The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-06-26 03:41 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2014-06-26 03:41 pm
Entry tags:
I'm becoming less defined as days go by
Who| Initiate and Terezi, Initiate and Homura, Initiate and Mordin and Terezi
What| The blind leads the blind, the Initiate puts his power to use, and then he is put down.
Where| Along the streets, then in the amusement park.
When| This week.
WARNINGS| Eye trauma, body horror (becoming a zombie), Violence, death, dissection for science! Language.
[Terezi:]
He stumbles through the street. Or he imagines it to be. He's listening close for the sound his feet make, a tap of concrete and the drag of gravel with his twisted leg. He can feel blood flow over his face. His paint is being washed away by his own traitorous hue. Between what's been done to his ocularspheres, his leg and his ribs, and the ache deep inside too much like... too much motherfucking hunger, it's hard not to make noise. His breath is too loud, his pusher beats too loud, every step and every noise is too motherfucking loud, how the fuck is he supposed to hear what's coming.
This is how his death will come to him. He won't be able to find what's a way to sink weapon or what will leave him with lost limb. He's just gonna die like that. Truth told, he's not too bothered by that last bit. He doesn't want to live blind, he can't live blind, not if he has a choice in the matter. He can die and Capitol will give him his sight back.
But fuck them if he's just meant to lay down for it. Fuck that, he's done with that, he ain't ever going to that shit. So he drags himself along, hands rising every so often to hover before his face, then drop again. But for some reason, some stupid ass reason, no beast comes. No tribute, no nothing. He could be walking off the cliff and would he know it?
He stops. And then from his throat rips a scream, pain and frustration all mixed up within. It echos out. Silence returns.
[Terezi - Hellarena start:]
The hunger don't stop. It just keeps going and going no matter what, distant and far as the dark blanks of his vision. But when the alarm sounded, it got sharper. He slammed his hands violently over his ears and snarled and hissed. His hands slid down to his arms to dig in until he could feel the blood. It felt like forever until finally stopped, longer still for his ears to stop ringing. And by then, he'd already pierced grey and torn flesh, leaving something... different underneath but it ain't muscle, however wet it feels. It ain't quite just blood.
By now he'd be of want to let out a purely miserable moan. But something good comes. He rises properly up to his feet, feeling out the way before him in the dark, because there in it, is a spark. It's something he can hold and feel and see. He tugs a little rougher on it than needed, on his way all finding her but he can't hardly help himself. He can feel people all over the arena, every single one what's left. There are colors and pictures in his minds eye.
She ain't even far. She probably just stood and walked around from where he's settled inside the (he assumes it's for games, there's a lot of softness about) booth. He can use his words but he's deep in the voodoo he calls out through it, speaking to her; TEREZI.
His voice is different this way. There's a loudness and softness layered, both warped and distorted. There are thousand echoing voices backed behind it. And there's his own, set clearest on top.
[Homura:]
He feels her coming from some ways off, another spark in the dark. He reaches out with fear and voodoo, slow and careful but not hesitant. He draws at her fear, trying to taste the flavor and shades. He makes all to map, real slow, who it is this might be. And of course, he commits it to memory. He won't forget whose fear this belongs to anymore than the fear itself.
He lets his voodoo touch and prod at her fear, not even trying to make like he ain't doing so. No. He's letting it be clear at least that someone is reaching out to her.
And then he grips it tight and tugs. The suggestion is unspoken but clear; Come to me. This way.
[Mordin:]
His skin is falling away, he feels it. A few hours ago, he's pretty sure he pulled out some of his hair. Just up and came like all it was nothing, a big motherfucking chunk of it. He lost a fang only to find there weren't any missing, he checked every inch of his aching jaw. He spent a small age snarling at what was probably a wall but maybe there was a camera there (probably, they were everywhere), draging his claws through the air and down his arms, screaming at how stupid they all were and how stupid this was and fuck you FUCK YOU-- until he remembered Terezi would still be near and that that mattered.
