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.
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."