Terezi Pyrope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pythianjudgment) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-12-12 09:48 pm
pythianjudgment) wrote in thecapitol2015-12-12 09:48 pm
Entry tags:
It's the instinct that's got us locked up tight... [Slightly backdated]
Who| Terezi, Quintus, any of her Capitol visitors.
What| Terezi is back in the last place she wants to be: The Capitol. Now that her true colors are clear, she has some explaining to do.
Where| The Detainment Center
When| Post-D12 Mission, following her death.
Warnings/Notes| Torture, violence, mentions of death, etc.
[A: For Quintus.]
Terezi doesn't honestly expect to wake again after her death in District 12, but it would seem that Panem isn't quite done with her yet. Dread is the first real emotion that she manages to process upon smelling the familiar crisp white scent of the detention facility. Dread at the realization that she's back in the Capitol and everything that entails; dread for the state that she left the Initiate in before she died. This is almost worse than being back on that meteor. Almost.
For a while, Terezi sits there behind the forcefield, listening for any familiar sounds or voices. A lot of the time, the hall is silent or nearly so. Her thoughts turn towards what lies ahead in her future. She tries not to think about about it, apart from piecing together what her story should be. Would they believe her if she said that she was forced into this? Probably not. She had more than enough chances to flee back to the Capitol, if that was her wish. No doubt someone saw her during the raid on the Victory Tour, too. Would it be better to tell the truth, then? Maybe. Not all of it, of course. If they knew everything she had done, she'd likely get a bullet in her head for her trouble. Talking to the enemy was generally frowned upon as well, but there were lesser things that she could confess--things that wouldn't get others killed, if and when they interrogated her.
Though, there was no if in her mind. She was a war prisoner. That was how these things went. The most she could hope for would be to buy enough time for someone to rescue her... if they even realized that she was alive.
They come for her, and she doesn't go quietly at first. It's not that she fights so much as she cowers back from the Peacekeepers sent to retrieve her, teeth and claws bared like an animal cornered against the wall. One of them grabs her wrist, and Terezi pulls back, lashing out with the claws of her other hand. Her resistance earns her a blow from the butt of the other's gun. She stumbles--but catches her balance. The first one still has a hold on her, and in her dazed state, he pulls her arms behind her back and locks them in a pair of cuffs. She gets another blow to her gut even after being restrained, doubling her over, and a shove towards the door that she barely stays on her feet for. The voices that yell at her to move don't sound familiar. She wonders if she should be grateful for that.
Reluctantly she allows them to drag her out of the room, shoulders hunched defensively as she fights the urge to bolt. She doesn't have anywhere to go even if she does get away, and she doesn't think she'll make it very far.
They lead her down a series of halls, twisting and turning in a way that makes it difficult to remember where she came from. Eventually, they stop at a plain metal door. It slides open, revealing an equally plain white room and a plain metal table. Her guards march her inside and shove her into a chair on the opposite side of the table, her arms pressed uncomfortably between her spine and the back of the chair. They take their places on either side of her, prepared to grab her the moment she tries to get up. And they wait.
Before long, another man comes into the room, and the next two hours are a blur. They start out simple enough. Questions, questions, and more questions. Most of the time, Terezi says she doesn't know, even if she does. Sometimes she says nothing at all. The questions give way to repercussions. The striking pain from the butt of those guns becomes a familiar counter to her responses. Her ears ring. Her head pounds. She clenches her fists to keep them from trembling and giving her away. Once they know you're afraid, it only gets worse from there.
Eventually, frustration gets the better of her interrogator. He steps outside for a few minutes, only to return with two more men carrying a basin of water. A sick feeling drops into the pit of her stomach. There's no hiding the way that she turns a shade paler when they set the basin in front of her.
Her resolve shatters. She tries to bolt for the door, only to feel someone grab her shoulder. That same someone kicks her legs out from under her, dropping her to her knees. She struggles desperately against the vice-like grip on her shoulders, but to no avail. Terezi barely has enough time to suck in a lungful of air before her head is shoved under the water. Panic locks around her chest and throat like a vice. Her skin crawls from the memory of her drowning. She wants to scream, but air is a precious commodity at the moment. She thrashes instead, trying to knock over either the men or the basin. Neither one budges.
Her lungs are burning when they pull her back up. She barely clears the water before sucking in a fresh breath, choking on the water streaming down her hair and her face. The man asks her another question. She tries to tell him that she doesn't know, but as the first few shaky words pass her lips, he barks one word: Again.
Over and over it goes. Each time feels longer than the last. Each struggle is just a little bit harder. It only takes a few minutes for her body to be exhausted from the terror, but the session keeps going. Her thoughts are frayed. Each question has her scrambling to remember what she had promised not to say. The thoughts slips away again with each submersion.