He's gotten bored and prodded at people's fears, poking and pushing. He's drawn all the color from them to paint the inside of his head. He's started painting them all dead, because it's funny and he's bored and he needs it. Every so often a laugh slips from him. Or a snarl.
But his body is tired and his mind is tired. His vision is still black and so it ain't easy to tell when all he starts to slip, if he's slipped at all or if he's in some half-state. It must be something though because he doesn't feel the person coming.
What| The blind leads the blind, the Initiate puts his power to use, and then he is put down.
Where| Along the streets, then in the amusement park.
When| This week.
WARNINGS| Eye trauma, body horror (becoming a zombie), Violence, death, dissection for science! Language.
[Terezi:]
He stumbles through the street. Or he imagines it to be. He's listening close for the sound his feet make, a tap of concrete and the drag of gravel with his twisted leg. He can feel blood flow over his face. His paint is being washed away by his own traitorous hue. Between what's been done to his ocularspheres, his leg and his ribs, and the ache deep inside too much like... too much motherfucking hunger, it's hard not to make noise. His breath is too loud, his pusher beats too loud, every step and every noise is too motherfucking loud, how the fuck is he supposed to hear what's coming.
This is how his death will come to him. He won't be able to find what's a way to sink weapon or what will leave him with lost limb. He's just gonna die like that. Truth told, he's not too bothered by that last bit. He doesn't want to live blind, he can't live blind, not if he has a choice in the matter. He can die and Capitol will give him his sight back.
But fuck them if he's just meant to lay down for it. Fuck that, he's done with that, he ain't ever going to that shit. So he drags himself along, hands rising every so often to hover before his face, then drop again. But for some reason, some stupid ass reason, no beast comes. No tribute, no nothing. He could be walking off the cliff and would he know it?
He stops. And then from his throat rips a scream, pain and frustration all mixed up within. It echos out. Silence returns.
[Terezi - Hellarena start:]
The hunger don't stop. It just keeps going and going no matter what, distant and far as the dark blanks of his vision. But when the alarm sounded, it got sharper. He slammed his hands violently over his ears and snarled and hissed. His hands slid down to his arms to dig in until he could feel the blood. It felt like forever until finally stopped, longer still for his ears to stop ringing. And by then, he'd already pierced grey and torn flesh, leaving something... different underneath but it ain't muscle, however wet it feels. It ain't quite just blood.
By now he'd be of want to let out a purely miserable moan. But something good comes. He rises properly up to his feet, feeling out the way before him in the dark, because there in it, is a spark. It's something he can hold and feel and see. He tugs a little rougher on it than needed, on his way all finding her but he can't hardly help himself. He can feel people all over the arena, every single one what's left. There are colors and pictures in his minds eye.
She ain't even far. She probably just stood and walked around from where he's settled inside the (he assumes it's for games, there's a lot of softness about) booth. He can use his words but he's deep in the voodoo he calls out through it, speaking to her; TEREZI.
His voice is different this way. There's a loudness and softness layered, both warped and distorted. There are thousand echoing voices backed behind it. And there's his own, set clearest on top.
[Homura:]
He feels her coming from some ways off, another spark in the dark. He reaches out with fear and voodoo, slow and careful but not hesitant. He draws at her fear, trying to taste the flavor and shades. He makes all to map, real slow, who it is this might be. And of course, he commits it to memory. He won't forget whose fear this belongs to anymore than the fear itself.
He lets his voodoo touch and prod at her fear, not even trying to make like he ain't doing so. No. He's letting it be clear at least that someone is reaching out to her.
And then he grips it tight and tugs. The suggestion is unspoken but clear; Come to me. This way.
[Mordin:]
His skin is falling away, he feels it. A few hours ago, he's pretty sure he pulled out some of his hair. Just up and came like all it was nothing, a big motherfucking chunk of it. He lost a fang only to find there weren't any missing, he checked every inch of his aching jaw. He spent a small age snarling at what was probably a wall but maybe there was a camera there (probably, they were everywhere), draging his claws through the air and down his arms, screaming at how stupid they all were and how stupid this was and fuck you FUCK YOU-- until he remembered Terezi would still be near and that that mattered.
