, soothing voice. Fingers trace through Jet's hair and brush against the back of the taller man's neck, cradling and protective. He hopes it helps, hopes this all helps to relieve the anger he's known Jet carried since the day they met. Since before they met. "It's alright."

What else can he say?

The hand with the ice pack drops for the time being so Jet can curl his free hand into the fabric over his fiance's back and press his face into Albert's shoulder. Even with the fragments of shame that accompany the tears, he feels comfort from the protective hold he's wrapped in.

So he lets himself cry, sob and cling to his partner because if there's one safe place to do it, it's here in Albert's arms.

It lasts longer than he can ever remember crying and there are still tears slipping down his face even after the sobs shaking his shoulders have died down, but he's quiet again and the tears continue soaking Albert's shirt.

It takes him a moment or two to realize once he's calmed down, but the vast emptiness he feels is hard to ignore. It wasn't a gnawing emptiness like the one that had threatened to tear him apart when he'd learned of Albert's death, it was calm and painless. It was the space where all of his anger had roiled and raged before, it wasn't all gone, there were still traces here and there, but it was latent like maybe how a normal person without anger issues would feel. Maybe.

There was one thing he definitely knew about it, though and that was that it went deeper than just the inferno he'd clung to, it was the anger he'd held from long before then as well. It was everything and now there was this emptiness waiting to be filled with some other emotion, leaving him feeling lighter than he'd even thought possible.

The first emotion to leak into this new-found space was fierce affection, adoration and gratitude for the German still holding him close. He wanted to kiss every inch of him for being willing to just stand there and let Jet fall apart on him like some kid, but he just turned his drying face to bury it in the older man's neck.

"Sorry. That was pretty pathetic."

"I won't tell." He'd rather explain that it's not pathetic, that it had been years upon years of pent up rage and betrayal at the man who had been supposed to guide him, love him, and instead had failed him so grossly that Albert's even more impressed now that Jet isn't more messed up than he is. But he knows Jet, knows that it's still a battle to undo the idea that showing emotion is the same as showing weakness - hell, he's terrible at differentiating the two himself - and he's too tired himself to have that discussion.

"You've seen me fall apart enough times, I think you earned a go," he says it with a little smile, deprecating but affectionate as he turns his head and presses a kiss into Jet's temple. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah." It was surprising, he didn't actually expect to feel better after something like that, but the lighter feeling in his chest was definitely more relieving than anything else.

He pulled away finally and wiped his sleeve along his face to try and clear it, though his cheeks and eyes were still stained red from the salt. There was a wave of shyness that sent his eyes to Albert's shirt and no higher as he pressed the ice pack to his face again. "I'm tired." It was hardly anything close to what Jet would label as 'late at night' and yet he felt like he could sleep for the next twelve hours at least. It probably had something to do with stress and displays of emotion and a bunch of other junk he wasn't going to try and process right now.

Right now, he just wanted to stay near Albert, a feeling expressed in the way the hand that had been clutching at the German's back was now curled in the fabric at his waist instead.

"Then let's get to bed." Early or not, they're both drained from the day and with the Capitol lifestyle being one of excess, he doubts their presence anywhere will be missed. Even if it would be, it's hardly something that matters.

Pulling Jet with him gently, Albert moves them to the bedroom, for once not even noticing that the Avox had been through to straighten everything while they were out. He sets the blond down first, hands never far from Jet even as Albert changes for bed, visiting soft kisses and gentle touches between handing his partner the soft, loose pants provided for sleeping in. Apparently the Avox had stopped being in denial about Albert's staying here and left two pairs for their use.

Jet returned every touch and kiss with one of his own, more than welcome to any contact with his partner.

Once they were both changed and ready for bed, he curled into Albert's side as soon as he was allowed to.

"Al...thanks. For sticking with me." Not just through the crap of the last couple weeks, but through everything, all the bull Jet knew he brought into his fiance's life. He doubted he'd ever get why Albert stayed with him, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

"Always." Another kiss gets pressed to Jet's head, Albert's arms around his fiance as if he could keep him eternally safeguarded just with the embrace. Jet doesn't have to thank him for things he does in regards to his partner. They're things he does gladly, especially when it's something as important and potentially life changing as this.

Already Jet seems more light, unburdened by things that had plagued him for far too long. Albert definitely doesn't regret punching Ciro in the nose; it was less than he deserved for putting Jet through even a fraction of what Albert had witnessed here in the Capitol.

Frankly, he wishes he could do it over again.

"Etwas Schlaf zu bekommen." He breathes the words softly into Jet's hair, knowing his partner doesn't understand them but that they'll likely be heeded regardless with the blond already curled into his side and limp with fatigue. He may have never known it before, but Albert's often muttered soft words to Jet in German. Their translators had always made it understandable and since then he'd elected to use English so as not to frustrate Jet in lacking comprehension. But he'd been teaching his fiance a little and there's something in how the German feels rolling from his tongue that makes it seem all the more protective.

His arms slip around the broader frame of his fiance and he sighs contentedly as the German words fell to his ears. He didn't know what they meant, but the tone was soothing and every fiber of Albert's being spoke love and protection to Jet's and that was plenty enough for him.

His lips found Albert's shoulder before he settled in and his eyelids grew heavy. "G'night, Al." The words 'I love you' were there on his tongue but his mind was already slipping into sleep, leaving his hold and touch to carry on the message his lips didn't.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Closed] All we are is entertainment

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject