thecapitol | Closed

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Who| Roland Deschain and Firo Prochainezo
What| Friendly beratings
Where| Detention Center
When| After the D7 battle
Warnings/Notes| Talk of injury and gruesome death

Compared to all the ways he’s died before, Firo can’t deny that this most recent one was uniquely unpleasant. The memory comes in flashes of action and sensation, making it all the harder to block out the moment he realized he was cornered, the feeling of the saw suddenly biting into him. He’s felt a lot of pain in his life, but that’s definitely close to taking the cake.

What’s worse is the knowledge that he accomplished absolutely nothing for his troubles. Not that he wants to help the Capitol, but what exactly did he do for anyone? It’s not as if any of his friends would have been harmed if he’d retreated from that fight. It all comes down to simple pride—pride that now is pretty darn wounded by how humiliatingly he went out.

Firo spots Roland when he’s walking around in his first chance at free time since his revival. He’s flooded with relief—partly from the promise of distraction but mostly from the joy of seeing his friend alive and… well, only sort of okay. His eyes narrow as he notices the lack of ease in the man’s gait, but he still smiles as he approaches.

Pleasantly, he asks, “The hell happened to you?”

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"My head's as fine as it ever was. You don't need to worry about me, Firo." He thinks of Alain. Alain, who'd given him this limp the same day he'd watched Firo die. Alain, who kept his distance from Roland for fear of the same thing Firo's thinking of now. He'd kept himself from Roland for fear of hurting him, of breaking Roland's oh so fragile mind, and then Roland had lost him.

There was no way to keep Firo from seeing what he saw. It may be possible to keep Firo from thinking on it, though.

Roland isn't made of glass. He won't lose what closeness he has in this place because of it.

"And yourself? Are you getting angrier, too?"

Ever? It didn’t seem so fine before, but Firo imagines that was by far the exception rather than the rule. So that he’ll let slide. He’s not so sure about the second statement, both because he finds it natural to worry about his friends and because it sounds sort of close to something that Roland lectured him about before. Didn’t he say friends were supposed to be concerned about each other? He sighs, “Can’t make any promises there, but I’ll try not to nag you about it.”

Not too much, at least.

The honest answer or the proper one? Firo veers toward honest—after their conversations, he’s almost getting afraid not to. “How could I not be? Just when I think I can’t get more pissed off—” He shakes his head and throws up his hands. “I mean, not mad at any of you guys, but.” Everything else? That’s fair game.

He tosses a sidelong glance Roland’s way when he realizes that he actually didn’t get too much of an answer out of the man aside from another question. “Are you tryin’ to change the subject?”

"Hm." Roland feels the corners of his lips curl up again, amused again both at himself and at Firo. The boy won't let Roland get away with much, that much is clear, and Roland is glad of it. He's glad to have Firo beside him, glad that Firo is alive and that he is here. "Maybe a little."

He looks over the hallway in front of them, thinking on what to say, and realizes what he's actually doing is trying to think of excuses. None of that. He owes Firo more than that. "I'm not only angry, Firo. I'm afraid. My friend Alain, my dear friend, he knew about-"

Roland stops, stuck for a moment on wondering how to say this. It's difficult enough to let someone see that part of him, the part he can not will away, can not push through. The mind of a gunslinger ought to be whole, and he can not make his into anything other than what it is. To speak on it is a very difficult thing, a very painful thing, and Roland is not sure he has the words.

"He knows what you know. He's seen what you've seen. I last saw him the same day I saw you die. I haven't told that to anyone." It would have been shameful to tell Eowyn that his own grief for the man who'd died and the man who'd only left was the same, and there's been no one else to tell. Roland sets a hand briefly on the deep slice over his hip. "He gave me this. When we were still called tributes he saw- he saw my mind, and he was afraid. Of me, and for me. I suppose there was more sitting between us than just that, but all the same, I don't like the idea of you thinking too much on it. I'm still as strong and as well as I ever was. I'm still a gunslinger, even without my father's guns hanging on me."

"It may have been a distraction, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know how you are. Especially today, after that death of yours."

Firo readily smiles back, only for the cheer to slip away as he listens--afraid? How the hell can Roland be afraid? And hearing the story, he feels more guilty about how he’s been acting, especially at first; it makes sense that Roland would be so upset, having two friends slip away at once. He kind of just wants to shrink away in shame.

He resists that urge and shrugs as he gives his answer. "...Thanks. But, like I said, I'm okay. It's happened before." Not like that. But listing all the ways he's died before Panem probably isn't going to make Roland feel too great.

Something catches in his mind, though. Come on, Roland. Firo may be thinking-averse ("stupid" would've been his term, until a certain stork of a man prevented him from using it), but he can't hear something like that and not wonder about it. He doesn't do too much thinking before he opens his mouth again.

Puzzled, the question popping out without much consideration, "Why would he be afraid of you?" His hands rise cautiously, as if to ward off an attack. "...I mean, no offense."

