(OPEN) a vial of hope and a vial of pain

[crabmunicator]

Who| Karkat and OPEN
What| Karkat finally returns after the Binding plot.
Where| Around the tower.
When| Around when Sigma's announcement happens & afterward.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of police brutality and brainwashing.

It's a little after Karkat has stepped back into the Tower that the announcement comes up over some monitor or several, demanding attention. He should have expected this, but he's feeling disoriented enough that it takes him a moment to process what it is. Sigma is no one he's ever met, so that part doesn't matter, but the subject of rebels and anti-Capitol plot filters through and tethers his attention.

He can tell the Capitol slant in how it's worded and presented, and a part of him still hates them for it, but the sharpest part is what he already knew: the Initiate brought this all. As much as he wants Panem to change, as much as he wants freedom for his fellow Tributes, he's never going to forgive the Initiate for trying to turn it into something for him to take over.

He shudders at the end and turns to move forward.

A. The Lobby

It's a bit hard to miss Karkat on his return. Though washed and dressed in fresh, clean clothing, he walks with a noticeable limp and a slight wobble besides. For all his gunshots to his right thigh were finally tended in the end, you don't go three days with little more than scraps of your disguise to bind them without having a lot of soreness left over. It's only by virtue of being a troll that he didn't come out worse for it. But beyond that is a general soreness, left over from the roughness of the Peacekeepers during his imprisonment. His sleeves are long, his pants covering, and they hide the extent of the bruises he bears.

Still, a tired, limping, dizzy tribute is not a steady one, and if not spotted on his own - either during the broadcast, or after as he makes his way to the elevators - then he's bound to get attention when he bumps into people.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbles. He's not trying to hit anyone, but his legs just won't cooperate.

B. District Six

Eventually he makes it back to his district. He's been missing for three days, easily noticeable for the lack of grumping, shouting, and orange horns going around. And it's here for a while that he stays, aiming first to shuffle off to his room to lay the fuck down, if no one stops him first - but it's not like no one can knock on his door.

Sooner or later, though, once he's feeling less of the weird nausea that's bothered him since the end of his imprisonment, he heads back out into the kitchen and then the common area. Winces and swears come from the former as he digs through the fridge for an orange, and eventually he settles himself on a couch in the latter, picking off bits of peel and pith with a claw. Some inane talk show plays on the television, but he's not watching it. Not really.

C. First Floor Restaurant

It's later after his stomach has shown that it can keep the orange down that Karkat decides he wants a real meal. Three days of bread and water will do that to you, and so after another limping trip down, he brings himself in to the restaurant off from the lobby and sets to ordering something.

"Yes, just the soup--no, no bread--no crackers--no sandwich, just the soup, alright? If I'm still hungry I'll order something else," he huffs at a concerned-looking waitress, who had been trying to ply him with are you sure?s and you look awful hungry. Good intents, to be sure, but he doesn't want to touch bread for a week. He doesn't dare tell why.

D. The Roof

With being stuck on house tower arrest until the next arena, Karkat ends up spending a lot of his time on the roof. Furnishings inside may be comfortable enough, but it gets stuffy, and he's had enough of being stuck inside to last him for a good while. The roof at least has fresh air and a view of the sky, and he heads up day or night to sit, watch the city, and most often read.

Did you want that other chair? Too bad, because he's too busy tugging it over with his good foot so that he might prop his right one on the seat. It feels better for his leg, and the less soreness he has, the better he can enjoy the trashy romance novel he's currently stuck his nose in.

E. District 9 (Closed)

Between everything else, sometime after making it back to his floor, getting some food and drink in him, and laying on his actual bed for a while, Karkat gets back up to visit this District. He's still sore and tired, but those things are weighed out by the need to visit his important people and communicate the fact that he's not dead or Avoxed. Three days may not equal the week he was gone after last arena, but it's three days after the Initiate's plan went off and the broadcast from Sigma Klim can't have eased worries.

It takes him a while to get up - most of his time in jail was spent sitting around to keep from worsening his wounds, so he's not yet used to walking on his hurt leg - but get there he does. Elevators help, thank fuck; he doesn't want to think about stairs for another week. And from there it's not too far to one of the doors he intends to visit.

He knocks with the back of his hand, but doesn't call any greeting. There will be time enough to talk once he's inside and sat down.

