Guy Crood (
acroodawakening) wrote in
thecapitol2014-05-13 11:31 pm
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Entry tags:
this place is a narrative mess
Who| Closed to Guy and his close CR
What| Guy is brought back to the Tribute Center
Where| District 6 and Guy's room
When| The night of the expose when he's returned and the next morning after.
Warnings/Notes| CW: Possible mention of bidding, mental trauma/dissociation, the usual for someone's that dealt with Penny
When the Peacekeepers brought him back, Guy was silent, floating along like a ghost next to them. His face was still blotchy from the crying and his eyes were red-rimmed but there was no emotion on his face. He'd shut down. Sometimes it was okay to take time to be sad and sometimes you got so sad you had to not think but it had never been like this.
He had always been someone that dealt with his feelings as they came and only shoved them aside for later if he was facing something life or death. Then when it was over, he dealt with them, felt them, and moved on.
This had finally pushed him beyond that. He'd felt so much - so much fear and despair and misery - that something had collapsed in itself and now there was just a dull buzzing behind his ears.
The world no longer made sense and the worst part of it was that the things that did make sense, like his story, like the life he'd shaped for himself, had been taken away from him. His story had been twisted into something else and now it didn't belong to him anymore.
Now it would be what they wanted it to be and he would be the thing they wanted him to be and there was nothing he could do about it, except hope that he got boring enough they cut the thread that tied him to this new life and let him drift away. Now his life would be just like the emptiness inside a shell instead of the patterns on the outside or the sounds it could make.
What| Guy is brought back to the Tribute Center
Where| District 6 and Guy's room
When| The night of the expose when he's returned and the next morning after.
Warnings/Notes| CW: Possible mention of bidding, mental trauma/dissociation, the usual for someone's that dealt with Penny
When the Peacekeepers brought him back, Guy was silent, floating along like a ghost next to them. His face was still blotchy from the crying and his eyes were red-rimmed but there was no emotion on his face. He'd shut down. Sometimes it was okay to take time to be sad and sometimes you got so sad you had to not think but it had never been like this.
He had always been someone that dealt with his feelings as they came and only shoved them aside for later if he was facing something life or death. Then when it was over, he dealt with them, felt them, and moved on.
This had finally pushed him beyond that. He'd felt so much - so much fear and despair and misery - that something had collapsed in itself and now there was just a dull buzzing behind his ears.
The world no longer made sense and the worst part of it was that the things that did make sense, like his story, like the life he'd shaped for himself, had been taken away from him. His story had been twisted into something else and now it didn't belong to him anymore.
Now it would be what they wanted it to be and he would be the thing they wanted him to be and there was nothing he could do about it, except hope that he got boring enough they cut the thread that tied him to this new life and let him drift away. Now his life would be just like the emptiness inside a shell instead of the patterns on the outside or the sounds it could make.
For Everyone Else
It was a strange feeling, needing space. Wanting to wrap himself up in crocodile skins and build walls of stone, and keep himself away from the world. Halfway through the night, during one of the many bouts of wakefulness that had ruined his fitful sleep, he'd gotten up and made a cave for himself. He'd pulled the mattress he never used off the bed and propped it up on the bedside table. Then he'd stuffed all the blankets and pillows that were his usual bed underneath, cramming them and himself in. If anyone peeked into the room, all they would see was a bit of the light glittering on his eyes from the depths of darkness in his little cubby hole and maybe the occasional hand reaching out to snack a piece of fruit from the plate that had been set there.
It made him feel the tiniest bit better, hiding away in the dark. Something hidden in the dark was something people left alone, after all.
At the same time, he was facing a dark and terrible thing, worse than any creature you could trap or fight or run from - because he could do none of those things in the face of it. He didn't want to be alone. Even if he had to face it alone, even if he never breathed a word of it to anyone, right now he just needed a reminder that people could be kind, and that there were ones that cared and wanted him safe and happy even if it was getting harder and harder to feel like he'd ever be that way again.
Re: For Everyone Else
He'd earned that much.
So Mindy had knocked before coming into the room and, upon seeing the man made tepee, had to laugh softly at it.
"You know," she said softly, "this is the kind of shit I imagined I might do with a brother or sister if I had one. Hopefully on better days."
She sat next to the mound, her back to him. "How are you feeling?"
