mostly open

[ka_sera_sera]

Who| Roland Deschain and the Signless; Roland and you
What| nothing big, just roland waking up
Where| central commons, district twelve, district four
When| week five, a little bit after Roland's death
Warnings/Notes| no warnings that I know of. I hope the way I did the prompts is clear, but if not just have your character meet Roland anywhere.


The room Roland wakes up in is well familiar by now. The worry he wakes up in, though, that's new, and for a moment it shoves the more normal questions of where and when and what into the back of his mind. He wakes with Alain's name on his lips, already half-sitting up and looking around - but no. Alain isn't here, is he. That wolf is dead. Killed before it could do Alain any damage. This does not mean that Alain is safe.

He lets himself fall back, runs a hand over his jaw and stares at the ceiling. But there is nothing he can do for Alain, not anymore. His old friend will be interesting enough to bring back after this arena, or he won't. Roland steels himself to this, to the waiting, and then sits up, breathes. Heads out.

The lobby of this building is as busy as it usually is, newsmen and hangers-on and sponsors, people in all manner of outfit with all manner of things to say. It's strange after the isolation of the arena, life and movement all of a sudden everywhere, and for a moment Roland simply stands near the center of the room, not caring whose way he's standing in. (A)

After that he makes his way to the bar, spends some time leaning on the counter even after he's gotten his coffee. Just looks around, less focused on whether he accidentally makes eye contact with anyone (though that ought to be a real concern on this particular level of the tribute tower) and more concerned with stirring in a good amount of sugar. More than he'd usually use but, though his body is refreshed, Roland's mind is still certain it's spent the last few weeks sleeping badly, and it isn't as if this place doesn't have the sugar to spare. Witness Roland Deschain, indulging himself. (B)

Once he's got a better feel for this place he heads up. All the way up, almost, and doesn't bother to explain himself to any residents of district twelve who may see him wandering around there. He peers into the common room, the kitchen, then heads to the mentor suites and opens one of its doors with nothing more than a brief, brisk knock. This particular room is one he's been in many times, and the way in which the Signless has it decorated is intimately familiar. The most familiar part of that room, though, is missing, and Roland still does not bother to explain himself as he heads back out of it. Surely anyone living on this floor will be familiar enough with the sight of him. (C)

Finally, to the level for tributes of district four. Given all the floors are arranged the same and the avoxes quickly clean any identifying clutter, there's little reason for the familiarity that greets him here. But the fish in their little bowls all around the common room are familiar, the view outside is familiar. He spends a moment in just standing there and then snorts to himself, more focused on his thoughts on that familiarity than on explaining to anyone who may be around to hear. (D)

(closed to Signless):
The tea sitting in the kitchen cupboards too, thankfully, is familiar. There's more coffee up here, but he's made tea so often in this room that that is where his hands first head, and he lets them. That is, until the metal teapot slips out of a loose grip, bounces off the counter, and clatters onto the floor.

"Shit," he says, and the frustration in his voice is not at the noise nor at the spill, although he does watch the water spread for a second, lifting up his right hand and running his fingers under the small metal box sitting where his lack of fingers used to be. The skin there is red and inflamed, and the hand's two mechanical fingers don't curl as the other ones do, instead sticking out from the metal all still and stiff.

Comments

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland studies the look of him - the look of him with his eyes closed, silent, and the look of him once he gathers himself to speak. And what happens when he does is, in its way, not too far from one of the duties he'd had in that other life, the one before Panem which feels so oddly distant to him now. When men who'd sworn their lives to him would put those lives in his hands and swear again, this time to follow both the spirit and the letter of his advice.

The man who sits with him now in this intimate little cocoon is a lover and a friend, rather than a bondsman, and will be well within his rights to completely ignore any advice should Roland decide to give it. But there's an echo of that same responsibility here, the same placement of Signless' self into Roland's hands, waiting for his judgement. So he considers Signless' words with the care they deserve. He still feels their long separation keenly, though, and keeps his arm around Signless tight, his knuckles moving idly up and down the line of Signless' jaw.

"You spoke of your vow when first we met," he begins, slowly. "But even then, I assumed. I think a friend of mine had a saying once about doing that." He gives his head a quick shake, shaking back confused near-memories of a man a little like Cuthbert, and not very like him at all. This isn't the time for that. Roland closes his eyes for half a second, takes a breath. "Anyway, suppose I assumed you'd killed already partly because of that vow. Only a fool or a madman would make such a vow - them, or a man who knew well just what it was that murder meant."