Comments

[crabmunicator]

Karkat watches as Nill comes in with her armload and sets things down. Juice, water - which wasn't so bad as the bread, but he's still kind of sick of - and painkillers. The blanket, too, but that he cares less about right now.

"Thank you," he says with deep gratitude, and it weaves into a small smile for her. This is why he's glad for her. She's always so thoughtful, so helpful, and it's what he needs in this moment.

He pushes himself up a little until he's propped on an elbow and grabs the juice. He could open it, but he sees no complaint for having done it for him. With a motion of the bottle he indicates the painkillers. "Can I...?"

Of course he's sure she brought them for him, but with her taking two, it seems better to ask her first. Once he has them, he pops them in and washes them down with a good swallow of the juice. Then he sets the bottle back and settles back the way he was.

"It's been a long three days. Everything... it's stressful," he starts out, which should be safe. "Makara brought me into his plan, and the Peacekeepers found him and us, and... It's just--not easy, learning you've been led along, lied to, fucking..."

The smile's gone now, replaced with something harder and hurt. He reaches his hand out, seeking hers if she'll let him, wanting to hold onto it.

"He brainwashed me. You remember the space arena? I ran into him then, and... I got to talking to him because of how they had taken his horns to fit his head into the helmet, and... He did it then. I thought I could trust him, but he put this all in me, made me do this, and all so that cultist fuck could just--" His teeth grit and bare, and his eyes have set into a harsh glare, but at something beyond her.

"He wanted to make this place into something his own. He told me at Signless's Crowning that he was going to become the Grand Highblood on Alternia, the leader of the subjugglators and their whole cult, who enforced everything... He's the one who ordered my ancestor's execution, in his future. And he told me this whole story of how he 'changed' and was different now, and I believed him. He fooled me and he fooled everyone, but he was just as bad as fucking Gamzee--fucking worse. I should have know. I should have never sat down in that arena; I should have run."

He's not sure he meant to do it all at once, but it's come out of him all together and he can't find it to regret letting it out. His eyes sting; there are pink tears gathering in them, slipping down sideways across his face, because it hurts. It's not just betrayal, but the sharp knife of his own mistake twisting in his gut like it always does.

[reassures]

Dehydration is an easier fix than starvation, bug the juice isn't gonna help with that much. Mostly she doesn't want to leave unless she needs to, and he was absolutely going to need the bottle eventually. She can probably find Stephen later, or Harley if she really needed to, see if they could find her something a little stronger to give to Karkat. Maybe even get some actual sleep instead of just trying to jostle his injuries as little as possible by moving. The faint smile remains in place and she offers a brief wave, permission - he can have as many as he likes.

She's expecting bad, and though she's not prepared for it she knows she will have to live with it regardless, and if she could just keep herself in check until Karkat was asleep, or okay, or something that wasn't this, then it wouldn't matter how it impacted her. She has done bad. She has survived bad.

It's so much worse than she was expecting. Nill is sure, even as he reaches for her hand, that there was a reason for all this. That even if the Initiate manipulated people - which she doubts, frankly - that it was for the people he cared about. She could be hurt and angry but that was a sentiment she would never be able to hold against someone for long. She twists a little, moves so that she's sitting on her knees and can hold his hand between hers, and even then she manages to mostly just listen.

She never expected this to be something that she was there to witness. The space arena was about the only time she felt like she could accomplish much of anything since she'd been here - she died doing just that, and it was pain and agony and Karkat's teeth, but it was worth it. If what Karkat's saying is true, how had she missed it? How had she not noticed the scars from the voodoo that had supposedly been placed intentionally? How could she possibly have failed to notice tampering in the mind of someone she cared about for a second time?

She doesn't believe it, can't, because to believe it is a kind of pain that she can't bear, but the reality of it is in front of her. About the only thing that wins out is the need to at least try to do something in all the nothing that she has accomplished, and Nill gives his hand a gentle squeeze between her own before reaching over with one hand to cup his cheek and wipe at the tears with her thumb. Maybe this is one of those cases where she should be using her newly acquired papping skills, but she's also sure he probably needs this.

[crabmunicator]

Karkat's spoken to Stephen already. He was one of the first he did see after this, and he'd tell her as much if she asked. But right now his thoughts are caught up and hurting, and Stephen is anywhere but his focus.

And Nill doesn't even move from him. Her hands on his are an anchor, but when she reaches over and cups his cheek, the tears just come harder. He tugs her hand, a wordless come here, hold him, something. He doesn't care that he's sore because he's going to hurt anyway, and the worst of it is what's in his heart.