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There was a part of him that wanted to fight past it and act strong because she was younger and there were some burdens she just shouldn't have to carry.
But he couldn't do it. The breaths never resolved themselves into words, instead they took on the shape of suppressed sobs as he choked on air, trying to get himself calmed down enough to actually say something back.
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Torture was no joke. Mindy had never been on the receiving end of that, but she did know that some people could break from it. She didn't want that to happen to Guy. He deserved better than that.
"Nothing that interesting happened when you left. I mean, nothing worth noting anyway. Just more of the same stuff."
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So he crawled, dragging himself out of the blanket pile, out from under the mattress.
He was a mess. Dark rings under his eyes from lack of sleep, his face blotchy, his eyes red and puffy. His hands were shaking as he dragged himself out, and he was too shaky to sit himself up. He only briefly glanced up at her, his eyes wild, like he was some kind of wounded animal, then averted his eyes, curling up on the floor with his back against her leg.
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So finally, he came out. She'd kept him up all night, the odious bitch, just to scare him half to death. He was still shaken by what happened to even stand on his own, and Mindy was reminded of the two of them in the Arena, when they'd both been pretty injured. She had been perfectly willing to help him then, and she'd do the same now, her hands twining around his hair, smoothing it down. It felt rough against her fingers, almost like bristles, but she could at least try to comfort how she could.
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Tears were continually leaking from his eyes, thought it was a slow trickle, not the gushing mess it had been in the middle of the night.
"She broke it," he finally rasped out. "She broke my story. She just twisted it up and its all splinters." A few huffed breaths. "Splinters and - and - and brambles and dust and - and -"
He stopped. He was at least with it enough to realize he wasn't making sense.
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cw: suicide
Re: cw: suicide
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wanna end it here?
Totally fine!
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Hawkeye lingered outside Guy's room in silence- swaying only so he wouldn't pace around and alarm whatever mess was inside, and being a mess was nothing shameful if the rumor was true, but there was no reason in unsettling or being unsettled if the confirmation was, you know, valid. Once Hawkeye lifted his hand to knock against the door and dropped it before he could. He only looked up as if there would be an answer waiting and written on the ceiling, or a strong suggestion on how to proceed. And Hawkeye must have been fidgeting more than he realized because an Avox welcomed him- at least that's what Hawkeye figured, riled as he was- and he had to say, "No, no, it's fine. I just ran here. I'm catching my breath."
Then he knew he must have given himself away by talking, and he leaned against the doorframe to announce, "I'm coming in." Hawkeye even felt bad for not knocking, and he slipped inside. He slipped inside and saw the nest and tried to not be impressed, and schooled himself to not be a worrywart but a-- a something. A pillar. A shoulder to lean on if only he wasn't still lingering by the door. "I know I should have asked but I can go outside and ask to come in and come back in again if you want," he says. Hawkeye experiments with some solid steps towards the cave. "The door was unlocked. I thought I should come see you, Guy." It's never not going to be an odd name.
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The silence didn't hold out forever, though. The sound of Hawkeye's voice alone was usually enough to inspire mirth. It didn't do it right now, but Guy liked the patterns they had, that specific track their conversations usually went.
Eventually, after a moment of pressing his lips together in the dark, Guy's muffled voice came out from under the pile.
"Guy's not here right now. This is Tai. I'm his cousin. Guy went home."
He wanted to pretend for a minute, even if it was ridiculous, even if it would never be true.
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Then Hawkeye pretends he sees something he wants, and an 'ah-ha' expression takes over, smug and pleased and 'I knew that' plastered all over. His body language was as good at being obnoxiously loud as his words. Hawkeye nods. Tai. Tie? "What, you're not going offer to take a message? I want my subscription terminated." Okay. "Okay Tie, I'm Bullseye. Real name's Francis Barber Pierce, but that's a mouthful. I'm a tree surgeon and I despise the color green. -I know, right? Talk about a conundrum. Anyway, my twin- he's a block head. Literally has a blocky head. Should probably see a doctor about that. He goes around calling himself Hawkeye of all things, and anyway he's gone home, too. There's lobster to eat and honeysuckle to sniff, and the sounds of the ocean to fall asleep to. Before he left, though, he said, 'Bullseye, go find Guy and ask him if he wants a piece of this pie'- it's banana cream, really good- 'and I said, but Hawkeye what if I don't find Guy?' And he said, 'then ask Tai if he wants Guy's pie'. Though I'd rather keep it all to myself, so never say I'm not a nice guy, Tai."
