thecapitol | [open]

Entry tags:

[open]

Who| Roland Deschain and anyone in the detainment center
What| tiny freakout and moping, mostly
Where| the Detainment Center
When| soon after the D12 battle
Warnings/Notes| nothing I'm aware of.

A.
It isn't the nights that are hard. They're a pain in the ass, but he's slept alone all through those damned arenas. Thought he'd have a break from that once he was brought back from that latest, and there was a break, for a little while. A familiar warmth and a familiar body near to his. A little while is better than he could have asked, probably. Besides, he's dealt with the nightmares on his own for a whole lifetime, hasn't he? It's time to get back into that habit again, that's all. For a while. But his mind will not allow him that illusion, not without an amendment: with luck. With luck, it'll only last a little while.

No, it's these mealtimes that are hard. For the brief time the Signless had been here with him this is where they'd made up for those nights spent alone, and be damned to anyone who wanted to whine about the display. But now, with Alain in that rebellious district, the Psiionic and Karkat, and now Signless taken there too - it's good, isn't it? It's good. They're safe.

The corner of a napkin bends up under his fingers, flattens under his hand against the table. Then that corner is pinched together, and the mechanical finger doing the pinching gives a twitch. Roland scowls down at it for a moment, sighs loud and heavily, then raises his other hand to trace the raised outline of the necklace that's barely visible underneath his shirt. It's a gesture he hates, was well sick of making by the end of that last arena and thought he was done with. It makes him feel sour, feeling the thing under his fingers. He does it anyway.

B.
They didn't waste time. It did take a little, presumably to go through what they know about him and find the perfect leverage - but now that the person with which they held him here is freed, they'd have to find something else. Of course. Roland's thinking dazedly about that, about how he'd known there'd been something coming, he'd been expecting that much, and then he turns a corner and there's a peacekeeper there. His mind is slow, focused on what he'd been shown back in that room, and it is in fact so taken up with this image that his body is caught up in it too.

Roland realizes that the moment he'd run into that peacekeeper his hands had dipped toward his hips, reaching for smooth sandalwood grips which haven't sat there for a very long time. He forces himself to raise his hands before they get down there, forces them open in a gesture of peace. Open and unarmed. He forces himself, too, to speak, knowing it ought to be done quickly.

"Cry your pardon, s-sa, sa- sir." It's good, probably, that he's made that habit of speaking his own world's words even though he knows the Capitol's machines will turn his tongue to their own. He wouldn't have thought to throw that stutter in himself, not in this state. If he needs to seem cowed now, that stutter probably helps.

"I meant nothing by it, just paying too little attention." He shakes his head, needing the extra moment to compose his expression into whatever it's supposed to be. It's a moment he doesn't usually need, but it isn't as if these people will wait until he's really able to stay on his guard. That's not what being on guard means.

C.
(Something else? Feel free to write something up yourself or contact me so I can set up a starter that works better.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Firo exits a room from farther down the hallway, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees Roland standing out there. Now that he's behind bars again, he remembers the rules that were so neatly drilled into him at Alcatraz. Namely that you don't really talk, certainly not in front of a guard you don't know very well, so it takes him a moment to loosen his tongue. "...What's goin' on?"

There's something deeply unsettling about seeing a man who is most definitely a cop--even if he's an acceptable cop in Firo's mind--in this situation.

When Firo speaks up, Roland flinches. It isn't the most obvious flinch but neither is it subtle, from either the front view or the back. He isn't used to not knowing when someone's come up behind him. He didn't know.

And that, too, works in his favor. The peacekeeper looks down at Roland, and Roland controls his expression. They draw it out, of course. Make him wait. Then they snort and move past him, knocking him hard with a shoulder, and make their way down the corridor. Roland doesn't move, focuses on those footsteps making their way away, raises his hands and studies the minute tremble. He is very aware of Firo's presence behind him, and knows that, in this state, he shouldn't find it welcome. He doesn't, exactly. But it's something, something else to keep his focus on.

"Firo," he says, pressing his palms against his thighs and straightening up. He doesn't look up, though, and doesn't start walking anywhere. He doesn't keep talking, either. What more is there to say?

(ooc: if you wanted more peacekeeper action I can edit this and have them stick around if you want, and likewise if you need a more solid hook.)

Firo barely swallows the growl in his throat when Roland's shoved; he whips around to track the peacekeeper with his eyes as they walk away. All the while his hands are clenched into fists with the effort that it takes to hold back.

Not surprising. Not fucking surprising at all. But that doesn't mean he's happy about watching their guards swagger around like that.

He pauses again before speaking, unsure of how to proceed. His voice is low when he starts up again. "The hell was that about?"