He's gotten bored and prodded at people's fears, poking and pushing. He's drawn all the color from them to paint the inside of his head. He's started painting them all dead, because it's funny and he's bored and he needs it. Every so often a laugh slips from him. Or a snarl.
But his body is tired and his mind is tired. His vision is still black and so it ain't easy to tell when all he starts to slip, if he's slipped at all or if he's in some half-state. It must be something though because he doesn't feel the person coming.
tw: body horror
Then she began to sweat. The sirens wailed. Her own eyes widened as her skin began to very noticeably peel like molded wallpaper. A sudden flash of hunger, unlike anything she'd felt before. More potent than that when she was eating the fruit.
The fruit. It had been poisoned. Damnit, what a fool she was. The more she had eaten, the more she'd sealed her own fate, even as she refused to allow herself to feel such hunger, or to acknowledge that eating the fruit wasn't doing anything anymore, only making it worse.
But she could handle those things. She assured herself she could. No matter what she became, she'd still maintain control.
Then Madoka came alive. Not in the way Homura had wanted; and she'd known something like this would happen, but...it hurt. Madoka taking a bite into the newly-shed skin on her arm didn't help things, either. It was a small bite, but sensitive, painful.
She...she had to stop this. She promised the moment the doll acted up, she'd end it, didn't she? Madoka - this fake - it was going to kill her in her deteriorating state, at this point. But she couldn't lash out, no matter the overwhelming desire to do so. To rip and tear Madoka apart. Madoka...she deserved better. She had to. Homura has to stop thinking like an animal, even while she fell apart and if Madoka hadn't come she never would have had to eat those damn--
That was when she felt the pull and squeeze.
Her voice is shaking in her mind as she stumbled forward, at last transforming.
I'm coming.
He could help, somehow. Somehow.
Re: tw: body horror
Some of them are familiar things and some of those familiar things he does hold close, while others he tosses away, dirt over the shoulder. But there's something more what catches his attention, not an addition, but a lack. Her fear tells him she's coming. Her fear tells him she is being followed.
But the fear of the follower? It's muted. Mute and off and all kinds of wrong. It almost don't feel real. Nearly doesn't feel like anything at all. That bothers deeply. His eyes would widen if it didn't make the sockets ache in their emptiness.
He guides her in his direction anyway, pulling her a long like she's on the other end of a string or rope. His good sense is too far gone. Until then, he maps her. He "sees" pink, feels it. He feels a bite and he feels a pull in opposing directions (Messiahs, Messiahs). He knows what all to expect when she comes.
And when she gets there, he sits on the outside ledge of a game booth, hands extending out and palms skyward.
HELLO WICKED SISTERS SWEET. THE PINK AND INDIGO OF THE WORLDS. OF THE EYES OF VOODOO WHEN VOODOO HAS FOR THE EYES. SERVING, SERVING, SO DEVOTED. HE UNDERSTANDS.
Re: tw: body horror
"Fraysong Intiate," she finally gasped as she at last came to him, was in his vicinity to speak as opposed to speak. "The fruit..."
Re: tw: body horror
"POISONED," He states aloud. "And now we are reduced to beasts and daywalkers. HE ALWAYS GOT ASSUMING HE'D ACTUALLY HAVE TO BE DEAD BEFORE HE BECAME A MOTHERFUCKING DAYWALKER. But miracles do prevail." He laughs, a choked, hacking sound.
He continues to speak in that same airy, half-there manner. "YOU ARE HUNTED BY YOUR BELOVED. But do you know, wicked sister? YOU ARE NOT. Their blood is false. HIS DEAR BOY, HIS POOR DESCENDANT DARLING. He was of blood all wrong, all of rot. LIKE YOU. Like me. BUT HE WAS NOT OF WHO HE WAS. Your girl is going to suffer, changing as to what she is. EVEN WHEN AS SHE AIN'T BEING YOUR GIRL. Not your girl, though she thieves her face. WOULD YOU LIKE FOR HIM TO SPARE YOU THE DUTY? Come to him, girl, stand and rest by his side."