"I hate him," he chokes out, meaning every word of it. "I hate him. How could I let him do this to me?"

He's sniffling, shoulders shaking, and he'll for sure leave a stain against the cover where he's been crying, but he can't bring himself to stop. It's just so much all it once, and it feels like old wounds being ripped up harsher than their start. It's what Gamzee did to him all again, and even that hurts now, as if the numbness after LOFAF was just masking how bad it was.

"I should have known," he repeats, and the hate is as much for himself.

[reassures]

It's certainly not the best way to do it, and about one of the least comfortable things she could do for herself if she stopped to think about it, but worrying about her own comfort is about the last thing crossing Nill's mind, while the things at the forefront are Karkat and Kurloz; Kurloz, staring ahead of himself as a dead-eyed avox, and Karkat, who has been betrayed too many times for her to count.

Nill brushes her thumb against his cheek one more time before pulling away. She doesn't let go of his hand though, because she's not leaving, and instead stands so she can lie down on the bed next to Karkat. The bed isn't that big, but neither are they, and it shouldn't be too much of a problem for them to fit. It shouldn't hurt his wounds too much this way, or so she hopes, and Nill moves her hand to cup his cheek again before moving it to his shoulder. There is only so much he can tell her, and Nill doesn't know where all his hurts are under the clothes, but she's here, and he can hug her, and she doesn't care about the stains, couldn't possibly care less than she already does.

Maybe if she's lucky she can even avoid adding to his pain.

[crabmunicator]

He looks back, confused at first when Nill takes her hand from his cheek, but when she moves she doesn't let go of his hand. Up she gets, and from there onto the bed, and he does what he can to scoot over that she might have more room. It's not a comfortable thing to do, but he still doesn't care if it means she can settle how she wants.

She looks so concerned, and he thinks irrationally about how gross his face must look with his crying, but he can't bring himself to stop from just that. Her hand finds his cheek, his shoulder; his own finds her wrist to squeeze, then slips out to loop around her for the hug he needs.

There's not much else he can say, and the little he does is reduced to a muttered damn it.

But this helps, for all it doesn't make any part of it okay. Nill is small but solid, and he holds to her in the way he had described it that night at Crowning: the calm in a storm. He needs most someone to pour out all his hurt to, and in being here for him she does it, even as new to it all as she is.

All the rest curls together in his mind. He doesn't know what would have happened if not for being caught. But even then he feels like failure. He had a mission, and he had people to look out for, but how is he to help anything if he just got shot and captured? And yet, what would success have brought? It might have helped in the short run, but what if the brainwashing had held and in the end... He probably would have wound up dead again, wouldn't he? A Grand Highblood on his throne wouldn't have need for gutterblood pawns anymore, and it would have been just as bad as Gamzee.

Even now, though, there's the sharp knowledge that this Capitol hates him. His fans might have their opinions, but the system itself keeping him around has him as no more than a tool to entertain the populace. And here, he can't tell Nill the whole of it. For all his mutation never came up, it didn't matter when the Peacekeepers still dehumanized him. Not in the way of acknowledge species, but as a lessening, a dismissal: a declaration that he's not enough to be called a person.

Maybe if she could speak he would get it out, at least the feeling itself, but right now her hands are tied. He keeps crying for a time, drifting between sobs and softer sniffles until it's finally wrung out of him with eyes stinging and a throat that aches. He feels empty and used up, and he's no more sure of what to say.

[reassures]

There's really not much that a mute girl can do in the way of offering others comfort. When she was small, very small, she remembers trying to offer the other girls she was with some kind of comfort, and for a little hugs and reassuring hands helped, but they got older and many of them couldn't stand that sort of thing anymore after awhile. Then it was to the girls that could speak, and had enough strength to actually try to protect them.

That's what one set of Nill's memories tell her, and though the memories are not the most vivid they hold a great deal of weight. Nill knows she was not this anxious about being touched in her own world, that it was either a product of travel between worlds or a byproduct of whatever was supposedly "false" in her head. It's not comfortable, and might take a long time before it is for her, but she knows that this might actually be helping even though she has no words to give him, and that helps.

As if to mock her just for trying, for not believing in entirety that Kurloz would do this because of and for the grand highblood, she can hear the manic voice of the Mirth Core in the back of her mind, Don't kid yourself.

