thearena | I'm not a perfect person

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I'm not a perfect person

Who| Initiate and Terezi
What| Terezi read something she wasn't supposed to. She takes a hike to clear her mind and stumbles into a blast zone.
Where| Floor 2 & 3
When| Week 6, during the explosion that drops the roof.
WARNINGS| Death

She should never have read that book.

It was only just a peek, while Fraysong was off getting his dumb beverage. He left the book behind, and her curiosity got the better of her. Flipping the book open, she realized instantly what it was. Everything she read was horrible, terrible... Death and cruelty and everything that would make him a poster child of the Empire. He was the perfect troll... No wonder he became Grand Highblood so quickly.

But that wasn't him, she tells herself as she flips the pages. It wasn't going to be him, not her Kurloz--the one she knew now. Why would it be? He had promised that he wouldn't be like that. And she wants to believe so badly... Until she comes to the part that she knew in her chest she was looking for. Mentions of her ancestor begin to crop up. The Neophyte Redglare. His matesprit.

And it ends just the same. Though it's even worse than she feared, her eyes widening in horror as her nose snffs over each word. He set her up. He set her up, and she... That trial, the Neophyte's death. That was all him. Him, who claimed to love her. Him, who turned on her like her accused her of turning on him. She trusted him, and he all but yanked the noose around her neck himself.

Terezi closes the book with a snap, an illness rising up from her gut. She stands quickly, a little shaky on her feet. It has to be a joke. They saw what happened in that arena before and they threw that story in to mess with them. That has to be the reason, she tells herself, but she knows that she doesn't really believe it.

So she leaves. She sets the book aside and she goes. Because if Fraysong comes back, she's not sure what her reaction might be. He doesn't deserve it. He didn't do those things, she tells herself over and over like a mantra. But it would be a lie to say that she isn't heading for the book store. She just has to make sure...

It's there in her ancestor's book, too. The same story, the same betrayal. All this time, she believed it was her ancestor's own fault for overestimating her own abilities. And here, there was a different culprit. No wonder she had never guessed what would happen. What kind of matesprit would send their lover to their death?

Terezi slams the cover closed again and shoves the book away from her. On her feet, she kicks it for good measure before turning on her heel and leaving the store. She's not sure where she's going. Just out. Away. Up, maybe. She knows she can't get out of the mall, but it feels stifling inside the building.

Up on the third floor, she finds a back corner of the store to hide in. Buried in a cluster of hanging shirts with her knees are tucked up to her chest, she sits there with her thoughts spinning around her.

It's not long before there's an explosion, the tremor rocking the whole floor. Instinctively, she curls tight, cover her arms over her head and waiting out the worst of the debris falling from the ceiling. Dust kicks up into the air, choking her airways and clouding her sense of smell. When the shaking finally dies down, she creeps out of her hiding place to survey the damage. The floor looks more appropriately like a battlefield now, and the hanging dust in the air has her feeling her way through the rubble back towards where she thinks the stairs might be. She pulls a shirt off one of the hangers to use as a mask, but the dust is so thick that it doesn't do much good and it doesn't help much in the way of her brand of "seeing".

Finally, she manages to feel her way back to the stairs. The second floor isn't nearly as bad, but she finds a place away from the stairs and the cloud of dust to put her back to the wall and rest. The dust still feels stuck in her lungs, and her resting is punctuated every so often by a fit of coughing.

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He comes back to find her gone. For a moment, there's naught but a confusion in him, a total lack of understanding as to why she wouldn't be here. She'd barely wanted for him to leave, what with all that had happened these past few weeks. He limps forward, peering around, like she will jump out of hiding and shout surprise, making him inevitably flinch so hard as to jump and spill everything of what he's holding.

He thinks he'd have rathered that. The dread has come to settle in him, building up a solid home. He places the drinks down, tries to steady his breath and the vision of someone jumping out at him and what he'd do about it (nothing, but let them cull him. Or maybe he would cull them and he'd have to deal with that again and no, no, no).

And then he finds the book. His heart feels all as though it's stopped. He didn't even think about it. He should've... what? Burned it? Never let her know the truth. Well, either goddamn way, she motherfucking knows now. He hugs his arms to his chest, claws digging in. What does he do now? What should he do?

The Explosion goes off. He thinks, Terezi! He has to find her. He can't just leave her like that. He starts to run. He doesn't know where all he's going to go but he has to find her. His searching gets more and more frantic and with a desperate churn in him, he wishes he could call out, say her name and have her call back. But would she even bother to?

No, no, no, no, no, please no, he thinks and he doesn't even know what to.

Then, finally, he spots her.

She doesn't look to be okay at all. A dull horror sits in him. He stands there for two seconds, then runs to her. The dust feels something awful in his already dry throat. Has she been here long?

He reaches out to touch her shoulders, face contorted in worry of all kinds.