His hands are still there, extended. He still sits patient, legs folded.
"UNTO US HAS BEEN GIVEN THE WICKED UNMERCIES. But we are not so gone we cannot give, no? WON'T YOU BE HIS EYES FOR NOW, MY INDIGO SISTER? Let him see your princess."
(meeting)
It takes her a while to find the source. Being a good distance away means that she can't pinpoint where the sound came from. Somewhere in the town, that's all she knows. But once she's closer, she manages to find what she's searching for anyway.
She stumbles onto him by accident, really. Aimlessly wandering the vicinity, trying to ignore the painful gnawing of her stomach and a hazy feeling in her head. The result of her brief consumption of the fruit in the orchards--and her subsequent decision not to eat any of the food lying around again. When she finds him, she stops in the middle of the street, trying to figure out if she's happy or worried or something else entirely.
She almost calls out to him by name, but stops herself at the last sec. This is publicized... The least she can do is not use his name so openly like that. Instead, she calls out with a quiet "Fraysong", what she hopes is just loud enough for him to hear--and no one or nothing else.
Re: (meeting)
"Terezi? PYROPE?" He calls, voice somewhat hoarse. He takes another few steps- his one leg dragging- in what he hopes is the right direction, somewhere she will... not see him. Whatever it is she can do. Something what he can't. They're both blind now but of the two of them, she's better off.
It may be too good to be true. Could be a trick. In a ragged tone, he growls, "If that ain't you, sister..." He starts reaching for the pickaxe he can feel at his waist, held on by the jacket tied around him.
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She smells the blood and the way he limps and the way that he doesn't look in her direction when he speaks. It's somewhere else, up and behind her--at least that's as much as she can tell from her own blindness.
"What happened to you?"
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"OH RIGHTEOUS LEGISISTER, YOU AIN'T EVEN GOING TO BELIEVE. The things what have got happening. THE MOTHERFUCKING HAPPENSTANCES WHAT ALL HAVE COME UNTO HE." His hands drop down. "Would he count up all as one of your blind prophets now, sister? FOR SUCH ALL WOULD HE BE OF THE COUNTING?"
He starts to move again, trying to find her by the sound of her voice. "Got stuck between stone and place inflexible. AND MET SOMETHING WHAT ALL HE THINKS AS TO BE A DEMONESS'S NEEDLES. Only she got on being golden haired. SHE TOOK HIS EYES. He gave leg and ribs to the stone. A FAIR TRADE. A trade motherfucking fair. OH SISTER, HE HAS SPILLED SO MUCH BLOOD." He's still trying to go to her, rambling now. "Saw Serket. STILL AIN'T GOT A CLUE, SHE. So funny it all is..." He reaches a hand out, trying to feel the air before him.
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She does listen to his words, though, and she finds them rather odd. A golden-haired demoness with needles? Her first thought is rose, but that can't be right. Rose isn't here. She might have dwelt on it more, if not for the mention of Vriska right after.
"What happened? With you and Vriska? Did she attack you?" She wouldn't put it past her sister, to be honest... Or maybe she was smart enough not to try it. Who knows.
Even as she waits for an answer, she starts surveying the area, looking for some shelter that she can led him to. She would be able to help him better there than out in the middle of the street.
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He tries shaking his head for a second before the pain makes him hiss and turn his head down. Blood drips from empty sockets to the ground below.
"NAW," He tries again. "No, she got on having the pan in her for that. JUST TALKED, WE. She won't harm. SWORE. If she breaks it he gets to break her. TO SO MANY BITTY LITTLE MOTHERFUCKING PIECES WILL A BLISTER SISTER BE BROKEN." He laughs again. Then abruptly stops. "Nothing up and got happenstance. CHILL AS MOTHERFUCKING CHILL, SISTER. She don't know who he is but she got a sense of her what all he can up and do. AND HE DIDN'T HURT HER NONE." Which she knows she wants, even if she don't say. Even if all she makes like to distance herself from the Serket.