Her head is down again, her struggles getting weaker, when the door slides open again. She doesn't notice, but the other Peacekeepers do.
[B: For her visitors.]
One thing that Terezi didn't expect from her time as a war prisoner? Visitors.
The first time they take her out to meet someone, she's already bracing herself for another round of interrogation. The terror dissipates somewhat when they lead her to the cafeteria instead, seating her at one of the tables and leaving a single guard at her side. Her hands are mercifully left unshackled, and she decides that she doesn't want to test her luck by making a run for it. Sleep doesn't come easy in this place, and she's too exhausted to feel anything more than relief that her trip out here is for something so benign.
It doesn't take long for them to bring her visitor over to her.
What| Terezi is back in the last place she wants to be: The Capitol. Now that her true colors are clear, she has some explaining to do.
Where| The Detainment Center
When| Post-D12 Mission, following her death.
Warnings/Notes| Torture, violence, mentions of death, etc.
[A: For Quintus.]
Terezi doesn't honestly expect to wake again after her death in District 12, but it would seem that Panem isn't quite done with her yet. Dread is the first real emotion that she manages to process upon smelling the familiar crisp white scent of the detention facility. Dread at the realization that she's back in the Capitol and everything that entails; dread for the state that she left the Initiate in before she died. This is almost worse than being back on that meteor. Almost.
For a while, Terezi sits there behind the forcefield, listening for any familiar sounds or voices. A lot of the time, the hall is silent or nearly so. Her thoughts turn towards what lies ahead in her future. She tries not to think about about it, apart from piecing together what her story should be. Would they believe her if she said that she was forced into this? Probably not. She had more than enough chances to flee back to the Capitol, if that was her wish. No doubt someone saw her during the raid on the Victory Tour, too. Would it be better to tell the truth, then? Maybe. Not all of it, of course. If they knew everything she had done, she'd likely get a bullet in her head for her trouble. Talking to the enemy was generally frowned upon as well, but there were lesser things that she could confess--things that wouldn't get others killed, if and when they interrogated her.
Though, there was no if in her mind. She was a war prisoner. That was how these things went. The most she could hope for would be to buy enough time for someone to rescue her... if they even realized that she was alive.
They come for her, and she doesn't go quietly at first. It's not that she fights so much as she cowers back from the Peacekeepers sent to retrieve her, teeth and claws bared like an animal cornered against the wall. One of them grabs her wrist, and Terezi pulls back, lashing out with the claws of her other hand. Her resistance earns her a blow from the butt of the other's gun. She stumbles--but catches her balance. The first one still has a hold on her, and in her dazed state, he pulls her arms behind her back and locks them in a pair of cuffs. She gets another blow to her gut even after being restrained, doubling her over, and a shove towards the door that she barely stays on her feet for. The voices that yell at her to move don't sound familiar. She wonders if she should be grateful for that.
Reluctantly she allows them to drag her out of the room, shoulders hunched defensively as she fights the urge to bolt. She doesn't have anywhere to go even if she does get away, and she doesn't think she'll make it very far.
They lead her down a series of halls, twisting and turning in a way that makes it difficult to remember where she came from. Eventually, they stop at a plain metal door. It slides open, revealing an equally plain white room and a plain metal table. Her guards march her inside and shove her into a chair on the opposite side of the table, her arms pressed uncomfortably between her spine and the back of the chair. They take their places on either side of her, prepared to grab her the moment she tries to get up. And they wait.
Before long, another man comes into the room, and the next two hours are a blur. They start out simple enough. Questions, questions, and more questions. Most of the time, Terezi says she doesn't know, even if she does. Sometimes she says nothing at all. The questions give way to repercussions. The striking pain from the butt of those guns becomes a familiar counter to her responses. Her ears ring. Her head pounds. She clenches her fists to keep them from trembling and giving her away. Once they know you're afraid, it only gets worse from there.
Eventually, frustration gets the better of her interrogator. He steps outside for a few minutes, only to return with two more men carrying a basin of water. A sick feeling drops into the pit of her stomach. There's no hiding the way that she turns a shade paler when they set the basin in front of her.
Her resolve shatters. She tries to bolt for the door, only to feel someone grab her shoulder. That same someone kicks her legs out from under her, dropping her to her knees. She struggles desperately against the vice-like grip on her shoulders, but to no avail. Terezi barely has enough time to suck in a lungful of air before her head is shoved under the water. Panic locks around her chest and throat like a vice. Her skin crawls from the memory of her drowning. She wants to scream, but air is a precious commodity at the moment. She thrashes instead, trying to knock over either the men or the basin. Neither one budges.
