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)
thearena2015-02-14 08:44 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-02-14 08:44 pm
Entry tags:
Come away little lamb come away to the water, to the arms that are waiting only for you
Who| Initiate, Sam, and the Psiioniic
What| Initiate doesn't find the sea monster he was looking for. Friends come watch him make stupid decisions.
Where| At the lake, in an ice cave of the glacier
When| later week 3, post Valentines
WARNINGS| Mutilation, limb removal, gore referencing, self harm, self-surgeries, references to other instances of this.
He moves along the riverside, hunting by the far ends in the weeks early and making on closer to the source. Part of him his hesitant, fearful. Another part is hopeful. Either way, he doesn't find the ocean. Not here. And so his breath is both relief and regret.
The water sparkles beautifully. By day, he can imagine it's green and blue and all beautiful mid-blood colors, stubbornly striking. But here and now, it's indigo, belonging to him like he spilled the blood himself to form it. He can see it there in the distance, with just the slightest bit of dusk light hanging in the streaked sky, reminding him of the colors in the Alternian night while leaving enough dark for him to be comfortable. It's cold as fuck, but he's got all manner of thing as to see him warm, not mention keeping a move on.
It's hard to do that though, when he spots that shadow on the water. His breath catches and a fear settles in him. They wouldn't. But they would. They'd done it before. They brought his Da from the motherfucking ocean as to be watched over by him. They brought his past self as Tribute, they sent in his descendant as a goddamn daywalker copy to taunt him while he tried to keep the kid alive for naught, they made a crowning what showed of the execution what as he called for. They would absolutely bring his Da in the arena. And if it was his Da, he was the only one what could think to stop it.
If he could only get around to thinking that.
He runs on forward, going and going until he's something close to that dark spot in the lake. He stands just at the icey shore's edge, unwilling to go no further.
"...Da?" He calls out, apprehensive. "THAT YOU?"
The water surges up. Would he be this afraid if he was sure it was Da? Probably. Probably more so.
The water sprays down and a massive head shows itself with great needle teeth bared. But there ain't no horns. This thing ain't a goat. It's pissed anyway.
Those jaws lunge down and he dives out of the way, scrambling fast, but he's too close and teeth sink in and the next he knows he's being hauled up by the leg of his pants. He doesn't think, just works on instinct, swinging so the cloth tears and he's freefalling to the beast's neck, claws out to catch himself. The flesh is thick and don't even bleed, but it might if he's being their when the beast takes a snap at him. He's a fast swimmer, but not as fast as thing will be. He waits. Those teeth come at him, he ducks under, slashes, and dives, kicking off from the head to get that start.
Don't look back. Don't panic. Don't think. Swim, go, go.
He breaks the surface but it ain't being no where near the land. His claws catch in ice and just in time as the thing smashes against the great ice-block's side. He braces it, breathing hard, trying desperate to keep his grip. He hears the water rush behind him as the beast rises up again, preparing to strike. He climbs, fast as all he can, fast like it's his go on the fucking grief trapeze and someone set the ropes on fire.
Messiahs bless him. Messiahs give him an alcove in the ice, a small bit of cave leading inward. He dives for it, sliding and crawling inside, going as far as he can go, well out of the creature's reach. He's cold. He's so fucking cold. He's not sure he's ever been so cold in his whole damn life and he is of cold blood. He thinks to curl up right there, instinctive, but the ice quakes with the force of the beast's ramming and pieces fall from the ceiling. He stands up fast, making to run. He can see an opening ahead, a way out as to get to land. But the ice quakes again and he slips, landing hard enough to bruise. There's a terrible cracking noise, and all at once, as he turns to watch what is surely his death, a great mass of ice collapses on him. He hears the crunch of his leg just a second before he feels it. His howl echoes off the walls and up in his ears.
There's blood on him. It's the first thing he sees when he finally manages to get himself something close to upright again. The beast has stopped its attack. Maybe the gamemakers were satisfied with the fact that his leg was almost surely ruined. It's worse than that. He's stuck. He tries to pull, tries to shove, but the ice ain't moving and it ain't giving him his leg back. He can't stay here. He'll freeze before the night is done. If the beasts don't find him first. His hands hover useless around his leg, like he can will it to healing. Idea occurs, what has him twisting as best he can for the soaked backpack on him, opening it up for the hunting knife what he knows is in there. He brings out and brings it to the ice wall.
Then stops. It's too hard. He won't be able to chip this away. Even if he does, only more ice will come down in its place. He has to get out with moving nothing. He has to...
He glances back at to that exit way to land. He looks to knife, then his leg. The knife goes down, so he can pull out that freezing blanket and shove the corner of it in his mouth, to protect his tongue from any biting down involuntary. He didn't trust himself with that. The knife is back in shaking hand. He can do this. If he could do such things to himself on Beforus he sure as fuck could as Alternian.
He starts turning ice to indigo.
What| Initiate doesn't find the sea monster he was looking for. Friends come watch him make stupid decisions.
Where| At the lake, in an ice cave of the glacier
When| later week 3, post Valentines
WARNINGS| Mutilation, limb removal, gore referencing, self harm, self-surgeries, references to other instances of this.
He moves along the riverside, hunting by the far ends in the weeks early and making on closer to the source. Part of him his hesitant, fearful. Another part is hopeful. Either way, he doesn't find the ocean. Not here. And so his breath is both relief and regret.
The water sparkles beautifully. By day, he can imagine it's green and blue and all beautiful mid-blood colors, stubbornly striking. But here and now, it's indigo, belonging to him like he spilled the blood himself to form it. He can see it there in the distance, with just the slightest bit of dusk light hanging in the streaked sky, reminding him of the colors in the Alternian night while leaving enough dark for him to be comfortable. It's cold as fuck, but he's got all manner of thing as to see him warm, not mention keeping a move on.
It's hard to do that though, when he spots that shadow on the water. His breath catches and a fear settles in him. They wouldn't. But they would. They'd done it before. They brought his Da from the motherfucking ocean as to be watched over by him. They brought his past self as Tribute, they sent in his descendant as a goddamn daywalker copy to taunt him while he tried to keep the kid alive for naught, they made a crowning what showed of the execution what as he called for. They would absolutely bring his Da in the arena. And if it was his Da, he was the only one what could think to stop it.
If he could only get around to thinking that.
He runs on forward, going and going until he's something close to that dark spot in the lake. He stands just at the icey shore's edge, unwilling to go no further.
"...Da?" He calls out, apprehensive. "THAT YOU?"
The water surges up. Would he be this afraid if he was sure it was Da? Probably. Probably more so.
The water sprays down and a massive head shows itself with great needle teeth bared. But there ain't no horns. This thing ain't a goat. It's pissed anyway.
Those jaws lunge down and he dives out of the way, scrambling fast, but he's too close and teeth sink in and the next he knows he's being hauled up by the leg of his pants. He doesn't think, just works on instinct, swinging so the cloth tears and he's freefalling to the beast's neck, claws out to catch himself. The flesh is thick and don't even bleed, but it might if he's being their when the beast takes a snap at him. He's a fast swimmer, but not as fast as thing will be. He waits. Those teeth come at him, he ducks under, slashes, and dives, kicking off from the head to get that start.
Don't look back. Don't panic. Don't think. Swim, go, go.
He breaks the surface but it ain't being no where near the land. His claws catch in ice and just in time as the thing smashes against the great ice-block's side. He braces it, breathing hard, trying desperate to keep his grip. He hears the water rush behind him as the beast rises up again, preparing to strike. He climbs, fast as all he can, fast like it's his go on the fucking grief trapeze and someone set the ropes on fire.
Messiahs bless him. Messiahs give him an alcove in the ice, a small bit of cave leading inward. He dives for it, sliding and crawling inside, going as far as he can go, well out of the creature's reach. He's cold. He's so fucking cold. He's not sure he's ever been so cold in his whole damn life and he is of cold blood. He thinks to curl up right there, instinctive, but the ice quakes with the force of the beast's ramming and pieces fall from the ceiling. He stands up fast, making to run. He can see an opening ahead, a way out as to get to land. But the ice quakes again and he slips, landing hard enough to bruise. There's a terrible cracking noise, and all at once, as he turns to watch what is surely his death, a great mass of ice collapses on him. He hears the crunch of his leg just a second before he feels it. His howl echoes off the walls and up in his ears.
There's blood on him. It's the first thing he sees when he finally manages to get himself something close to upright again. The beast has stopped its attack. Maybe the gamemakers were satisfied with the fact that his leg was almost surely ruined. It's worse than that. He's stuck. He tries to pull, tries to shove, but the ice ain't moving and it ain't giving him his leg back. He can't stay here. He'll freeze before the night is done. If the beasts don't find him first. His hands hover useless around his leg, like he can will it to healing. Idea occurs, what has him twisting as best he can for the soaked backpack on him, opening it up for the hunting knife what he knows is in there. He brings out and brings it to the ice wall.
