[closed]

[ka_sera_sera]

Who| Roland Deschain and Firo Prochainezo
What| talking about sad things
Where| the detainment center
When| late february
Warnings/Notes| nothing really, mostly talk of death and war, etc

When he's not trying to keep his body in good condition - and there's something insulting about the fact that he has to, that becoming withered and weak and no longer being able to count on his body, the one thing which, through everything, he has always been able to depend on, is even a danger here, on top of everything else - Roland is trying to keep busy. Not much way to do that, in this place, but it's all he has. He sits in this prison's open rooms, where at least other prisoners can come and go, where there are people.

He doesn't pay much attention to them. Everyone he'd care to pay attention to is gone. Nearly everyone. He only needs them to be there, needs the guards to be there, too, a reminder. Something to keep him still.

Signless is still out there, somewhere. Alain is still out there. Alive and fighting. They might be, anyway. Doesn't help as much as he needs it to.

He takes apart those two mechanical fingers, sometimes, sets all the pieces out very neatly, cleans them, puts them back. The first time he'd taken them apart in this place with the dull, sorry excuses for tools which are all the guards will let him use, Signless had just returned. He'd needed the other man's hands to keep his own steady. Roland's hands are very steady, now.

Other times he sews. He doesn't need to. Roland hadn't thought, back before this Panem's rot had broken into real war, that he could give less of a shit about clothes than he did then. But the guards will let him use a needle, they will let him have thread, and so when the cogs and gears of those two fingers are as shining and clean as they are going to get he sews useless loops around the edges of the collar and sleeves and every edge he can find. Something to do.

Something to keep him busy, and he does it all with singleminded focus, with the sort of look about him that tends to make anyone passing take a second look at whatever's in his hand, trying to figure out what it is that's so important about thread or needle or splayed out metal bits of him. He pays no mind.

This does not mean he is not aware, of course. If he has nothing else, he has his instincts. He has always had those, and it would take more than even this long, slow sink into this mire of isolation and grief to convince him to abandon them. A part of him is aware of anyone entering whichever room he's in, will note it on the rare occasion that it is someone he cares to know. He'll look up, watch with an intent, steady focus, and if they pass by he will look back down at his hands and start them moving again. Something to do.

Comments

[foundafamily]

Matter of time? If Firo were more inclined to even entertain this notion, he might concede that he could definitely see how Roland--with his deadpan voice and disappointed frowns and blunt remarks--would be considered a bastard by some. Many, probably. But he doesn't go down that path of thought, instead stiffening with offense. Does Roland really think he thinks that? After all this time?

"I don't think you're a bastard. I don't have a problem with you--you're my friend."

Roland's different from Edward and Victor and all of them. And that's good enough for Firo.

[ka_sera_sera]

That requires a moment of study. Roland's smiling a little and looking surprised, too, because he is. It says something about him, something even Roland can figure, that this sentence feels so alien, and it probably says something about Firo, too, that he'd even say it. Or at least, that he'd say it to Roland. Ah, well. "You say that as if where one goes, the other must follow."

It's still very strange. "I've never had a friend say such a thing to me. Nevermind it. You'll understand some day."

"I used to hate hearing those words as a child," he adds, as it occurs to him. "Ought not have said it now, I guess. Some day is never any help with the here and now. Do you think so of all your friends, Firo? That you've no problem with them, so long as the two of you are friends?"

[foundafamily]

Firo blinks. "Well, maybe I'd call someone like Claire or Berga one if we're jokin' around... But not like that." 'That' being how he'd say it and mean it with real hatred for his law enforcement acquaintances. It's strange to him, too, because Roland's more a friend like Maiza to him--the kind you may joke around a bit with, but always respectfully.

Though he'd hesitate to call himself a child now, Firo does hate to hear about this supposed far-off understanding too. Indeed, he frowns right as Roland says those words. Yeah, like that's something he's never heard before. The retraction, though, is something he's never heard--no sarcasm here--so the look quickly softens.

"Nah, not exactly. Me and the Gandor brothers, we've been friends our whole lives, but we're in different Families. So we know we could have to kill each other one day if we go to war. But we've got an alliance now, so that's probably not gonna happen."

Now time for his questions, because he's pretty sure he's not the weird one in this matter. "Do all your friends say they hate you that much?"

[ka_sera_sera]

"It isn't about wanting to kill." Hm. This needs some work, following Firo's thought here. "Most of those who've loved me have been gunslingers. Most of them. Maybe that has something to do with it. But hatred doesn't always choke out love, Firo. The two can live in the same heart, for the same man. Or woman. Have you never felt so?"