Fear-inspiring is something desirable, in Firo's mind. But not to your friends. Even the friends who he knows could (and would, with proper reason) kill him are never people Firo'd think to be afraid of.

"None taken," says Roland, whose opinions on fear are nearly, though not quite, the same as Firo's. It's a valuable tool, when used the right way. Sometimes that 'right way' is against friends. Sometimes it isn't.

"He wouldn't be, not for his own safety. If it came down to that, he - at least, as we used to be - he would trust me to make the right choice. What I was, what I used to be, it isn't quite like your bosses, but I think it may be close, in some ways. I can't say what I was, back in the days when I was capable of being so. The word turns into mush and nonsense in my mouth. But Firo, imagine you're speaking to your boss, perhaps receiving orders, perhaps speaking on the past, it doesn't matter. But at a question that, to you, was perfectly innocent, your boss does - what you saw me do. He is as you found me. Would you not be afraid? Not for your own safety, but not entirely for his, either?"

Roland's frowning, looking pained. This is not an easy thing to talk about, and it is getting no easier with practice. "You aren't in the same place, thank the gods. Whatever gods made you loyal to your Family, rather than to me. "But can't you understand my own fears? It's pride too, of course it is, but if you see too much of that, I don't like to think on how you'll react."

Edited 2016-02-06 15:18 (UTC)

Just thinking on such a scenario scares Firo into feeling sick, as if the floor were rocking beneath him. He wants to protest that it would never happen, and he opens his mouth to do that. But he thinks a little more—just a few months ago he also would’ve told anyone who asked this question about Roland that it would never happen. But it did.

“Then…” He’s getting a message from this that doesn’t quite align with what Roland seems to be saying, but he feels it’s important nonetheless, so he's answering with utmost seriousness. It’s with a pang of shame that he realizes that he may have been going about this all wrong—should he have never asked? Should he have forgotten about it completely? It still doesn’t seem right, but he has to give his honest answer. “…then we’d have to make it like it never happened.”

If Don Molsa Martillo had such a room that haunted him, his capos would first raze it. Then they would methodically track down the architect, the builders, any financiers, and anyone those people may have told about it. They would torture and kill all of them. Firo doesn’t know what punishment he'd get for being the one to raise such memories--losing his tongue or head, maybe--but he would accept it willingly. The problem would then be gone, and they would act as if it had never existed.

Is that what Roland wants? Or is that the kind of reaction from his friends that he says he fears? The things a friend of his might fear?

"Would you? Alright. Very different from your Family already, the way mine used to do things. We may not speak on it much but to deny it altogether - no. No need to pile cowardice onto shame. Not that I mean to speak on your own loyalties at all - I'm sorry, Firo. I cry your pardon."

Roland bows his head for a couple seconds, rubbing at his jaw. He knows how sensitive Firo can be when it comes to the lords he serves. He knows, and yet he still said that without thinking. Roland is tired, he knows that he is tired, and he knows that is not good enough because tired is what this place makes you and he does not anticipate feeling well rested or settled or whole any time soon. He says none of this, because it does not matter; it's true, but it is an excuse, and not a good one. He will, though, if he has to. He raises his face, watching Firo carefully to see whether he does.

Roland is correct, of course. Firo barely hears the request for his pardon, because forgiveness always floats far away from his mind at these times. His hand moves down to his waist, where he would keep his knife if he had it. It’s not a conscious movement, and it’s only when his mind stops reeling and starts wondering why the hell Roland’s talking like this that he stops. Which isn't to say that he's relaxing at all, but he recalls how this went down last time--it hadn't been an honest insult worthy of the usual penalty.

“Cowardice?” Is he crazy? What’s the alternative? Talking about it? For what? If Firo had to pick one, he’d call that cowardice. …He’s just couldn’t really explain the reasoning for that.

He straightens his back and settles his voice into a growl. “Mind tellin’ me how takin’ care of the problem is cowardice?”

There’s no other way to deal with these things, as far as he’s concerned.

Roland does not miss the movement of Firo's hand. He barely even looks at it, but he doesn't miss it. He sighs.

"Firo, how your lords deal with their problems is their business, and none of mine. But if it were me, in the days of Gilead, or perhaps my father - aye, it'd be seen as cowardice, if we tried to hide it and were found out. Taking care of a problem is one thing, Firo. To try and pretend a thing never happened at all, well. It's strange to think on this, on the days there were people to hide something like this from. A gunslinger so afflicted, hm, his reputation would never recover, I don't think, no matter what he chose. Some might even decide to take his guns. But trying to deny it was happening altogether would've had anyone branded a coward for sure."

"But Firo, I don't care what your lord- your Family does. It doesn't concern me, and I don't expect it ever will. What concerns me is us, here, and what you think of me. If you're going to try and draw your weapon on me every time my mouth moves faster than my head - not a problem I ever expected to have, but nor do I expect it to go away any time soon - the two of us might be in for some problems." He closes his eyes for a couple steps, takes a slow breath and presses the heel of his hand down near the muscles around his injury. He's still walking but he's waiting, too, listening for Firo and waiting for him.