His mind strays. "You ever see so many damn daywalkers in your life, sister? GOD DAMN. There are so many up in this, so fucking many..." Focus. Focus! "YOU AIN'T HURT ARE YOU? Tell truth. HE AIN'T LOOKED. Didn't figure to tangle to the tortures. MALODIOUS MELODIOUS MISFORTUNATES. Has she been well e-motherfucking-nough?"
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At least she won't have to worry about Fraysong. Or Vriska. She tries not to look relieved before she realizes that he wouldn't be able to see it anyway. It's weird being around another blind person... Normally she's the one throwing everyone else for a loop.
"Do you need help? I can patch you up, find us some place to stay." Take care of him, like he took care of her in the last arena when she came to him injured and bleeding. A free hand goes to his face, very carefully brushing some of the blood away. Cool indigo coats her fingertips. It's a little gruesome, but nothing that she hasn't been accustomed to herself. Eye injuries and blood.
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He's about to speak when he feels her touch on his face. It startles him and he nearly jerks away. But ultimately, it's something in the dark and with his free hand he reaches up, his head lifting again as he tries to get a sense of his world.
"SHE CAN PATCH SIGHT? A miracle. A MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLE WORKER IS SHE," He teases, unhinged. But then his face smoothes again and his head rests into her hand just that slight bit. He says softer, "He should like to motherfucking rest, dear ashleaf."
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Dear ashleaf. She does blush this time, right into the tips of her ears. For one brief selfish moment, she's glad that he can't see her.
It sounds so elegant when he says it, and she doesn't know what to say back. Everything that she tries to think of sounds lame or insincere in the wake of that endearment. So she doesn't say anything at all as a response. She takes his hand instead, like she remembers him doing before, and she places a kiss against his palm. A promise to protect him and keep him safe.
"I'll find us someplace." She almost says safe, but there's no such thing here. The most they could hope for is a few hours of peace somewhere that's not entirely uncomfortable. "You can rest, then."
no subject
After a good few moments quiet, his mouth tugs up at one side. A smile all crooked and unfortunate looking with the pain all so close to it. But still a smile.
"BITCHTITS," He says, with that crooked grin.
(Hellrena start)
He needs food, she thinks. They both do, and so she's out scavenging. Not for any of the rations lying in the stalls, but for something left behind. A forgotten parachute, a sack abandoned during pursuit. Anything.
That's when it begins again, the world shifting around them into rot and decay. The smell of death flares up in front of her nose, and she would be horrified if not for the knowledge of the other things that come. Like clockwork, everything is clearer in her head. Not less feverish or tense, but she sees out into the distance of the future and breathes a sigh of relief. There's nothing good out there, but at least it's back. At least she can See.
At the same moment, she feels...almost like a tug in her chest. A feeling that makes her fingers curl and dig into her palms. It's an uneasy and uncomfortable addition to the heat. A sharper tug of panic, and she realizes where it's coming from--almost at the same time that she hears his voice in her thoughts.
She spins around, and he might feel a brief spike among all the worries she has about this arena--a concern for him, for his health and his safety. But it dies down again to settle among the others as she catches his scent in the carnival booth she left him in.
She moves back to him, closing the distance in order to speak without having to call across the thoroughfare. "Was that you?" she asks.
Re: (Hellrena start)
Not with that fear in her that makes his breath catch. It's almost touching. He laughs a little off-note at it all. How sweet. Sweet, kind, sister. Precious ash leaf. He shakes his head to focus. But before she can confuse it...
HIM AND HE, ME AND WE. YOU AND US AND MOTHERFUCKING ALL. WON'T MAKE TO TOUCH MORE, HE PROMISES. WON'T HURT. WON'T LET NO ONE TOUCH.