Then stops. It's too hard. He won't be able to chip this away. Even if he does, only more ice will come down in its place. He has to get out with moving nothing. He has to...
He glances back at to that exit way to land. He looks to knife, then his leg. The knife goes down, so he can pull out that freezing blanket and shove the corner of it in his mouth, to protect his tongue from any biting down involuntary. He didn't trust himself with that. The knife is back in shaking hand. He can do this. If he could do such things to himself on Beforus he sure as fuck could as Alternian.
He starts turning ice to indigo.
no subject
"I'M SORRY." He starts trying to sit up. He shakes with the effort, when all combined with everything done on him. Sam's hand is still on his. "I know it's not enough. I KNOW IT DON'T BRING them back WHAT ALL YOU'VE LOST. Mirth, I'd rEND MYSELF APART if I thought at it could. I'D BLEED MYSELF FUCKING DRY FOR YOU! I'd do it a THOUSAND TIMES..."
Fuck, he's never been able to close his trap of his own will at times like this.
"I owe all to you. NOT EVEN BEING BY YOUR FUTURE. You kept... him safe. YOU and Disciple. AND THE DOLOROSA! You... you inspired the Neophyte Redglare with your doings... AND SO PASSED... was her good to Terezi, what gave it to me... IT ALL COMES BACK! All comes back around... AND SO YOUR PEOPLE! What they did at you. WHAT THEY GOT MEANING. It still matters. THEY still motherFUCKING MATTER." The paint... he painted with blood and it meant something. Maybe not to other indigos, but to him... they kept him safe. And so in his painting he kept them mattering. The exchange for living and dying, before he lost track of it all.
"You ain't got to help me. SIGNLESS WON'T HOLD NOTHING TO YOU. You were his first AND HE was yours. HE AIN'T GOING TO HOLD AT YOU cause you didn't want none to do with me. HE'D WANT YOU HAPPY. If you think I'm being... top of picking order... you're in for a FUCKIN SHOCK."
Slowly, he starts to lay back down, teeth grit as he does to keep no more noise from breaking out. He thinks he might have torn it all a bit. He hopes not, if only because Sam's worked this hard and he doesn't want to feel the threading again.
"Sorry Sam," He mutters at last, before turning his back on the both of them.
no subject
"I don't remember being hith. It hathn't happened to me yet I think. I don't have a claim, tho thtop talking about it. The whole country can hear, you fucking idiot. And I—I don't want to think about it. I jutht want to help SS'th moirail and get the hell out of here."
Where "here" was exactly—the cave, the arena, the country—he didn't know. In times of danger, Psii didn't want to think about quadrants of all things, least of all the quadrant that gave Psii the most grief. It was hard to have feelings jams in cramped slave quarters. Even after he left that behind, there was still a whole lot of baggage he and a potential moirail would have to wade through.
"And you thtill can't tell me what to do. Maybe I'm tired of killing. Maybe I'm tired of leaving otherth behind to die. Maybe you should go fuck yourthelf."
On that classy note, Psii hauled himself over to the kit to look for bandages. They were going to need quite a few.
no subject
Thanks, man.
And yet. And yet Sam stays quiet, doesn't move, doesn't do anything to try to interrupt any of that. If their situations had been reversed, if it'd been Riley who showed up here after being gone so long, just younger and with no memory of what they meant to each other - Sam can't honestly say he wouldn't be doing the same thing right now.
"Not accepting that until I know what you're apologizing for," he mutters when Kurloz tells him he's sorry.
He finishes up his stitching, cutting one or two that'd gotten pulled in all the movement and redoing them, then glances over at Psiioniic at the kit. "Hand me some of those?"
no subject
But the last part still stings. More than the fuck you what follows.
"I AM NOT M-making b-being ATTATCHMENT of the Signless. KNOW THAT? Yer 'is bes' frien' either way... BUT OPINIONS YOURS is noted."
What's he sorry for. What's he sorry for? Everything. Fucking all of this. But he says, "DIDN'T D-DO THIS so as you or no motherfffucker COULD CLEAN my mm... messes... SHOULD BOTH look after your own... 'SPECIALLY SIN-NNH... neither of you motherfuckers really wants doing this..."
If he'd known this would happen, would he have just slit his own throat? ...No, he wouldn't have. Terezi would've hated him for it, Signless too. And even beyond that, Messiahs demanded a fight to the end. He learned that already.