'Are you okay' is more along the lines of what he's thinking, but that's not the kind of thing he'd like to ask man-to-man. Especially not in a place like this.

[ooc: I think this is good! Thank you, though.]

"Wasn't it obvious?" It's a genuine question. Was it obvious? Would he be able to tell, right now? "I wasn't-"

But the prospect of making that excuse again, telling Firo he hadn't been looking where he was going just as he'd said it to the guard in an attempt to seem harmless and afraid, makes his mouth go sour. He raises a hand, feeling the rubber coating his two metal fingers dragging over his jaw. He may not be able to fight, but Roland is going to keep his dignity.

If he can. If he can get to his cell before the rest of his reaction to that threat settles in, the threat he'd been taken aside and sat down and spoken to very calmly for. He still does not quite welcome Firo's presence, but it looks like he needs it a little while longer.

"Would you see me to my cell? Warn me if anyone more comes around a corner before I, ah, before I see them?" That Roland might not be aware enough to notice someone coming is something he does not like to admit, but if Firo is going to be clear on what Roland needs from him then he needs to.

Obvious? Not as near as Firo can tell. "What do you--?"

A question for later, probably. There's no privacy here, but there are some places that allow a little more cover, especially from the other prisoners. Every gangster learns that you have to watch your fellow inmates just as closely as you would the guards. Any weakness shown in the open is blood for the sharks.

Firo balks again at the request, but only for a second. It's strange seeing Roland anything but totally calm and assured, and it's even more strange to think that he would need Firo's help with any of that. But that's not important; all that matters is that Roland says he needs this and Firo is going to be damned if he doesn't deliver.

He bobs his head once, firm and serious. "Yeah, I've got you. Which way?"

He's already up light on his toes, neck craning back and forth for a preliminary sweep of both directions in the hall.

He knew he liked Firo. The boy doesn't ask for extended explanations, doesn't push him. Only acts.

Which way? For a second Roland can't remember which way. But then, of course he wouldn't. He hasn't done this part before. He doesn't know this building. After a couple very long seconds, he nods down the hall and starts toward it. He could use a distraction now, could very much use one, but it does not occur to Roland to ask. His head is too full. He's only focused on that cell, which offers just as little real privacy as this hallway, with one wall open as it is waiting for the invisible walls which their gaolers turn on at night. But it does have some place to sit, and once he reaches it he will lean forward, run still-shaking hands over his face, and stay that way, only breathing.

(ooc: I'm probably going to do this a lot this thread because of how unresponsive roland may be, but tell me if you wanted them to do something in the hall rather than just skipping to the cell, or if firo needs more to react to.)

Firo's quiet as well as they make their way down the hall, his focus occasionally switching from lookout to checking on how Roland is. Not good seems to be the answer, especially when Roland folds into the chair without hardly saying anything.

Firo glances over his shoulder, then moves to position himself between the opening and Roland. There's not much else he can do to block any prying eyes.

He wants to know what's going on pretty badly--not simply because of curiosity, but also because he's pretty sure he can't leave Roland like this. Shaking, silent, seemingly disoriented. And how could the guy be okay after what's happened? Roland always struck his as the resilient type of guy, but everyone has their limits.

No matter how lacking Firo tends to be in that area, this is plainly something that requires delicacy. So he doesn't ask again about the problem just yet, instead looking around the cell for something to jumpstart his mouth. "This place is cleaner than I thought it'd be, at least. I haven't seen a rat yet."

His eyes are locked on Roland, his mouth quirking up in a hesitant smile.

[ooc: Makes perfect sense! I think this is good, thank you. I'll ask if I need a little more at a later point.]

Roland looks up at the voice and blinks a couple times, mouth open a little. He's clearly forgotten that Firo was there. "Rats...? Oh. Oh, sure."

He looks around the cell as if for the first time, noting the total lack of places any vermin might crawl in. There aren't even any cracks in the walls. "I expect you won't, either. Keeping a shoddy place - even a set of cells for a gaol - seems beneath them. You won't see a rat while you're here, I think. Not unless you've got some fear of 'em."

Roland ducks his head again and pulls his hands slowly through his hair. The gesture doesn't feel quite as satisfying as it had always looked when Signless did it. Roland's hair isn't thick enough, probably, although the rubber on those two mechanical fingers makes his right hand pull a little more. He thinks for a second of Signless, who is usually here whenever Roland begins to feel this way, and then thinks on the men who'd put him in this state in the first place. Which reminds him, he'd had something to say, hadn't he?

"Then they'll show you plenty," he murmurs. "Aye. See if they don't."

Firo laughs, a little, breathless thing. Roland does have a point--monsters these people may be, but they'd never dream of letting a speck of dust get out of place. It's not all that funny, but it's all he has to laugh at.