He lets that sit for another half second, then looks into Signless' eyes again. "I'd never take that road myself. Couldn't, maybe, even if I wanted to. But I can't see how having broken your vow once, some long while ago, makes you a hypocrite. If anything, it makes you the opposite."

[69problems]

Logical arguments are things Signless can follow. He spent most of his life debating morality and philosophy with people who thought very little of both. He's used to being one or two steps ahead of the people he's talking to, or at least he's used to keeping pace. That, though...

"I don't follow. You can't strengthen a vow by breaking it."

Much as he likes to advocate for the shades of gray in all situations, he holds himself to a much more black and white standard. It's never occurred to him that expecting so much more of himself than he does of anyone else might be the true hypocrisy, and it probably never will. He's already revised his expectations of himself since he came to Panem, shrunk the list of people he is obligated to protect, given himself permission to not care about those he can't. Those are little things, necessary for survival and easy to justify. Completely different from taking a life.

"And you don't need to kill to understand what murder means. I learned that well enough just watching other trolls go about their business."

[ka_sera_sera]

"Maybe not," Roland says, after a moment of thought. "Not to know what it means from the outside, what it means to be effected by it. But knowing it from the inside - that's a very different thing, Signless. One you may never know, in some ways. But in some ways you do, and though that knowledge is painful, all it can do now is make you stronger in your quest. In your vow. See-" Roland looks around, looks down, manages to lean and reach far enough around Signless that he does not have to move his arm too far from him and soon has a long thin piece of fabric which used to be a decorative addition to one of his old outfits. Now it is a demonstration. He pulls at it, trying to snap the thing it down its middle. It does this easily, and he spares a moment for a derisive noise at the nonsense these people call clothes. The knotting he tries with its two pieces afterward, that part's a little less easy.

"Tie this," Roland says, after giving up on the two useless logs of metal masquerading as his fingers with a huff of frustration. At himself, as well as them. Could have done that easily even before having the things put on, but he's become too used to them now. "Then pull on either end, try to snap this in two as I just did. Do you see?"

[69problems]

Roland gets a long look, but Signless takes the two strips of fabric and ties them together as instructed. Lo and behold, the knot holds up against his attempts to break it. He gives up after a few good tugs, flopping his head back into the softness of the pile and closing his eyes.

"Alright," he says, and there's a note of frustration in his voice that he feels a little bit bad about. "I see the point you're trying to make. I've tried to convince myself of the same thing ever since I decided it wasn't worth letting that one slip ruin me. Logically I understand it. It's done, I've repaired the harm caused to the best of my ability, there are ways to justify what I did. But that break is still there, do you understand, and it feels like no matter how I justify it and no matter how I try to atone it will never be enough."

He's less frustrated at Roland and more at the thing in general. This is something he wanted to think he'd put behind him, neatly boxed up with everything else he can't afford to be hurt by. He opens his eyes again and turns his head to look at Roland, his expression pained.

"I wish I could find some way to be rid of it for good, but it eats away at me whenever I think of it. It makes me hate myself, makes me question my right to believe the things I say I believe, and without that philosophical compass to guide me I have nothing. I've gotten better at telling myself to stop thinking about it, but ignoring it and just hoping that saying it's okay will make it so isn't a real solution. All the things I do are only temporary fixes; the root problem is still there, no matter how I try to minimize it."

None of this is coming out like he wants it to. Usually his words are so clear and measured, and he at least feels as though he's getting across the idea he wants to convey. Now, he's at a loss. How can he get across that this thing he's spent the last year effectively coping with still makes his chest ache every time he thinks about it? How can he explain that no matter how many times he tells himself one violation of his philosophy doesn't make it any less sound, no matter how many times he tells himself he did what he did only out of a desire to help -- how can he explain that those things are so easy to doubt when the magazines and the news and his own heart are whispering murderer, murderer, murderer?

"There's some key to this I'm missing that will make what I did okay and I can't for the life of me find it despite being told it's right under my nose."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland's thinking, even before Signless is finished. He watches Signless' face, then looks down at his knees, gaze distant. That last clearly catches his attention, though; he looks up, studies Signless, then goes back to thinking again. His hand cups Signless' shoulder, his thumb rubs back and forth over Signless' shirt. Even once Roland has some idea what he means to say there's more to think on - if this comes out badly, it could do a great deal of damage.