His head is a fog. He thinks there must be way of getting this working out. How to get the Psiioniic to leave. The knife's just behind, and he thinks, he could hold it to Sam, they wouldn't see it coming and the Psiioniic would go, Sam would never trust him again, and he'd be alone. His hand lifts, then falls back down. He can't. That was less likely happening than his own ends. He shivers.
"W-WILL ONE OF YOU TALK THEN?" Since he can't, not without fucking up.
no subject
"Thure, but no promitheth. You're thuppothed to be rethting whether we talk or not."
A highblood who couldn't take care of themselves, who had to rely on help, was frowned upon. But Psii followed Signless's philosophy of helping others. Even now he quickly handed Sam the things he needed without a fuss. He couldn't just walk away, or worse, give the Gamemakers what they wanted and finish Initiate off. It was easier to kill than to save. It was easier to die than to live. His visions showed him that. What was the point of trying to take easy ways out when calamity wove into his life anyway?
"It'th that thtupid highblood thtrength complexth that thayth you're not allowed to acthept help. You know your moirail doethn't buy that hoofbeathtshit. Even if you're telling uth to go jutht becauthe you don't like yourthelf, well, join the club." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "No point driving uth off for that reathon either."
no subject
He listens to what Psiioniic’s saying as he works, tucking all of that away. If they were alone, Sam’d have a lot more to say about all of that - but then, if they were alone, Sam probably wouldn’t be hearing any of this. Another thing on his list for later, then.
When Psiioniic stops, Sam takes his turn talking. And veers completely away from anything they’d been saying before, because he’s had enough of trying to split his attention between emotional shit and physically patching someone up.
“You see those giant ass tiger beast things they had earlier in the arena? Ran into one of ‘em when it decided Bucky looked like a great snack. It got real fucking pissed at me when I stabbed it, and then Bucky’s dumbass decided to jump on its goddamn back. Shoulda seen him, man, no idea how he managed to stay on it so long with the way it was snarling and twisting around.”
no subject
But it's something. They're talking. He can just listen. Not try and keep grounded by means of scriptures again, it all being the first and last he always goes to.
He has to admit, he like Sam's story a bit more though. It's an actual story, and something what gets on amusing. He actually laughs a little, though winds up becoming a cough and a grit of teeth.
"HA, SHIT. Soun's like... you had some fuckin time of it... SAD I MISSED OUT. I'll have to catch that shit later... WHEN WE'RE BACK." He doesn't say 'if'. He never says 'if'.
no subject
"If you get back. And you didn't exthactly help your chantheth today."
Psii always said "if." The future was inscrutable except to those who could see it. Even then, his visions raised as many questions as they answered. What was the point of deluding oneself with little lying words? Initiate and Signless had that in common. They had to fool themselves into thinking the future would be brighter, as if their wills alone could change it.
no subject
He gives a little chuckle at Kurloz’s comment about watching it later, dry and only partly amused. “Just cut it off after the thing dies, unless you want a show of me and Buck sewing up my leg.”
His jaw tightens a little when Psiioniic corrects that to if, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything, really - this is only Sam’s second arena, and any time he talks about when they’re back in the Capitol is still half bravado. He hasn’t quite convinced himself everyone will come back.
Instead, he focuses on finishing up bandaging what’s left of Kurloz’s leg, wrapping gauze around it neat and tying it off. “You’re good, man, all done.”
no subject
Then, None of that noise, on about the Psiioniic. That didn't come out. Try again. "WHEN," He repeats, firmer, even if it comes out far more worn. "Made a show... EAT UP, THEY... bring me back... WON'T... won't go yet..."
There was plenty point in deluding ones self. He'd changed his life plenty. He could do more. And even if he couldn't, he did have to tell himself so. He couldn't stop, and so he'd stick by faith to his end, as Signless stuck by his hope. His chances got slimmer every time, but he was a damn good acrobat.
Sam finishes off finally and he lets out what might be cross of a groan of pain and sigh of relief. It turns into a shudder. "I'MMA... s-ssleep now... " Even if he keeps on shivering the whole while. He's never been so cold. But he's alright now. Probably...
no subject
Perhaps he should lecture the both of them on how the future usually turned out to be shittier than expected; he was a prophet after all. Or perhaps he should just keep quiet and plan his next move. They would need warmth and to replenish their food supplies. Survival in an arena didn't leave much time for contemplation.