Nothing about this is safe, the Capitol will wreck and destroy Karkat for being close to her, but at this point she's pretty sure that's what they're going to do to them anyway. (It feels a hundred times safer than what they might do if Linden were the one holding her like this.)

It's easy enough to let Karkat keep clinging to her for as long as he likes. She has one hand on his shoulder, careful and light, as much of a return of the embrace that she's willing to risk when she doesn't know how hurt he really is. She doesn't budge save for when it seems like his tears have run out for the time being, and when that happens she draws back just enough so that she can try to get a look at his face. If he tries to keep her where she is, though, she won't move again.

[crabmunicator]

Karkat can't even worry about what they might do to her. It's not that he doesn't care, but that after everything he feels as though that they would have hurt her already if that's what they were going to do. Beyond which, and perhaps it's selfish, is the plain desire for comfort in a situation like this.

At the end when all is drained, though, he lets her pull back. His face is a sloppy mess, streaked with pink tears angled off to the left side he laid on. But he looks tired, too, drained in a way different than he had before. Even a purging like that only does so much when he can't tell her everything.

A sorry for the mess feels superfluous when she could have stopped him at any time, but he does manage a thanks that feels weak to his own ears. "For... letting me," he clarifies after. "All this."

He falls quiet a moment longer, then says, "You can move if you want to get your notebook, or anything else. I'm pretty sure my ganderbulbs are as wrung out as they're going to get."

[reassures]

Nill certainly wouldn't fault him for it; all her fears are built from past experiences, the constant knowledge that sometimes people hurt other people just because they can, and the Capitol is a prime example of that. The short-term benefit is worth it, and at the very least when they're in the Arena she's been fairly good at keeping Karkat alive... mostly. (She'd have done better last time, she's sure, if she had only tried a little harder.)

The offer of getting her notebook is appreciated, and Nill pulls back enough to smile at him slightly before she goes to carefully pull away and sit up. She doesn't go to the one she had a bit ago though, instead grabbing a notebook and pen within her reach so she t least doesn't need to move away from him. As important as Karkat is, an he is terribly important, staying like that for much longer wouldn't have been a good idea in terms of what she can handle.

do you need anything from your room?

At the moment she's kind of assuming that Karkat will just be sleeping here whenever he feels safe enough to actually drift off, but she doesn't exactly have much of his stuff around.

[crabmunicator]

He's surprised when she doesn't move further, but pleased when he sees there's something close for her to get. It wouldn't hurt so much to have her just cross the room - he's not that needy - but the proximity is a comfort all the same.

He's surprised again when all she says is a question to his needs. He thought there might be something more personal, or a reply to what things he had said...

He shakes his head. "Not right now." Then pushing up slowly, he takes to leaning on his hand. "But I could use something to clean my face. I've got to be a mess."

[reassures]

Another small smile flickers to life on her face, and Nill waves one of her hands in a gently dismissive way; he's not a mess, and even if he was that's okay, though the pink tears always surprise her a little. She'd seen them in the first Arena, but was never sure if they were meant to be that color or if the blood loss was tampering with her ability to process some colors.

She moves as if to push herself up and off the bed, but her fingers just end up curled in the covers, stationary. She stays like that for several long moments, giving no indication that she's going to get up again any time soon, and while she stays like that she can't quite look at Karkat. It takes longer than she'd like it to for her to reach for her notepad.

how did you find out he did that to you?
can you tell me?

Was it even safe for him to tell her?

[crabmunicator]

They are definitely pink, a watery kind of color made of the same pigment of his blood diluted through whatever else trolls cry out. He can feel the tracks dried across his face, and even if she's fine with him as he is now, he'll want to wash it later.

He's not sure what keeps her quiet for so long, but he doesn't rush her. Her words still come eventually.

"How?" he repeats back with a glance to her face.

Well, they told him, didn't they? They had to have, when... when... His brow wrinkles. It had to be the third day. The other days he was still imprisoned, and it wasn't until the third that they came and grabbed him, grip bruisingly tight (he rubs sore arms), to drag him to...

There was a white door...

A white door...

A shiver runs through him and his eyes squeeze shut. A thread of anxiety coils up through him, choking him, and he can't think past the white door and the thought of even trying seems much, much worse than even this feel of sudden foreboding.

