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
"A whole day?" His eyes almost bug out in surprise, but, hey, he's not complaining if someone wants to hang out that long.
"Yeah. Radio's just the sound, no movin' pictures. Lotta people have a radio right in their house--for a movie, you gotta go out. A radio show's done in shorter parts, but there's more of 'em. A movie's usually one part that'll last a couple hours.
"Usually about the same stuff, though. Some cowboy or whatever with a catchy name--actually, your Stoutheart guy would probably fit right in with his."
no subject
Those darn kids and their dagnabbed newfangled storytelling.
Roland moves on, voice quieter, hardly realizing he's just been complaining. Very seldom does his mouth work without some forethought going into what comes out, but it does happen, on occasion. For instance, when he is very tired. "I wonder if those guards will be looking for me today. I think not. They'll let me stew. I hope they don't. If they don't, you can stay, and I might be able to rest."
no subject
Firo can feel the amused smile playing at his lips. "Probably. You act like one too, once you get to know you." Maybe a little more thoughtful than the typical macho sheriff, but he's pretty much there.
"I think if you tried to pitch that to people in a movie, you'd get a whole lotta people askin' for their money back." It sounds appealing, though, he thinks. Why not savor something nice while it lasts? This thought doesn't last, though, before it's replaced with something a bit more sobering.
Rest. Firo's not sure if that's a good thing--Roland looks like he needs it and badly--or a bad thing--what would he dream about after all that? But it's what Roland says he wants, so Firo decides he should do his best to make it happen.
He's in the middle of squaring his shoulders when he realizes, sheepish, that Roland can feel him doing it when they're like this. "You want me to stand guard?"
no subject
"Mm," he nods, then raises a hand to press briefly at Firo's back, trying to keep him from standing. "Sit. You'll hear anyone coming. Sit, Firo, sit and stay a while with me."