Roland Deschain (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ka_sera_sera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-12-01 10:05 pm
ka_sera_sera) wrote in thecapitol2015-12-01 10:05 pm
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.)
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.)
no subject
(ooc: if you do want her to break free tell me, I just figured Roland has probably got quite a grip and wouldn't be inclined to let go so I wasn't sure her yanking at his hands would work.)
no subject
And in her head, a voice answers. Théoden's voice, clear as if he stood behind her in Roland's place. You are a shieldmaiden of Rohan, the blood of Eorl the Young. You claimed that doom for yourself. You cannot turn aside from it now.
"I will wait," she says, almost too quiet to hear, and her arms go limp. She's still shaking, though, trembling like a tree in a storm.
no subject
Roland watches her, and if Eowyn could see, if she could care, she might see Roland's anger replacing itself with something else. What is he doing?
Roland releases her arms, almost flinging them away from him. What had he been doing?
The moment settles.
"Eowyn," he tries, carefully. "Lady Eowyn. Come on, now. I'll see you to your room." Her cell. Believe it or not, there are occasionally times when Roland decides it is time to use tact.
no subject
She takes a long, unsteady breath, and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "Thank you," she says again, a little more strongly, and nods, straightening up. Shoulders back, chin raised. "I am sorry, to have put this on you."
no subject
After a couple seconds Roland realizes he is going to say neither. At one time, he would've. At one time he'd have had something here, wouldn't he? Some words of comfort and advice and warning. He's sure he would have.
But Roland can only work with what he has now. He only watches her a second more and then holds out his hand, ready to escort her to the bleak, public space which is her cell.