He watches Roland feel through his hair, disappointed that his attempt has already fizzled. He'd thought that he should wait before getting to the heart of things, but now seems as good a time as any. It's never going to be easy. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and takes a deep breath. "Is that what this is about?"

"About? Oh. Mhm. Of course. Everyone has, um." He rubs his eyes, leans back and tries to focus on Firo's face. Thinks about standing up to pace, thinks better of it. "Everyone has something, don't they? I was hoping they didn't know, but of course, it isn't so easily hidden. You see. There are memories in my head, Firo, too many of them which insist that I am there and then, that the here and now is-"

He leans forward again, elbows propped on his thighs, and covers his face. Not the best posture for a man trying to distract himself from that dark space behind his eyelids, but it's better than keeping his sights on Firo's face as he explains this. It's a necessary explanation and a shameful one and Roland knows it, it shows through in his voice, a little muffled by his hands.

"It's easy to forget. Difficult to remember, without Signless reminding me. Gods, I hope- But even if he isn't, I must stay. Stay and fight. Without argument. Without tricks. I have to." And if his voice shakes over those last two words, well, maybe he's half-forgotten again whether anyone else is here. Maybe he still would have sounded like that even if he hadn't. Nevermind. It doesn't matter.

Firo feels ice run down his spine at the mention of too many memories. Could it be something like what he has with Szilard? But, no, too much of the rest of what he says doesn't align with it... Frustrating as it is, perhaps it's best that this lead is a dead end.

He tries to listen, he really does. This is actually important, after all. But there are so many things he just doesn't understand and it's all coming so fast.

He holds a hand out, even though Roland can't see it. Then he moves that hand to rest on Roland's shoulder instead, trying to push him back a bit so that he'll look up. "Hang on. Back up a minute. What's sayin' you're 'there'? And where is that supposed to be?"

At the touch Roland jerks straighter, a little, hand blurring out for the hand that'd touched him. He blinks at Firo. "There- There is, it's the door. The wind. I always feel the heat."

Goosepimples, in contrast to his words, begin to rise over Roland's arms. "But I never-" He frowns at Firo's hand, follows it to Firo's face. "It's not for you. The Tower. You came after. Didn't you?"

He gives his head a quick shake. It doesn't help. "They said they'd send me back. But I don't feel the heat. And you aren't there. I'm alone. They wouldn't send you out from their world too, would they? Then it wouldn't work. Firo, I need you to, to tell me, tell me where-" There's an end to that sentence but Roland runs out of will before he reaches it. His attention, to be fair, is pretty well spent on other things.

A door, wind, heat... And The Tower. It still means nothing to him, and Firo wonders quietly if the man is drugged. Maybe driven off the edge by whatever torture was visited upon him.

He tries to scoff, the attitude keeping his voice from wavering. "Where the hell do you get off tellin' me I'm not here, huh? Could I do this if I wasn't?"

He takes the hand he has planted on Roland and gives the man a firm but not violent shove. Both the gesture and the profanity aren't motivated by anger but by nerves.

Seriously, what the hell did they do to this guy? If Firo weren't so concerned with getting him back to reality, he'd be making plans for just how slowly he'd take his time cutting off the limbs of those responsible.

"Where--" He intends to ask Roland where he thinks he is, but that same drive makes him wonder if that was what Roland was trying to ask him. "You're in the Capitol, remember? In the prison."

Even in this state Roland reacts to the shove by grabbing for Firo's wrist. His hands, operating independent of his mind as they often do, are more than quick, and if he catches Firo's wrist his grip will not be gentle. He does not seem to notice even a little bit of what his hand is trying.

"The Capitol," he says, looking around and trying to see the here and now which the boy mentioned, instead of seeing that place which will always lie in his mind which can only see that room, and that door, can only feel the horror he always feels in that one moment. He listens for something new, some sound that might pull him away from that place, and for a long and disorienting second only hears his own unsteady breathing.

"The prison. Tell me about the prison. There's too many- too much and I can't, can't find it."

Firo grimaces, both with discomfort and disappointment--he should've seen that coming, probably. He can't avoid the grab, and he doesn't try to wiggle out of it after the fact either. Maybe it'll help ground the man.

"Well, uh..." Shit, where to even start? Luck would know how to do this is an artful manner--he's the one who read all those books. Firo figures the best he can go with is the obvious first.

"There's three walls around us--the one part a' the cell's open. No bars or anything." No door. Is that important? "They're all white. Real clean, not run-down or anything."

He turns back to Roland, eyes carefully open for any sign that he's returning to earth. ...Or any sign that he's getting worse.

B.

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hope this is okay. if not, pp me and i'll rewrite. kinda A-ish?

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