thecapitol | In Every Atom, Broken, Is a Name [OPEN]

WHO| Venus Dee Milo and open
WHAT| Venus shows people where the blind spots are.
WHERE| The corner of Castor and Juvenal.
WHEN| After Lonestar's post.
WARNINGS| Likely some mentions of torture and suicide.

Venus does the perfect approximation of just lounging at a bus stop, playing on her network device and checking her receipt for all the things she bought at the jewelry store. Capitol citizens passing by pay her no mind, except to sneer at the brand across her cheek. She knows she should be wearing it like a badge, but no amount of conviction seems able to stop her wincing every time that look of disgust crosses someone's face.

She feels strangely detached, as if she's spent all of her energy either in berating herself for her laundry list of recent mistakes or in acting like they haven't brought her down. She knows that there's chaos around her, and yet she feels like the shrapnel and debris in the air misses her, that the wind doesn't touch her. She knows that she should feel the hum in the earth as the water behind the dam reaches a breaking point, and yet there's nothing. Nothing but the sun beating on her face, her scarred, ugly face.

She's accomplished nothing here. Even Wyatt and Maximus' safety was incidental to anything she did. She has a fistful of locations where someone, anyone might go forth and make fire with a spark that she's to dim to light.

She sits there, browsing some tabloid on her device, and she waits.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She can't help what happens next. She doesn't cry. She doesn't do anything so dramatic. Instead she just sorts of melts forward and wraps her arms around his waist, rests her head against his chest.

He's warm and comforting and like the older brother she never had, like the older sister she could never be to her own siblings.

"How do we even know who we are if we hate what we are at our worst?"

He exhales, wraps his arms around her shoulders in turn. He doesn't have an answer to that, asked himself the same thing many times before.

"I think we're supposed to hate our worst." His mind is full of that day on the island cliff, his gun hand held level with Jet's chest. "It keeps us careful, keeps us from intentionally putting us in situations we can't handle. But sometimes we can't prevent it."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "I don't have all the answers. I wish I did so I could stop both of us hurting, but at the very least I can tell you you're not alone."

She's never heard anyone put it like that, rather than stating someone's worst to be their truth, what they are under their pressure to be their core. It's comforting. It's like a blanket that slips between her bones and her muscles.

She's spent such a long time feeling alone that it should have struck her like lightning when she knew she wasn't - but it hasn't. She doesn't know when that change came over her, when she came to be a braided strand in the web of life instead of a fly caught in it.

"I know." She releases him like a pardon. "Okay. I got about ten other total blind spots. The hallway waiting for the bathroom at the Heliogabalan. The back alley on Livy street. Under the archway at the art museum. The rest have either microphones or cameras but not both."

The truth of a person is their whole, not one aspect good or bad. It's something that took Albert a long time to actually believe but helped him when he finally was able to accept it, and therefore, himself.

She pulls away and he lets her, patting her shoulder once before dropping his arms entirely and giving a small but real smile, a little sad at the corners because while the words were taken, he doesn't think the entire meaning has quite set home yet. It's alright. These things can take a long time. "I have about thirty myself, none of them duplicates of what you've told me so far. The northwest corner of the park has a bench where the cameras don't reach, the entirety of Eaglet's Music has no microphones..."

He lists off a few more, not all thirty though. He suspects they may need to at least think about moving on before they raise any suspicion.

"Where did you get them?"

She knows where she got all the blind spots, from analyzing footage in the news all night while pretending to sleep, using all the savvy that all her time on set provided her. She may be the only Tribute with that particular skill set.

She leans back over the sink and retouches her eyebrows, ready to go once he answers.

Blind spot or no, Albert looks around to make certain they're alone before answering. He's already sure, but paranoia has a way of creeping in around the edges when you're part of a rebellion. "During the blackout, a small group of us sneaked into a records building. The stationary fire on Appian? That was us. A diversion."

It doesn't even cross his mind not to trust her with this information, even knowing she'd broken once under torture already. Either he believes it won't happen again, or if he does he'd rather she have a name to give then suffer more. For all he said to Venus, Albert's been through enough pain and torture in his life that he stands a better chance of withstanding it if they visit it on him. But some part of him knows they wouldn't. They're not stupid. They'd take her or Terezi or Jet and whoever they took would hate him by the end. But it's still better than Venus in their hands for longer.

He just prays it won't come to that at all.

She doesn't ask more. She doesn't feel worthy of knowing who the people who came with him are, doesn't want to be another liability, someone they have to worry about being captured and drained for all her secrets. She just gives him a quick nod and, as they leave the bathroom, dives into a conversation they weren't having.

"Seriously, you should have seen the things that Jet would have picked out on his own. I think your eyes will thank me that I got to him before the wedding. We got him a really wonderful suit that shows off how cut he is."

"I know his fashion sense when left alone so I can honestly say you have my undying gratitude." He slips back into inane conversation as easily as she does. He's used to this, hiding undercurrents behind words of less substance. He wishes instead he could somehow drive his point home to her, that she is not broken for this, that she is only Human, that she can't expect more of herself than she can possibly give. But here he is worrying about Jet wearing some heinous costume to their wedding for the world to see.

Someday he'll be able to tell her, protect her, and genuinely treat her like the sister he feels she's become. For now, all he is is the gay friend.

In Every Atom, Broken, Is a Name [OPEN]

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/want to wrap?

sounds good!