Terezi doesn't smell him approaching until he's already almost upon her. At first, she doesn't know what sort of reaction to give him. Angry? Apologetic? Wary? Sad? She didn't want to face him, but he's here now. She settles mostly for avoidance, turning her head away, like she can keep from noticing the look that he's giving her.

She worried him. She must have scared the hell out of him when he came back and she was gone. Guilt gnaws at her stomach, already tied up tight into a knot of uncomfortable feelings. Why couldn't she face him? He hadn't done those things. How many times had she told him that it wasn't his future anymore? And yet she herself still couldn't properly separate the two.

Another coughing fit takes her, causing her to double over, wheezing for breath and trying to clear her airways. She tries to breathe shallowly to keep the coughing at bay. It helps a very little bit.

She doesn't lash out. She doesn't shout at him or try to fight him or even cull as deserved. She just turns her face from, all of trying to hide, and he wonders if he'd feel fear or disgust if he had his power.

The coughing alarms him more. She can't stay here. Even if she has to run from him later, she has to come with him now.

And there's no way he can say the apology she needs.

He tries to grab her arm and pull. Come on. Come with me. There's a dull terror of what he might do without her.

She doesn't want to go with him. He pulls on her arm, and she draws in on herself, shaking her head. She tries to pull her arm back from him, but not forcefully.

It's not fair to him, but at the same time she feels like a traitor to her ancestor. She's friends with the troll who--in another time--would grow up to murder her. That's almost as bad as being friends with Vriska. Maybe worse.

Please, please, becomes the new song in his head. Funny how, when they tried to break him down into a lesser thing, they took from him a good ability to beg.

His hands shake. His conditioning's gone and worn, but fear is there all the same. He can't hurt her but she has to make her come with him. She's got no reason to want to, not when as he's just a destroyer to her and her own. He knows that. But the despair of her staying here more than she already has is enough to keep him there.

She can run from him later, but for now, he's going to keep his grip on her.

He keeps pulling, and she all but tries to jerk her arm back. The sudden motion sends her into another fit of coughing, leaving her gasping for breath and on the verge of starting a new fit.

"Go away. Just leave me alone!" He's clearly upset, but she doesn't want to go with him. She just wants to rest here, until she can catch her breath. The dust still feels like it's clinging in her lungs, and her body feels a bit fatigued from the coughing. She wants him to go away so her chest doesn't hurt so much at the scent of him.

His breath catches. He jerks away. His back goes straight and all the knowing she doesn't want anything to do with him cuts in and carves itself a hollow hive in him as he starts to take rigid steps on away from her.

No...

No.

He can't just leave her to die. He can't do it. He culled for her, Messiahs dammit. It doesn't matter how much she don't want.

He has to help her.

He turns back, forcing himself along, face going determined for it. The closer he gets to her, the more sure he is. No, he can't leave her to die. He got avoxed in part for doing the exact opposite of that. He told himself he didn't regret it. He wouldn't let that change. He goes to her, and this time, he tries on scooping her up.

Terezi realizes belatedly how much her shouting sounded like a command. He takes it like one at first, and she smells how rigidly he turns to leave. It cuts a swath of guilt straight through her. She feels like a monster for doing that to him.

But then he comes back. Despite her anger and despite the order, he comes back for her. And she feels even worse for not wanting it. And worse still for not knowing what she really wants. She wants him to leave, but she wants him to stay. Her feelings are torn between loyalty to her ancestor and her attachment to him. Neither side wants to give in easily.

So she does the only thing she's capable of doing. She does nothing. She lets him pick her up and though her head rests awkwardly on his shoulder, she doesn't otherwise allow herself to move.

"...Why won't you go?"

To his surprise, she lets him pick her up. Right up into his arms does she go, limp like a corpse-- in itself sending a shock of fear through him. But he can feel her breath, here next to him.

She's getting worse the longer she stays here. He can feel the dust up in his own throat. There's not time to be wasting, he has to move. And so he does, breaking a hundred rules as an avox and then some, looking for stairs and a way to escape, hoping there still is one.

There's a singing ache inside him. Part of him is of the mind to curl up somewhere just as she wants to. He can't look at her because it hurts. It's over, he fucked up, and he couldn't even stop it from happening. But for once it's the tables turned, where she's at to asking him such a thing instead of the other way around. So, he shifts her weight so she can see one hand of his, even as his arms cradle her close. He gives her the response what as she gave him once, taking his breath.

He signs one word; Stay.

Stay.

It always comes back to that. With just one word, it reminds her of all the things she's endured to stay by his side, to be there for him and to help him not be that person described in his book. To be the troll that she knows he can be. It reminds her of all the times that he stayed with her and protected her and supported her when she would have given up and stopped caring otherwise. Kept her standing, even when she didn't want to be.

For a moment, she feels the connection there, from him to her and from her to him. A kind of unfathomable loyalty that is encompassed by those words. Because you stayed. And in that moment, she's certain that there isn't anything monumental enough to break that bond they've forged through debt and gratitude and understanding.

Not even something like this.

