thearena | Deep in the meadow, under the willow...

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Deep in the meadow, under the willow...

Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 12.
Where| District 12.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.

It doesn't take long to get to District 12, the closest district to the rebel district. It's one of the smallest districts, and you only know you reach it when rolling hills grow and grow until they become large, fertile green mountains. The environment looks green and lush, beautiful, really--That is, until you reach the part of the District where people actually live. The weather is chillier than the Capitol, though the wind bares the worst of it. Anyone planning on spending any time outside should definitely get a coat.

The town is smaller than any of the others, and more worn down. Everything seems to have a thin layer of cole settled over it, no matter how much cleaning is done. The center of the town isn't too shabby, and there are a few things that stand new and shining--A metal whipping post and stocks. The latter occasionally has an unfortunate person in it, though most people have learned to buckle down and accept the new rules.

In the merchant part of town, there's some signs of wildlife, knobby trees and green enough yards. The merchants used to ply their trades here, though for now, everything's locked down. As you get farther, it gets shabbier, poorer. Into the Seam, where the poorest of the poor live. Here, the houses are barely more than shacks. Trees grow wild, and what animal life exists is quick to run from any humans, no doubt having survived at least one attempt by the people of the Seam to capture them for the supper pot.

One thing in common with all the sections of the District is a feeling of hopelessness. The mood is dour, as heavy and permanent as the cole dust that seeps into everything. The only sign of anything even resembling any rebellion is a few chalk scratchings on the sides of abandoned buildings, a few zodiac symbols--Anyone who knows the trolls can recognize the symbols of Karkat, Terezi, Psiioniic, and even the Initiate. That, and the grand pictures of Sam Wilson and Joan Watson, and the bold words stating NOT ALONE and WE ALL DESERVE BETTER.

The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.

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They'd started this battle staying close as they could but that couldn't last, and Roland had known that. They'd tried. He's still trying, has found the Signless again and as he's made his way through the fighting he's been watching. Roland knows Signless when he is well, and knows when he is not. Roland does not know why that might be, but he does know what it will do to Signless if he should win this fight. It doesn't look like he'll be settling for a draw.

Roland had asked him, before this started. Are you ready to've killed? But if Signless kills this man, his friend, not in an arena but in a battle, a real battle?

It may not be an arena, but Roland is conscious of eyes anyway, Capitol eyes looking out at him even if there seem none. Arena's gone, but that doesn't mean this isn't a show.

This gun isn't so loud as his own, but it's loud enough. Especially when it's shot less than ten feet from the heads of a certain pair of struggling trolls. "Surrender!" He barks it, chin up, feet spread, the pose of many a soldier in many a bit of Capitol propaganda. "You're worth more to us alive, Psiionic, you know that."

At least Roland was alive.

Psii instinctively flinched and raised his hands to cover his head when the shot went off. Psii's nightmare increased twofold. Another of Psii's friends was held in captivity and pitted against him. He had already decided to bring Signless home if it killed him, but could he handle being killed by Signless's other boyfriend? Even if the gangly troll did win by some miracle, could he handle schlepping two unconscious bodies over to Thirteen?

He attempted a jab at Signless with his knife, somewhere non-vital like an arm. Whether it was the battle adrenaline or his desperation, he was okay with maiming Signless a little if it meant he could bring him home safe.

"Yeah, I am!" Psii faked bravery wherever he could. Part of him felt reckless, alive, hellbent on protecting his friends even if it meant fighting them first. "But I know what'll happen to me if I'm caught. Look at Kankri now. I won't surrender, tho you'll jutht have to come and get me!"

He didn't do the smart thing and run for cover. He stayed right where he was, crouched on the ground. He couldn't leave Signless and risk losing him. He couldn't move anyway; Roland was the one with the gun. By some unspoken understanding, Psii knew that you didn't bring knives to a gun fight, particularly to a gun fight with a gunslinger. Psii didn't dare try to lunge for Signless's gun, the one that had skittered just out of both his and Signless's reach.