"Who told you that?" His voice is low, more musing than actually asking. "Was it me?" Is that what Signless got from what he'd said?

When Roland continues, it's in that same musing tone. "Death is a hard thing, always. A sorry thing. I don't know who it is you killed, who they were to you, but if you did it for mercy - killing someone you never defended yourself from, or shouldn't have, that's even harder."

"What are your beliefs? No need to tell me, but think on them. Think on them, and tell me: If I decided to take your vow as mine, started speaking those beliefs to any who would listen- I've killed a great many, Signless. Many of them never had a chance. Some of them trusted me." Roland stares down at his knees, takes a breath, looks back up. "No matter how sorry I am, no matter my reasons, those people are dead. Things are different in the arenas, but there was still the chance your mercy killing would be final. You did what you did, Signless."

Roland tilts his head back, looks up at the ceiling and continues idly, thoughtlessly copying the tone and look of his tutor, Vannay, giving one of his old thought-exercizes. "With your beliefs still in your mind, tell me: How true are they, if I decide to speak them? If I convince others to take the same vow, and they go out and act on it? Even if all those I've ever killed appear in this city tomorrow, I did what I did. That isn't going to change. Are your beliefs real if I speak them, or would your vow be tainted, coming from my mouth? Would all the acts I'd perform in its name be wicked, because they've come from hands which've done what mine have done?"

"I don't ask for an answer to those questions now, Signless. But if you have your own questions, ask them. This is one matter I'd like to be certain I've spoken on clearly."

[69problems]

"It isn't... it isn't the same," he murmurs, running a hand through his hair and setting some of his curls askew. Either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care.

"If you took my beliefs as your own now it wouldn't matter what you'd done before, only what you did moving forward. Of course they would still be just as true if you spoke them, so long as your actions reflected your words."

He closes his eyes, scrubs at his face with one hand. He's trying to head off the tears he feels might be coming, but they're hard to deny. It's not just this conversation itself that has him ready to cry: he's felt so wrung-out lately, under so much scrutiny and stress from friends and government both, and he can't talk about any of it.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland sighs, watches him. "And if I'd done it after? Taken your vow, killed Felicity in that arena for love of you, tricked you into helping as I did? Nevermind." He puts his palm to the line of Signless' jaw, cupping it with that hand's warmer, more functional pair of fingers and trying to pull Signless' face to look toward his.

It's an expressive face, that. More than expressive enough to show Roland the general course the Signless' thoughts are taking. "Is it pride that has you trying to hide your tears from me? Or something else? Leave it, whatever it is. There's no need for it here. Here, of all places." Here in this pile. Here next to Roland, in his arms. Both.

"Weep, Signless," Roland says, and runs his thumb over the one of the bags that sit permanently beneath Signless' eyes. "Weep, if you would. We'll think on the rest after."

[69problems]

Whatever was holding those tears back falls away. It's such a relief to let them fall, and it lifts a weight from his heart he'd grown too used to carrying to realize it was there in the first place. By the time the tears stop and he falls still and quiet, all the nervous frustration is gone from him, replaced by a tired sort of calm.

"I needed that, I think," he says, and his voice is like one long sigh.

[ka_sera_sera]

"I think so too," Roland says, and rubs his hand up Signless' arm to his shoulder, down again to his wrist. "I also think we've some talking left to do, starting with just why you've been trying to find a way to erase what you did. But we needen't rush to it. Take a moment, if you still need one. We've got a few to spare."

Roland takes a breath and stretches his shoulders, taking stock of himself. It's true that his body is once again sure that it's spent the last few weeks in the arena barely sleeping, even if strictly speaking Roland knows that is not quite the case. Not for this body. The coffee he'd stopped for after waking, though, filled to the brim with sugar and large enough to last him through his whole conversation with Harley, seems to be doing its job and he decides that he does in fact have a good number of moments to spare. Good thing, too. This isn't the kind of conversation that Roland would ever allow himself to rush through.

[69problems]

He will take that moment, thank you. He uses it to get the last of the shakiness out of his breath, to wipe the lingering red tears from his cheeks and eyelashes.

