thecapitol | 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

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."

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

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aaand this is just about done?