"Just--just--he did. I know he did." His voice is strained, and his eyes are still shut. "They told me somehow, just, please. I know it happened. He used his chucklevoodoos on me in the space arena; it happened then. He told me a bunch of things and made me trust that... that he meant well." He can't say that he would help tear it down. "And I didn't realize, the whole time he was planting this in me--that he just wanted to use me to make something for him to rule over."

[reassures]

For several long and awful seconds as Karkat goes on, Nill forgets entirely how to breathe, because this is a reaction that Nill recognizes and understands well. It's typical of someone that has been through something horrific, and Nill knows that it must have been, but it's just as common of someone that has in fact had their mind toyed with. Nill knows how that feels, still has the problem sometimes, and she knows what it looks like in the people she loves and loved. Seeing it in Karkat cuts through her chest more harshly than the tail that had cut through her side in that Arena, leaving her feeling cold and nauseous.

It didn't make sense though. If the Initiate had just wanted to use people for his own means why had he ever let them remain capable of telling someone what he'd done? Why had he not done differently with Karkat, who the Initiate had hated so obviously? Why was it that so many Tributes were involved with the events that got Karkat arrested, but the only casualties were the Initiate's free will and Steve's life? If all he wanted to do was rule over something then why had he worked towards rebellion instead?

The worst part is that Nill isn't sure if it's actually realistic to think that Kurloz was trying not to get people hurt or if she's just clinging desperately to the hope and belief that he wouldn't betray them. They said they would make these people pay.

Nill has to blink several times to make sure that no tears escape when her eyes start going misty.

I believe you.
can I hug you? I'll be careful.

She doesn't want to make his pain worse, but she does desperately want to hold onto him, even if only for a few seconds.

[crabmunicator]

His eyes do reopen, and he catches her blinking as she writes her message. It makes his heart ache. It's a hard thing, having to face betrayal and hurt, but it means more to him still that she believes what he's said. Some part of him is worried still that people won't, and he dreads what might happen when he inevitably talks to people who were closer to him.

For now, though, Karkat nods. "Please."

He'd like one, honestly, and he feels nervous and jittery still after everything. It's hard not to be shaken just by what happened, but that weird patch of memory beyond the door that he can't recall makes it worse still. But Nill is calm and solid and present; she's his reminder that at least those days of imprisonment are done with.

[reassures]

If there is anything good that comes from how easily Nill is brought to tears, it's that if she's ever asked anything about the Initiate during an interview it's nearly impossible that she won't cry. They'll think it's the same kind of betrayal anyone else involved suffered through, when mostly it'll just be from heart break.

There's another shadow of a smile on her face, but by the time she scoots a little closer and very gingerly wraps her arms around Karkat it's disappeared again. Even like this she does her best not to add too much pressure anywhere, to not really put any weight against him. She's gentle, and delicate, and, and, and--

As soon as her face itself is out of view she squeezes her eyes shut tightly, her wings folding in a little closer to her back, and though she's not trying to hide it still gives her the impression of being smaller than she already is.

Things like this had ruined her. It took her years to recover; even then that recover was a tenuous, fragile thing, one that Nill had only survived because when there are so many pieces missing in your head you sometimes learn not to trust your own instincts and judgments. They could be wrong. They could be fabrication. They might not even be her. In her mind it's about the cruelest thing you could do to anyone, and she hopes desperately that Kurloz did it to save the lives of other people, because if not how was she supposed to forgive this?

She could fix it. She just had to make it until the next time they were in an Arena where powers worked, she could try to undo the stitches across Karkat's mind, she could try to make it better for him.

Please let them both stay alive that long.

[crabmunicator]

Nill might be human, but it's hard not to think of her as birdlike sometimes. Small, thin, delicate, with her light touch--it is not all of her, and he knows it, but those qualities stand out in times like these. His arms loop loosely at her middle to complete the hug, and her slight frame does not diminish that she's there for him - and him, in return, for her sake.

Part of him wonders if he ought to say more, but his mind is as tired as his body, and not all is safe to say. We'll do better. We'll find another way. Fuck him but fuck the Capitol too.

Some irrational part wants to add an apology for not being good enough, but is counterbalanced by the thought that if not for being caught then he'd never know he'd been brainwashed. And what then? What if it went on, and kept going, until the Initiate had his own bloody throne to rule on here? It's not victory to trade one regime for another.

In the end he settles for saying, "I'm sorry I made you worry," soft and quiet beside her ear.