"I don't want to erase it," he says finally. "I want it there as a reminder of mistakes I should never allow myself to make again. I just want to be at peace with it. I want to be able to put it to rest."

[ka_sera_sera]

"And to do that?" Roland leans back a little, feeling the soft wall of the pile shift behind him, and stares toward the ceiling. His gaze is absent, focusing less on what he's seeing and more on the memories of the conversation so far, trying to find his way near the heart of the problem. "Let's see. Signless, you've said being a murderer makes you believe yourself a hypocrite. I've spoken on that about as well as I can think to and your opinion hasn't changed. You've said you're searching for some way to make the killing okay - that no one can give you, because it doesn't exist."

"As I see it," he continues in a tone just as casual and matter-of-fact as the tone of the rest, still staring absently upward, "the problem is that you can't accept what you've done. Doing so would be to accept that you can no longer believe the way you do, for a man who's done the one can never again do the other. Have I got it right so far?"

[69problems]

He nods. "That's it. That's exactly it. I can't have both at once, but if I can't have that then I can't have peace."

He wishes this were easier, that all it would take would be some obvious words from someone else to illuminate whatever he's missing. But Roland is right: those words don't exist, and what is he supposed to do then? Spend his entire life with that regret in the back of his mind making him doubt himself? Fundamentally alter his entire worldview beyond recognition to account for it?

[ka_sera_sera]

"Why can't you?" His tone here is not a challenge. Without context it'd sound like an idle question, inconsequential. Only curious. "Your philosophy - which I haven't heard in full, I grant you - accounts for change, doesn't it? That seems the whole purpose of it. Not the change of a man's essential nature but a change in which parts of it he cultivates. Your philosophy isn't a fine piece of glass, lost forever the moment it breaks. It can't be, or it never would have gained such a following in your own world. I'd be very surprised if more than a couple of its followers never broke that vow after taking it, especially given what you've told me of the lives many of those followers led. Can you think what might've been if they'd had as little regard for that philosophy as you do? But I doubt you think of it in that way. Perhaps you've forgotten just how violent change can be, even when its goal is peace. Maybe especially then."

"Signless, a gardner does not cultivate his garden, walk away from it, then declare it ruined beyond repair the moment he sees a weed. He does not love his work because he expects it to be finished. It seems to me you've forgotten that, see your vow only as a set of rules which must always be followed. I might call that disrespectful, I might call it arrogant - but what do I know? Any others who've failed that vow but repaired it, lived that philosophy and died in it, what do they know either? Certainly not so much as the one who taught it to them. Perhaps all of us've got the nature of your philosophy all wrong. I'm sure you know it best."

Roland arm, as he speaks, loosens a little from around Signless' shoulders. It's still there, but he's ready to let go should he need to. One doesn't say the things he just did without being prepared for some sort of reaction.

[69problems]

It stings to hear, and Signless is more or less sure that was the point. He doesn't push Roland away but his mouth does tighten into a thin black line. His hands ball into fists but he forces them to relax again almost instantly. He's not angry at Roland, he's angry at whatever disconnect in his own logic is making this so hard.

"It's not..." Not the same? But how isn't it? True, he never expected any of his followers to take a vow. He never expected them to adhere to the same rules as the ones he set for himself. But if they were still living by the same ideals that informed those rules... he raises one hand and rubs at his temple where a dull persistent ache is trying to take up residence.

"I never expect anyone who followed me to take or keep that vow, but they all looked to me, Roland. I had to be their example. I had to hold myself to a higher standard to show them it could be done." His voice sounds very small. "I know that's no excuse. If it's arrogant of me..." Selfish. Uncaring. Self-centered, destructive, blind-- but he's past that. He's worked so hard to be past that.

[ka_sera_sera]

For a couple seconds after Signless' fists have clenched Roland's rhythm - because there is a rhythm to this sort of talk, there always has been - falters, his calm, hard expression falls into plain surprise. This is the part where Roland's bondsmen usually fought in some way, with fists or words or even only their expressions. Found some way to remind Roland of his cruelty. He'd braced for that without even thinking about it, and like a boxer already bracing for some heavy blow, now the blow's failed to come Roland finds himself off his balance.

