He leans sideways, his shoulder bumping against Roland's with perhaps more force than he means it to. He wants to be held. He wants to punch a hole through the wall. He wants to scream obscenities until his throat hurts. He wants to cry. He doesn't know what he wants, really.

"No -- no. I shouldn't. It would make more work for the avoxes." He says the word like it burns his tongue; he always has to some degree but now it's unmistakeable.

Avoxes and everything about them have always horrified him in the way slavery and the casual abuse of lowbloods always horrified him on Alternia. They put him in mind of nothing so much as those psionics with the exceptionally bad luck to be talented enough to be hooked into ships, their mobility and free will and sense of self repressed until they are not people so much as objects. Avoxes are the same, empty vessels who exist only to fulfill a purpose.

For all intents and purposes the Initiate is dead. His body remains but his self is gone, and Signless knows that unlike last time it will be permanent. The last time was a warning meant to wear off after his death in the arena. Now the Capitol has made good on that warning. He'll never hear Kurloz speak again, never hear him recite his scripture like he promised he would, but he'll have to watch him float ghost-like around the Tower with his eyes looking at nothing and his face bare.

He turns his face sideways, presses it into the crook of Roland's neck, and lets out a small sob.