"That's the point. If nobody knows, they can't use it against you." His tone is impatient, some of the desperation coming through. Not only to defend his bosses like a good capo should, but because he fears Roland not knowing this. Openness makes you vulnerable, and he doesn't want that for any friend. The only consolation is knowing firsthand how tough the man is, but evidently it's not enough if the Capitol could so rattle him.

He wants to point out that the fact that he only got part of the way to his imaginary knife is actually a good sign--faced with someone he didn't hold in such high regard, he would've hurled himself at them immediately.

Somehow, he realizes that may not be the best way to answer.

He lets his hand drop and trails a pace after Roland, once again fighting the urge to hunker down that has so often struck him in their friendship. He's feeling ashamed on two levels now--ashamed for hurting a friend and ashamed that he'd even consider caring about someone who insults the Family. But he does, and he can't stop that.

He starts thinking out loud, and what comes out isn't what he'd planned. "...Just because you're not one of my bosses doesn't mean I don't respect you." He shakes his head roughly. That's probably not important, is it? The first thing he should probably do is find out if this is Roland's roundabout way of telling him to fuck off. "So what do you want?"

Roland blinks and looks over at Firo with a tired but genuine smile. Firo may not think his declaration of respect means much, but Roland does. He looks back ahead of him when Firo changes the subject, thinking. "First I suppose I'd like you to understand, I don't mean to declare my every- my weakness, for that's what it is, isn't it? I don't mean to declare my every weakness to anyone who'd listen. In fact I was hoping, if I spoke on it seldom enough, the Capitol's men wouldn't see it."

It's clear how well that turned out. Roland doesn't bother to say so, it's clear to both of them.

"I want quite a few things, most of them far out of my power, or yours. But so far as you're concerned? I want to keep you, Firo. I'd like to keep your regard - your respect - so long as I'm able. Is that possible, do you think?"

Smiling is promising, Firo thinks, if shocking. He just stares back, too surprised and still too worried to return the look until he knows where it's coming from.

"...Okay." He's comforted by that, chastened just a bit too. Perhaps he should have let the subject of Roland's hurt lie from the beginning.

He blinks. His respect is something he keeps in very closed, stingy hands. Still, it's not as if it's a treasure many are vying for. "You--?" Not what he expected, but in a wholly pleasant way. It leaves him unsteady and searching for words. "I-if that's what you really want... You can have it."

It's horribly confusing to have to juggle these feelings with thoughts of what could happen at another perceived insult against the Martillos, which he has to do if he's going to be honest. How he feels personally will always come after his loyalty to the Family, so they can be separate things, and so then he's allowed to feel however he wants about Roland, right? He wants that to be right. Badly.

"It is. Thank you, Firo." Roland looks over again to study the boy, pressing his hand against his hip again as he slows, then stops to lean back against a bare piece of wall. "I hadn't expected that to be so surprising. That's what I've been saying all along, isn't it?"

Roland sighs a little and shakes his head, focusing his thoughts deliberately. If he wants the right answers, he ought first to be asking the right questions. "Are we speaking at cross-purposes, Firo? What is it you think I've been saying?"

His tone is not short, although the words themselves might sound it. That they might doesn't occur to him. He is only curious, very faintly concerned, and, of course, tired. Tired, but still quick enough, just yet.

Edited 2016-02-14 01:05 (UTC)

Firo stops when Roland does, looking at him questioningly. He hadn't expected there to be more, especially not something that they have to stop for--though maybe it's just the leg troubling him.

He considers denying it, but opts not to. What if all that does is get him another disappointed Roland face? "...No, that's not really what I got out of it."

What was he getting? That's another question he wants to shrug off, because he's not completely sure. He just took everything Roland said at face value, so shouldn't it be obvious what he got?

...Then again, he has to admit that he may have been reading into some things. He toys with the collar of his shirt, laughing a tad awkwardly. "I don't know about the rest, but just now I was wonderin' if you were tryin' to tell me to get lost."

It's a bit funny looking back--he can think so now, knowing that the worry was unfounded.

"And now you know better." It's not a question, because Firo obviously does. Roland thinks about it, and decides they've talked about all they need to. "Now go on, Firo, see whoever you need to see. I'll take a rest here for a while. And I'll be seeing you again."

At this, Roland gives Firo a look. He'd better.

He does, and he reflects that it can feel good to learn from a conversation so long as it's stuff like this.

Amazing what not bottling everything will do for you. There's a revelation to chew on.

"You will," he nods firmly, still smiling despite the serious matter. He'll do his best to stick around, and this agreement means that Roland, too, has to take care of himself until next time.

With that, he takes off down the hall, less full of trepidation than before.

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