Ouch, his tongue. Pierce takes a deep breath and leans back and says, "Do you want some of Hawkeye's pie for Guy, Tai?" After all that, he hopes he at least gets a little better news than the fact Guy's thought to abandon himself, even if it was under a playful mask. "If you say No, I'm going to keep talking and that's going to be detrimental to our health."
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"You can keep talking," he said, his voice high and thin and watery. "It makes me laugh and I really, really need that right now."
There was a loud sniffle.
"Not that I can stop you because if you're anything like your brother, your favorite thing in all the world is talking to yourself."
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He sighs, hunches over so he can prop his chin up against a hand, his elbow resting on his knee. A cat folded over quite neatly. "And I came here wondering if you'd like to let me see how you're doing. So far you haven't. Guy, I'd like to talk. Gorgeous as my voice is, sometimes it feels like nails on a chalkboard to me. I'm worried here."
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Not forever, though. Not forever. Don't hide. His parents had told him not to hide and he knew he couldn't do it forever and still be himself.
"I'll come out a little bit, though."
There were burrowing sounds under there, until half of his head was visible from under the mattress.
Only his eyes, which were red-rimmed and ringed by dark circles.
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"That's an impressive nest," he said, shutting the door again behind him. His bare feet made almost no noise on the soft carpet as he walked over and sat down on the floor a few feet from the makeshift cave. He wasn't really sure if he was allowed to get closer -- a nest like that screamed 'I want a barrier between me and everything else'.
"I should have brought you some of my blankets, I don't really use them."
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His voice was still hoarse from the crying and talking to people, but now he sounded more tired than anything. Or perhaps "weary" was a better way to word it. It was the kind of tired that didn't go away with sleep.
His muffled voice was squeaky and higher pitched than usual like he was perpetually on the verge of crying. "I'm just feeling a little vulnerable right now."
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"Is there anything I can do for you? I can leave, if that would be best, they did say you might just want to be alone."
The idea of leaving was abhorrent, though, and it was apparent in his tone that it was the last thing he wanted to do. There had to be something he could do, some way he could help, even if it was small. He was so horns over heels pale for this poor human that he would leave, if that was what Guy needed.
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"I could use a hug right now."
Another pause.
"But I want to stay in here."
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Signless isn't quite used to piles with roofs (because that's what this is, a pile, and the thought makes his bloodpusher all jittery because this is now tangibly really far past the point where he can just file it under human friendship). It takes him a moment to negotiate getting into the blanket cave, but he manages, and immediately scoops Guy up into his arms.
"There. Is that a little better?"
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It was nice to have these friends he had here, that he cared about in all those different ways. It was even nicer to finally have some of them comfortable enough to show affection in the ways he was used to and comfortable with him showing affection back in those ways.
"Yeah," he said, his voice shaky, settling into Signless's arms.
He'd set up a little air vent out of the cushions and he widened it slightly so the additional body didn't make things stuffy.
The light it let in illuminated his face ever so slightly so that his red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin was visible.
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Re: For Everyone Else
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He was on a much more even keel than earlier, but he still didn't really want to come out. Not yet.
"I could use a hug right now," he said shakily. "I'm not suffering from a hug drought because all my friends have been coming and giving me really nice hugs but I need a lot right now."
He sounded like his world had been shaken up and as if he'd collected the pieces but not managed to put them back together again.
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"So did I," he admitted.
There was a small part of him - a very small part - that wondered if that would've been better.
"I don't know about Bunny, I - I wasn't really in a position to ask questions."
He closed his eyes tight, hoping that his mistakes hadn't led to Bunny's death or avoxing. He already knew they had to have led at least to his suffering.
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She closes her eyes too, hugs him tighter. "He was stupid," she whispers. "Punchy too. You don't attack the police, not here. That's the quickest way to get lynched if you're a Negro--and we all are Negros here, even the whites are, we're all slaves." From slave to free to slave again in four generations, oh Lord. "Never attack the police. They can make you disappear. Probably easier here."
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Then he paused.
"Or is it another one of those things that I keep finding out about that I didn't know people did and wish I didn't know the second I find out?" His voice trembled slightly. "There have been a lot of those."
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