With her back, he starts to settle back down. His head rolls and sways slowly from side to side. There's a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth. Even though his body aches and his skin is rotting off him and he wouldn't be surprised if his insides were too.
PREFER THE TALK WITHOUT THE LISTEN.
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Can you hear my thoughts, too? she asks, thinking forcefully in his direction. Talk without the listen... She doesn't exactly know how voodoo works, if he'll be able to hear her thoughts in return. Just in case, she responds verbally as well.
"Does it work both ways?"
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NO.
He doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't need to give the Capitol no benefit more than he has. Let them squirm. Unless he mentioned already? He can't remember right now. He doesn't care no more. Not while his body whithers and becomes what it ain't meant. Rotting on his bones as to turn to the unholy.
FEELING, PICTURES, MOTHERFUCKING IMPRESSIONS. CAN SENSE AND MAP THE PATHS WHERE ALL FEAR WINDS. BUT HE CANNOT HEAR SO CLEAR AS THAT FOR THAT IS NOT AS PART OF THE MIRTHFUL GIFT. NOT ENOUGH FEAR FOR SOMETHING LIKE THAT UNBREAKING LEST A SISTER HAD ABILITY THE SAME.
IF SHE FEARED A NOISE HE COULD HEAR IT. IF SHE FEARED A WORD HE COULD KNOW IT. BUT NO MORE. AFRAID INTERROGATION WOULD BE TOO EASY LIKE THAT.
He laughs out loud. It sounds strangled. He accidentally lets a flicker of image, an old interrogation scene, pass through from him to her. But he snatches it back before she can catch more than a shadow over an injured maroon, before she can even catch that if she ain't quick. A note of apology rolls in its place but doesn't quite make it to forming a word.
LESS BEING ABOUT ANOTHER'S HEAD. MORE WHAT ALL GETS MADE OF VOODOO MEETING FEAR. GETS ON MEETING AND MAKING OF A MIRACLE. CAN ONLY TASTE THE DARK PARTS.
He pauses. Then;
FELT A SISTER'S WORRY. SHE AIN'T NEED TO, DON'T YOU KNOW? AIN'T NEED FOR THE HAVING OF THAT, SISTER.
He smiles, just a small little bit. Maybe he should tilt his head up for it. Can she smell it? He never really understood what it was she did.
no subject
For a brief moment, she recalls Dave and her worry that he won't make it back. It bleeds into her worry for Fraysong again--and her fear of being alone. It takes only a few seconds to cycle through before she tamps down on those thoughts. He must be able to feel those, and a new worry surfaces over that.
It's a frustrating endless cycle. Like trying not to think about how a mind reader is reading your thoughts.
In an effect to break that cycle, she focuses on other worries: Their visitors and their sudden painful separation from them. Are they still alive? Are they being kept somewhere? She doesn't know.
no subject
But then she draws up loved ones, visitors, and he flinches with his whole body. Images slip past in quick succession; The red hair of Sigma's matesprit, a terrible howl, Sigma dying, Gamzee snarling then not, holding a dead boy close (the one good thing, the one thing done right, real family, a legacy, a broken leg and whole arena wasted trying to save a corpse) before tearing the head free, praying before a row of-- He stops it.
He pulls back. Right the fuck back. The "sight" voodoo grants shuts down and the world is black and he is simply inside himself. And he stays there within. It ain't normal to slip like this. Something is wrong if all he's slipping like this. He's got way more control than what is of him now.
It is a long time before he reaches out again and then when he does it is with the barest touch.
MAY ALL HAVE TRIED FOR THE CULLING UPON YOUR...
His words trail. There's only the ghost of what should be there, an impression in vague senses. Friend-brother-person-love? It all just sort of floats there.
DIDN'T. But not because he knew, obviously, or because he liked the fucker. Just chance and luck. He pauses.
CULLED THE DISCIPLE. In more images, There she is screaming and burning as he fails to stop a wound. There's a fear, a wonder, if Terezi might go because of that. Or maybe she could cull him now. He doesn't care, he's got no more to fight for this round, he just doesn't want to do it himself. As long as she doesn't leave him.