It was even more out of his reach now on account of the fact that both his arms were bleeding. They weren't entirely useless but it hurt to move them and he wondered, idly, if the scars would mar the tattoos, if he'd lose some of the symbolism he'd had so carefully inked into his skin to remember these very men. His brain was still fogged and now it was starting to feel floaty, probably from the mix of pain and bloodloss and repressed horror.

He still had the use of his legs, though, and he brought one knee up in a last-ditch attempt to throw Psii off him. His heart hadn't been in it to begin with but now that was starting to show. Slowly but inevitably he was shutting down.

Roland edges closer. Finding a reason not to use his gun on the Psiionic, that's easy. The two of them are very close, and of course he doesn't want to risk hitting someone on his own side. The fact that he could make that shot in his sleep is not something the Capitolites have ever really seen evidence of, and if they have, well, of course a man would be more careful with the life of his lover.

It isn't much of a risk, then, to put his gun away and launch himself at the two, wanting his movement to push them both toward the door of the little shack sitting open and abandoned not too far away but mostly aiming to get his hand around the Psiionic's wrist, slam that knife into either the wall of that nearby shack or into the ground, and lean in close enough to murmur into the man's ear. "Get him inside with us. Make it look good."

Because he has, in fact, looked at Kankri - and if he needed a reminder of just why he needs to be careful here that name would do it, because even its use betrays how close these men are - and it's important that the Psiionic not think his only choice is to surrender and become this, whatever it is that's happening to the Signless now. He's seen the sorts of things people will do, given that kind of a choice, and he will not be the reason the Signless loses another friend.

Edited 2016-01-29 14:06 (UTC)

Psii grunted as Signless knocked him away. It didn't help that Roland seemed to want in on the action. The overkill was hardly fair, two stolid fighters against one reedy nerd. He wished he was able to just pick them up with his brain and fly away from all this.

"Ow!" he hissed when Roland slammed his hand. He was too damn fast. Psii dropped his knife, of fucking course, and he bared his fangs at him. Rude. He stopped struggling when Roland revealed his plan. He wasn't sure what Roland was about, but he could work with this. He'd still give Roland hell about his wrist when they were back in Thirteen, though.

It didn't occur to Psii that Roland might not come with them.

Psii struggled to flail a grab at Signless. Divested of his knife, he hoped Roland could do most of the restraining. "Hey bulgethucker, I'm totally threatening your squishy human boyfriend, who happenth to be your Capitol ally! Look, I'm about to double gore him with my hornth if you don't come over here right now!"

If he was in his right mind Signless probably would have laughed at how ludicrous that sounded. He wasn't and he didn't, he just dragged himself to his feet, both arms hanging at his sides, and advanced on them both at a fast kind of stumble. His breathing was harsh -- it was almost as though his body didn't want to keep going and whatever had hold of his mind was forcing it to anyway.

At least he probably wouldn't be that difficult to push around at this point.

Roland does not allow himself to stare. It's bad, he knows it is, whatever is going on inside the Signless' mind now, but he can use it. It's making Signless come closer with, to all appearances, not much thought as to why, and that is all Roland needs right now.

He puts it away, his worry and his guilt and all of it, setting on an out of the way shelf inside his mind to take a look at later, if there is a later for the three of them. Like the Psiionic, he expects without thinking that there is going to be one.

The thing to do here is to try and get a good enough grip on the Psiionic's arms that it looks as if the other man might be grabbing him instead. He does not expect, troll or no, that the other man could really push Roland anywhere like that, but it won't hurt to make the whole fight look that much more confusing. He tries to turn, too, wanting to get them both inside the doorway of that empty little house.

"Signless!" he calls as he tries it, for good measure, because if he doesn't decide to follow the two of them, or if he drops before he can, there's no point in any of this.

He couldn't wait, afraid Signless might change his mind for some inexplicable reason—like maybe those pathetic attempts at trying to sound like he was attacking Roland. To Roland's credit, he did try to play along.