Her lungs are burning when they pull her back up. She barely clears the water before sucking in a fresh breath, choking on the water streaming down her hair and her face. The man asks her another question. She tries to tell him that she doesn't know, but as the first few shaky words pass her lips, he barks one word: Again.
Over and over it goes. Each time feels longer than the last. Each struggle is just a little bit harder. It only takes a few minutes for her body to be exhausted from the terror, but the session keeps going. Her thoughts are frayed. Each question has her scrambling to remember what she had promised not to say. The thoughts slips away again with each submersion.
Her head is down again, her struggles getting weaker, when the door slides open again. She doesn't notice, but the other Peacekeepers do.
[B: For her visitors.]
One thing that Terezi didn't expect from her time as a war prisoner? Visitors.
The first time they take her out to meet someone, she's already bracing herself for another round of interrogation. The terror dissipates somewhat when they lead her to the cafeteria instead, seating her at one of the tables and leaving a single guard at her side. Her hands are mercifully left unshackled, and she decides that she doesn't want to test her luck by making a run for it. Sleep doesn't come easy in this place, and she's too exhausted to feel anything more than relief that her trip out here is for something so benign.
It doesn't take long for them to bring her visitor over to her.
no subject
"You're mad that she came to visit me." The pieces are starting to click into place. Meulin came to visit her--and now here is this guy, who claims to be her friend. Who demands to know why she thinks she's better than him. It makes her wonder if Meulin thinks that to. Did he try to warn her away? Did Meulin tell him no? There's a surge of emotion for the girl, regardless of whether that happened or not.
"You say that like you're the only one who cares about her. She's not a piece of property to scrap over." Not even if she hates the person sitting across from her. Not even if he doesn't deserve to be within fifty feet of Meulin.
no subject
But no, he isn't mad that Meulin came to visit her. That's Meulin, always wanting to give someone she cares about a second chance. He wouldn't expect anything different from her.
"Not mad about that. She makes her own choices."
There's a pause as he considers his next words carefully. He wants Meulin to be safe, but normally saying something like that in front of the guards is putting a weakness out on a silver platter with an invitation to use it, if they feel it's necessary - but this is different. There shouldn't be anything suspect about him telling a rebel prisoner that he doesn't want their mutual friend hurt by her.
"Don't want her hurt."
no subject
The answer that he gives isn't a very surprising one, but Terezi is still a little thrown by it. Don't want her hurt. Like murdering her friend wouldn't hurt her. Like fighting for the Capitol that she was fighting against wouldn't hurt her. Then again, Meulin seemed to be singing a different tune these days.
"You're a little late for that sentiment," she retorts dryly, sounding not at all impressed by his answer. But there's a pause after her remark. She knows there's something wrong with Meulin, and it pains her that she can't do anything to fix it. Whatever took Meulin's drive against the Capitol also took Terezi's credibility as well. She's lost and her resources are limited. What she has is Meulin's matesprit--likely already affected in the same manner, and... This man sitting across the table from her. That is basically it.
"There was something not right with her when she visited. Maybe she's sick; I don't know, but you should look into it." Some of the edge that she had a moment ago is lost. She's very aware of the guard standing nearby, so she can't outright say that Meulin's been parroting the Capitol more than usual--or that she seems a little zombie-like in her unwavering faith in Snow. But if Derek cares as much as he claims to, then maybe he'll figure it out.
But she still really, really hates it that he's her only option right now.
no subject
Then she says that there's something not right with Meulin, and that makes him go still. He's noticed, of course he has - they've lived together for too long now, and he's started to notice a difference in her behavior. The way her smiles look too close to Kurloz's sometimes, and after what he'd seen in Kurloz's dream, Derek has his suspicions.
But they're just suspicions. Nothing else. Another facet of the Capitol that Derek doesn't look too closely at it because even if he did there's nothing he can do about it.
"Not too late," he insists, but it's absent, as he thinks over the other part of what she said. He's good at making it seem as though he isn't thinking at all, as though his slow, half focused reply is all there is to him. "Why I'm out there."
He shouldn't make the connection. He isn't smart enough to make the connection, not as far as nearly anyone else is concerned. And he's been playing it extra safe since he got too caught up in the offworlder sickness, since he tried to help and went too far with that blood sample, let more people see a side of him he tried to hide than he wanted.
But the guards don't know there's a connection to be made. They're barely even listening, really; Derek's spent a long time cultivating an image that makes people disregard him. Derek shifts a little, like he's uncomfortable - he is uncomfortable - turning more away from the guards.
"Like Kurloz?"
no subject
"Yeah. A lot like Kurloz. She probably caught it from him." The concession is a hesitant one, and Terezi's even less inclined to offer anything further. But with limited resources, she tends to want to preserve what little advantage she has. So with no restraint in her reluctance, she adds: "You should watch out that you don't catch it, too."