There's a twitch of Roland's fingers, a tightening of his grip around Signless' shoulders in the half-instant before he realizes Signless has almost skipped that stage entirely, is instead of giving in to anger or resentment, already really thinking about it. Which would make sense if Roland stopped and thought about it. He does not; too important to compose himself quick, fall back into the rhythm and the mindset to really look through Signless' answer.

"A little," he says, after a moment. "But so must every leader be, lest his men lose confidence in 'im. A man who's led even once never loses that, I don't think. Not quite. Signless, I'm not going to tell you there's no need to be an example here. That's not the real problem, is it? What I'm going to do is to ask you which example it is you ought to be. Your men and your women - those in the past of your world, any in the future of this one - have followed your ideals just as you follow them. Many of them fall from that path just as you fell, and have just as little idea as you do now how to get up off their knees and find that path again."

"If you would be an example, live your beliefs as they are. Live them as others must live them, tread on the same steps that they must tread. How can you show a man the way if you must take yourself where he can't follow?"

"I wonder what you'd have told a man in your old life who faced the same troubles you're facing," Roland says, thoughtfully. "I wonder what you'd tell him now."

[69problems]

How can you show a man the way if you must take yourself where he can't follow?

It clicks. Finally, finally, everything slots into place with an almost seamless clarity.

"I'd tell him exactly what you've told me. I'd tell him one violent act does not an evil person make, that to kill out of compassion is still in some small way good because it came from a good place. It's what I have told tributes here on occasion."

He can't condone killing itself, but he can understand why someone might feel as though they had no other choice. Nothing will ever make it okay and maybe that isn't the point. The point is moving forward and making sure that it never has to happen again.

"I have to stop thinking of it as a crime I need to atone for and start thinking of it as a reason to try and be better." He says it slowly, as though feeling out the words as he says them. "Is that right?"

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland watches Signless closely, still using the energy gained with that earlier coffee and sugar to focus his mind, trying to track the thoughts running over that expressive face. At the tone of that last, that slow question, Roland thinks he's found what he was hoping to and he smiles, the look slow and small and full of warmth.

"I can't give you answers, Signless," Roland says, slouching over against him and breathing a satisfied sigh against his hair. The fact that Roland was just doing that very thing, directly telling Signless how to think? Nevermind that. Roland does not consider it. That was guidance, that's all, and a very different animal altogether from actual answers.

Roland does not straighten or raise his head much, but before he continues the grip that's never left Signless' shoulder does give a little squeeze. "Only more questions. And if I'm lucky I can help you answer them. Does it feel right to you? It's your beliefs we speak on, your ideals. Your vow. Only you can tell me if your mind and heart are settled now in good accord with one another."

It would be fairly useful, he realizes, to be able to see Signless' face now, too. Nevermind. Roland can feel his posture, feel Signless' body against his, and hear the tone of his voice. No need to straighten up just yet. That'll be enough.

[69problems]

"I think they are. I think... I've been saying that I ought to move on and learn from what I did, but I never believed it until now. I was just saying it because I thought I might eventually convince myself of it that way, but my mind doesn't work like that."

He leans back against Roland, allows his eyes to slip closed, and just enjoys that closeness. This is what a pile is for as much as the difficult emotional discussions.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and for the first time since they started even his voice sounds peaceful. It's not as though he's taken down every single one of those many, many boxes he has tucked away in the back of his mind, but he's unpacked perhaps the biggest one. It's going to be a lot longer until that shelf finally snaps, and that's something to be thankful for.

[ka_sera_sera]

"Mm," he says as Signless begins to lean against him, squeezes Signless a little, and it's the last thing Roland is going to say for a while. Because he doesn't speak after that thanks, doesn't need to. Wouldn't tell Signless that he's welcome because this wasn't done as any sort of favor. To have a heart put in his hands for judgement is a responsibility rather than a choice, and an honor rather than any kind of job the Signless might now owe him for. You're Welcome does not apply here. 'Of course' doesn't apply, either, because it would be redundant to say it.

Instead Roland feels the buzz of caffeine and sugar in his veins, enough to keep him awake for another little while. He feels the warmth of that body against his, long wished for through that painful arena, occasionally dreamt of, and now here pressed close beside him. He nudges a little of that thick hair aside with his nose, enough that Signless might feel it when Roland presses his lips to the side of Signless' head. He lets the silence settle and settles himself in it, content to stay this way until long after any ache might begin to creep itself into his long, folded up legs.