"...broke the promise," He croaks in a voice that hardly passes for a whisper.
TRIED NOT TO. He wouldn't look at her now if he could.
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"Sorry," she says quietly, under her breath. She lets him keep going, trying to keep a handle on her emotions. But it's an ultimately futile effort, especially when he mentions Meulin.
Her breath catches, her fingers curling a little. Those images... She feels sick. Meulin... Her Meulin. "My moirail..." She doesn't realize for a second that she spoke aloud, but when she does, she hurries on: "She was... Her and I, we're..."
She doesn't know how to say it, but he has to understand what she's trying to convey. What Meulin meant to her. He must be able to feel her fear, at least. That sudden worry and uncertainty over her fate--whether or not she made it back to the Capitol. But she's not angry, not at him.
"You tried, right?" She tries to smile and only manages a grimace tinged with sick humor. "That's... That's enough. You did what you could. She'll be okay now, when we go back." As okay as any of them can be, she hopes. She tries to See into the future, but it's vague and hazy as always. There's something profoundly sad waiting for them all, but what that something is, she doesn't know. But Meulin is there in most of her visions, comforting her, so her disappearance isn't the problem.
"The other one, he... was my matesprit." That one is also difficult to admit, but for different reasons. "Our...Thing. Ended somewhere in my future and his past." Friend, brother, lover... She's not sure exactly what to call him, either,and that troubles her. Her relationships seem to be so emotionally messy and undefined lately, and she's not exactly sure how they got that way.
no subject
He doesn't know why she apologizes then. It was a fair thing of her to fear. It isn't as if it was hard to fear him. Nevermind things he did in fact do, in the case of Karkat, or could have, in case of this other person of hers. He might not have responded to it more than a headshake, but there's no time for even that.
The words hit and he would be staring at her wide-eyed if he only could. As it is, he is at least somewhat slack-jawed. His shoulders droop right then because he knows, he knows Terezi will leave now. He can hear in her voice, as she tries to pretend it's alright. Maybe she'll leave while he sleeps next. He'll just have to wait until then.
And then it turns out he nearly splattered her ex. Mirth. Fuck. Guess he wasn't the first one to date a human. Although technically he was from the past, and she, the future so maybe... not the point of all this.
HE THREW STONE AT ME. WHY DO YOU GET ON CLOSENESS WITH EVERYONE WHAT ALL STRIFE IS WISHED? The joke is half-assed. He doesn't expect it will help. Nevertheless.
SO YOU AND DISCIPLE... MAKES SENSE. He can't sense anger. Maybe if enough of it tinged the fear but not in this case. Or maybe he just has his doubts, especially swimming in fear as he does. He doesn't notice when she tries to smile. She really shouldn't bother.
He turns his hand over, reaching slightly out with open palm. An invitation that could easily be ignored.
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She smells the hand reached out to her. She doesn't reach back just yet. She's still unsettled, she still has her doubts. Her thoughts drift back to the last conversation she witnessed between them: her failed attempt to get them to draw together. And she worries that he might not tell her the whole truth.
It's terrible and it's unfair. She doesn't want to doubt him, but her head feels weird in the heat of the arena, and his fear picking at her thoughts make her nervous.
"You tried," she says again. "You tried to help her, right? She was hurt, and... You could have left her and walked away. Or you could have picked her off. But you didn't..." She pauses, her attention fixed on his extended hand. "...Why?"
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"COULD'VE LEFT HER IN THE TREES. She would all have bled out as barkbeast bait. SHE WOULD BE DEAD IN THE HOUR. I culled the daywalker what got her leg. THOUGHT TO CAUTERIZE, SO AS TO STOP THE BLOOD. Would've drawn the beasts, it would. I TOOK HER TO HIDEAWAYS FOUND AND KEPT. Gamzee didn't touch her, he didn't do nothing. THOUGHT AS TO DO IT ALL WITHOUT CULLING HER. I burned her. SHE SCREAMED. But I've done worse before. I'VE DONE SO MUCH MOTHERFUCKING WORSE. She couldn't take it. I GOT HER HEAD ALL SNAPPED TWISTWAYS AND SHE WAS GONE AS GONE."