[foundafamily]

Enjoy that skinny little elbow suddenly trying to jab you in your skinny little ribs, Roland. Though Firo finds it harder to maneuver when he's already pressed against him, he tries to make it work. “Oh, come on, your lectures aren’t bad enough to make me hate you.” He grins. He’s funny, right?

“Um, seriously, though, I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about. Shouldn’t all your gunslinger guys not hate you even more than anybody else?” It’s hard to say ‘love,’ especially when talking like this, but Firo thinks his point stands. Roland’s friends being his fellow gunslingers explains nothing; it just makes it more confusing.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland shifts automatically away from the jab, blinking down at Firo's elbow as if it surprises him. It does. It's pleased surprise, though, getting used to the gesture, a tease he hasn't had aimed at him in what feels like a fairly long time. Then he settles against Firo again and thinks, because here's another fact of life he hadn't really thought on until Firo hadn't understood it.

"I can't explain it, Firo. Not with words. Part of it is that the gunslingers were the ones who knew me best. But perhaps some men simply aren't capable of feeling that way even for one they know very well. Perhaps you're one of them." He shrugs. How to determine that for sure, after all? You don't. Not much point in worrying on it if they can't explain it to one another.

[foundafamily]

“What, so you’re sayin’ people are gonna hate you when they get to know you better? What the hell’s that say about you?”

Mostly a rhetorical question, because that’s not the message Firo’s interested in getting out right now. Yeah, that’s right, it’s time for Firo to try doing the lecturing for once. At least he fancies himself more direct than Roland’s typical methods.

He frowns and eyes Roland very seriously. “You shouldn’t hang out with people who don’t treat you right.” Firo has an idea about what hate is, and the actions it causes are the opposite of those caused by love and respect. Maybe that’s part of why they really can’t explain these things to each other, but he figures he should at least share that one important statement. For his friend.

[ka_sera_sera]

It's time for Roland to be surprised again. Firo's doing that a lot today. It's that serious tone that does it, the serious expression when he says the words. Roland gives the arm around Firo a brief squeeze, his expression warm, amused and appreciative. "Right, hm? What does that mean, precisely? Just how should I be looking for my friends to treat me?"

[foundafamily]

Obviously Firo has a latent gift for comedy, considering how funny Roland seems to find him. This might annoy him at other times, but right now he's just glad to see him looking not upset. Happy, maybe, if he can be so bold.

“Well, it’s…” How to explain? He’s never had to before, which he imagines wouldn’t surprise Roland if he told him so. “It’s mostly about watchin’ your back, and I know you said they did, but it’s more than that too.”

He thinks very hard for a few seconds. That’s a long time for Firo. “I can tell you what it’s not. When I hate people, I wanna pummel ‘em, and that’s definitely not how you treat a friend right. And even if you insult ‘em, you don’t really mean it like you would if you hated somebody. And you probably wouldn’t do it in front of other people, because that’s when you really need to back ‘em up.”

It’s so natural to him that it’s hard to describe. There are always exceptions and qualifiers to each piece of this puzzle, too, and he figures that’s probably too much to go into now. What it comes down to, really, is closing ranks around your own.

[ka_sera_sera]

"Aye, loyalty. That's important." Because Firo does have a point. It is. Especially in front of strangers. Roland's never met a gunslinger who didn't know that. "It's more complex than that. But I'll keep your words in mind, Firo."

"Hm," he says, looking down at the shirt in front of them. "Didn't do much sewing, did we? Don't happen to hate my shirt too, do you?" Because it sort of looks like Firo's been doing some of that pummeling on it.

[foundafamily]

Firo nods. It's always important--that just goes without saying. He can't think of what could make it more complex, but he supposes the question isn't that important anyway. All that matters is that Roland hopefully knows some of what is important now and that Firo is sure he will never ever genuinely call him a bastard.

Firo looks down at his handiwork. Or not-so-handy. He smiles, amused, and feigns offense with an exaggerated shrug. "Hey, you're the one who wanted to use it! You shoulda' been prepared for that when you said you'd teach me." He wonders if that thing can even be worn anymore, given the way he's messed with it. "...You could always save it for next time."

[ka_sera_sera]

Next time, hmm? Roland raises his eyebrows at Firo, thinking on Firo's discomfort with being touched too much, and on how close they sit now. He thinks on how much better he feels. Not well, certainly - Karkat is still dead, most of those he loves are gone, perhaps never to return again. He still must keep his mouth carefully closed and turn his eyes from every peacekeeper, every Capitolite who passes, as he has since he entered this place. It weighs on him. But maybe it weighs a little less, just now. He looks down at Firo, and smiles.

"Next time, then. I'd like that, Firo. I'd like that very much."