She doesn't move in his arms, except to lift her hands to his shirt, gripping tightly to the fabric. Pulling herself closer, rather than pushing him away. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, and she hopes he understands what for.

All his own focus is on running. He's a highblood and she ain't heavy, so he can't say it's hard. But the air here weighs down on him and the terror joins with it.

When all of a sudden he feels her hand gripping on, his heart stutters. But he doesn't stop, still pushing ever onward. Not even when she speaks does he do so.

He's not sure he understand entire what she is apologizing for. Could she really understand just like that? Mostly, it just ain't the time. All what matters is that she don't leave him now.

He gives her a squeeze, to keep her roused and to acknowledge her words in some small way.

Terezi is trying her best to stay conscious as Fraysong carries her away from the dust-filled air. The squeeze against her sides is met with a bout of tighter clinging. She turns her face towards his chest, trying to shield her breathes from pulling in more dust. What she gets is another round of coughing.

There's a light-headedness drifting through her thoughts, but it's not painful as long as she's not coughing. If she could just keep from doing that, she thinks. That would be fantastic. She would feel a whole lot better. For some reason, holding her breath seems like a great way to try to accomplish this. It really isn't.

After about ten seconds, she's gasping for air and choking on the coughing fit that results. "Sorry, sorry," she manages to get past the coughs, a small laugh joining the apology. Jegus, that was dumb. But it's kind of funny how dumb of an idea that was. Way to go her. Good job.

She rests her head back on Fraysong's shoulder, curling close to him again.

He wishes the laugh was as reassuring as he's figuring she meant it to be. Thankfully, what comes from him can't be told apart from a sob, a laugh, or just another heavy wheezing breath.

His mouth is dry and full of dust and he can't do nothing about it unless he stops to wash it out. His leg with the bullet hole through it screams for some sort of mercy and he damn near stumbles. He just wants to run a little faster than what as he can.

All what he can think about is that, if they even bother to bring them both back to life, he won't see her. He'll be made a proper servant again and he won't be near her like this for a long time.

He stumbles again but still manages not to fall. He needs more time. Just a little more motherfucking time. Oh Messiahs, my sinner self pleads to thee...

He's almost there. They're almost down them steps...

Please give me more time somehow...

Terezi, meanwhile, is thinking about how familiar this is. Not the way that her chest feels tight or her throat feels dry or her head feels dizzy. But the motion of him running and being carried in his arms. Those things are similar. The old fear comes back a bit, and she's uncertain what it's of: the Peacekeepers from before, or some new unnamed horror that she hasn't determined yet.

"We're going to be alright... aren't we? We keep running, we'll make it. We can make it."

She curls closer, carefully inhaling as deep as she dares to. The scent of blackberries fills her nose, and that's a comforting scent. A safe scent. She presses her forehead against his shoulder, and her voice is a little smaller. "You smell good."

He doesn't put the two together. It's probably being better that way.

Her words catch for two reasons. There's hope in them. More hope than he has right now. It traces along the fear and despair while all the same he reaches for it. We keep running, we'll make it. It becomes mantra in his head what to tell himself.

The second thing is how strange and off and distant it sounds. Especially with the quiet ones what follow. She's fading. Just passing out, he prays, but he hasn't quite curled his fingers around that hope yet.

They're close as they can be. Yet it feels like she's slipping away. He doesn't want to wait forever as to see her again. Yet he can't find it in him to pray anymore now. He doesn't think she'd hear him if he could speak.

He's right to think that she's fading. Everything seems just a little further away. It's hard to focus on any one thought with the way that they wander into her mind and dance away again when she tries to grasp them. Even the world around her seems disjointed. They're running, but she's not sure why anymore.

"Kurloz," she says quietly, forgetting that he can't speak to answer her. After a few seconds of waiting, she forgets what she intended to ask anyway. Her eyes close, though she doesn't notice them. She doesn't need them open anyway. It seems like such a hassle. Too much energy wasted for something so useless.

Her head spins a little, dizziness fading in and out along with that light-headed feeling. She feels like she's going to be sick at one point, but she isn't. Eventually, she fades out of consciousness completely, her limbs going slack. The only evidence that she's alive is the shallow puffs of breath. Even those stop after a few more minutes.

The sound of a lone cannon fires through the empty air.

He doesn't stop until the canon sounds, and then his legs give. He lands, hard and awkward, on his side. Terezi's still limp in his arms, held close. He can feel that the bullet hole's been torn wide from his running.

This is it. If they're even brought back at all, he won't see her for who knew how long, all sent elsewhere to serve and being made to servant minded to try on otherwise. She's gone.

He curls around her corpse, clutching tight to all he's got. It's all got a sort of piteous finality. He stays there with shuddering quiet breaths until finally he gathers himself enough to untangle.

He lifts her cold hand up and presses his lips to her knuckles. Goodbye, sister. Be safe.

With just a bit more arranging, he gets to hauling her onto his back. May well find his death sooner rather than later. He ignores the drip of blood down his leg.

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I'm not a perfect person

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tw: death

tw: death