As soon as Signless shambled past the threshold, Psii broke free of Roland. He lunged at Signless in a desperate lanky flail of limbs, hoping to just knock the wind out of him. He didn't have much of a plan other than pinning him to the ground and slamming his head until he lost consciousness.

By sheer element of surprise, it works. Signless's mind is gunked up enough with brainwashing and fear and now the exhaustion of a battle that his body isn't really equipped to have that it doesn't register the lanky form flying at it until it's too late. He stumbles with an audible oof and a wheezy hiss, more disoriented than ever, and goes down without too much fuss.

It isn't terribly subtle, kicking the door shut behind Signless in an apparent attempt to scramble toward him, and if anyone were watching them directly it might not be too convincing. But Roland's counting on the Capitol's men to be busy, too busy to pay attention to every one of their prisoners unless they've a reason. That's the only way this works, and it's likely enough that he'll take the risk.

With that he moves close to Signless, kneeling beside him and looking him over quickly before looking back up to the Psiionic. "If the Touch wasn't locked away from me I could try to shake him from this. As it is, we'll need to bind his hands. Will my belt do?"

Normally Roland wouldn't ask before doing that, but he's got enough experience with trolls to know that, given whatever's happening to Signless, he might be a good deal stronger than one belt can handle.

If Psii's "Touch" wasn't locked away, he could simply pick up his friend like a sack of ground tubers and fly away with him. There wouldn't even be any need to tie him up with a belt. It wouldn't be the first time Psii lifted Signless with his brain and deposited him in a safe place against his will.

"It'th a start, but don't count on getting that belt back in one piethe. Let'th try it."

Psii shifted to sit on Signless just in case. The blank look in his eyes horrified him, and he buried it so he could process it later—or more accurately, have daymares about it later. His head hurt. Somehow in all this, he had banged one of his horns, and it ached. Belatedly he remembered to wipe his face clear of any salty yellow tracks. He shouldn't have lost it like that.

He might, if the way Signless is acting now, get that belt back with only minimal scratches. It's clear that his mind still wants to fight but his body isn't having it, and his movements are weak and abortive in the same way his hissing is more confused than angry. He can't even manage to push Psii off of him.

Roland moves to help keep Signless still, although it's clear he doesn't need to. Maybe just his touch will help, or at least, won't hurt. He glances up at the Psiionic's movement, watches him wipe his face, then frowns back down at the Signless, or whatever it is that's driving Signless' body now. Because it does seem like something else behind that familiar face, something other, and if the Psiionic wept at it, that seems to Roland a very reasonable reaction. So long as Psiionic doesn't let it stop him from doing what he needs to do, anyway, which he hasn't been.

"Your people, your rebels, if they can't deal with whatever this is, we might have to bring him back to the Capitol. But for now - you've a way out of here? Is there somewhere specific we'll be trying to get to?"

We. Because Roland, like the Psiionic, doesn't think for a second that where they go he might not go, too.

"They're not my people. Signless, you, my friendth, are my people."

He never did well in Thirteen's militaristic base. Thirteen didn't rescue Signless or Roland, didn't even plan a mission for that during this battle, something that never sat well with Psii. But they didn't imprison him in gladiatorial games either. Psii very carefully pulled Signless up into a sitting position and cradled his head.

"Thirteen might not erathe the scarth, but at leatht they won't make new oneth. No one ever said freedom ith eathy living. I'm not letting him go back to the Capitol. I'm carrying him to the rebelth, and you're going to cover uth with your fanthy shooting. Take SS'th gun too, it'th outthide somewhere."

How Roland was going to make it look like he wasn't protecting them was beyond Psii. This was already risking all their lives anyway, and he had very little fucks to give.

Roland nods, watching the Psiionic very closely. You, my friends, are my people. The fact itself is not a surprise, but hearing it is. The comment does not need a reply and so Roland does not give one, but he knows that it means something for the Psiionic to say it aloud.