He sways on the spot, antsy and unhappy, but not being able to go no ways else. He's still coming apart, melting away by the minute, and so hungry.
"Could keep her alive, could've made her keep, culled all them beasts, let her have his hiding. GAMZEE. I wanted... DIDN'T WORK, DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKING WORK. They'd have come for her, they'd have come for him. I CAN'T SAVE, I AIN'T FUCKING KNOW HOW! I can't save no one. KNEW YOU'D WANT HER SAFE. Couldn't up and do it."
CULL HIM IF YOU WANT. HE WON'T BLAME YOU. HE WON'T STOP IT.
He silences the fear entirely.
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She steps closer again--maybe he can hear her footsteps, or maybe not. But she doesn't attack him. She reaches hesitantly for the hand he offered before, even if he's already pulled it back.
"If there wasn't any more that you could do, then I can't be mad at you. You found her and tried to help her when I couldn't. That's... It's not a bad thing. You were trying to help her. I'm glad that... that it was quick, at least. It's the best sort of death that we can get around here."
Certainly better than bleeding out slowly or being eaten alive or having to slit your own throat with a shaking hand and a rusty bit of metal. Just a quick snap, and then nothing--until you wake in the Capitol again.
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"SURE AS SHIT WEREN'T BEING A GOOD THING," He snaps. "It didn't feel no different. AIN'T IT SUPPOSED TO? It should feel different than things done all beforeways. IT WAS A FUCKING WASTE ALL THE WAY GODDAMN DOWN."
He doesn't really want to talk about that though. "...But you motherfucking saw her back, yeah? GOT ALL A VISION OF HER GETTING BACK?" It was bad enough when she was Signless's and just Terezi's friend. Damn him eternal if she doesn't come back. "Can a sister check? FOR CERTAINTY?"
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"Killing is still killing. I don't know if it ever feels better for the good intentions, but... It's better for everyone else around you." It's better for her to know that she died with as little terribleness as possible. It's a relief that it was by someone she cares about and not some stranger just looking to slit a throat--or worse.
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As it is he's just... well, he supposes he should be happy she makes it back. As it is, he's just sort of numb, under the press and crush of all else.
"It ain't efficient. IT AIN'T BEING GOOD, AIN'T NO GOOD. Was easier before," He says. Whines really. He's not going to through everything away now, after he's come this far, but he ain't happy about it. "BACK AT LEAST. A sister be back all at least."
Sorry for the wait.
Mordin continued, wandering through the fog when a shape caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing, ducking behind a building. Was it just his imagination or…. No. Something was out there. He saw it move again. It appeared to be his height. But it was a lot broader than him. As the creature shambled closer the doctor could see it more clearly and his eyes went wide, studying it. Definitely not a species he was familiar with. Appeared to be humanoid. Was it a beast made by his captors? No no. Has similar clothes he was wearing. Contestant. Looked like it was in pain. Out of it. Didn’t realize he was there. Which was a good thing. Very fortunate. An injured animal were always the most dangerous. Best course of action would be to eliminate it. Both put it out of its misery and protect himself for potential danger.
As quietly as he could he drew closer to the wounded tribute and pulled out his taser. When he saw the perfect opportunity he flicked the switch. The spring in the repurposed flashlight was released, launching two metal prongs and coiled wires aimed squarely at it’s chest.
S'all good.
The beginning of speech falls off his tongue, "Te--" and then suddenly, his world lights up.
His body seizes, nerves all lit up and on fire. The blood in his veins goes from cold to boiling. He twists on the spots until an animal shriek escapes. His voodoo weaves in his voice and distorts it, layering over it to something demonesque. And then it stabs out, just a pure sharp blind punch of fear against whatever it is that's causing this. Stop, stop, leave, die. No real words only feeling. He can't manage more than that.