"I've got my own. Go on, move out of here and take it for yourself. I don't know if you'll be able to use it, but having it will do no harm. I'll stay here, act like I've taken some injury from you, then follow. What enemies you don't see following you both, I will."

But for all Roland is expecting to speak with this man again, to join back up with him before this battle is through, this isn't his first battle. Not remotely. He knows what they are planning, and he knows how often plans always last once the bullets start flying. Roland had said his own important words to Signless before this battle started, and knows that if there's something the Psiionic needs to hear, too, then now ought to be the time.

"Psii," he says, using the name the Signless always uses when he speaks of his dear friend, the name the Psiionic has never asked Roland to use. He takes one hand off Signless, and puts it instead on the Psiionic's shoulder. "Signless isn't the only one who needs to be cared for. Watch for yourself, too, and not only during this battle. Remember to do that. I'd like your word that you will."

Has seen enough of the Psiionic to know, of course, just how likely it is that he'll get it. But he'd like to hear him give it, anyway. It would be something.

Psii had always thought Roland's odd formality was alternately endearing or entertaining, so he had never bothered to tell him it was okay to shorten his title. Sometimes he just liked to watch his human friends flounder around with troll things.

"No one ever really exthpectth what the future throwth at them, and I don't have my vithionth," he muttered evasively.

He looked everywhere but at Roland. That hesitation in itself spoke volumes about how little self-preservation he honestly had. He liked the idea as a concept; he didn't survive traveling with Alternia's most wanted troll for nothing. He took safety measures, and even nagged at people to protect themselves out of paranoia and a bad case of survivor's guilt. But at the end of the day, if it came down to his life versus someone else's, he knew he'd throw it away without a second thought....

"If I die now, Kankri ith dead meat. And I have to stick around to make sure he doethn't attack anyone elthe. Okay. I will."

It seemed Psii was racking up instances of uncharacteristic behavior; he clasped Roland's forearm and found he didn't want to let go. If Roland was following at a distance, they probably wouldn't be able to speak for a while.

"Ugh, at leatht they're feeding him," Psii finally grunted as he hefted Signless across his shoulders and stood up. It wasn't really saying much, since Psii was mostly held together with rangy sinew and sheer force of will.

Even when the Psiionic tries to avoid the question Roland watches him, and if his stare turns heavy, if it might try to bore into the Psiionic a little, Roland is not going to stop it. This is not a question he intends to allow the man to squirm away from.

But he sees the Psiionic thinking, and he hears him agree. He hears the honesty in it. He agrees for the sake of the Signless, which turns that agreement into shit the moment something happens to the one they both love so dear, but Roland is at least self aware enough to know that he's got no legs to stand on if he wanted to complain about that.

No time, either. No time. The time for talking is done. Something in Roland is settled, or so much as it is going to be. He's settled, clasping the Psiionic's arm, settling this moment of touch with a friend into his memory and knowing that the two of them are going to be alright, if it is at all possible that they be so. Knowing that the Psiionic is going to try.

Roland watches the two of them and knows well the heft of the man, how much heavier the Signless is than he really looks even under that bit of weight he might've gained in the past year-or-so of soft Capitol living. Roland says none of it. The time for words is done. If there was a time for joking, that's done, too. At least so far as Roland is concerned. They've said what needs to be.

He watches them leave. He limps after them, a small limp, enough to excuse the delay but not so pronounced that he'll have to prove the injury, later.

There are too many patrols here. Too many. Roland lets himself look at them, at his friends. He fixes the sight of them in his mind. He runs, shouting, across the path of two Peacekeeper patrols, points out a group of rebels near enough to capture, if they're quick.

A couple rebels are captured not long after, but the right couple are safe. As safe as they can be. Roland contents himself with that. That contentment doesn't last him long, not so very long at all. It's all he's got.

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Deep in the meadow, under the willow...

let me know if you guys need something different and I can edit

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You guys can probably take it from here if you wanna wrap it up!

sure thing, signless will be a beautiful sack of troll concrete from here on in

the most beautiful and majestic

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