vatheon | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Sufferer and whoever wants to ~~mob~~ join him
When: September 24th, early afternoon
Where: in the Plaza to start
Style: whatever you like!
Status: totally open

In the beginning, there was pain.

The arrow that pierced his side was not the least of it, but only the last. By the time its barbed head sank into his flesh and hit something deep inside, sending a torrent of cherry blood spilling over his hip and down his leg, blood that looked almost black in the bright light of Derse, it was almost an annoyance and nothing more. Hardly a little pang, after the constant burning on his wrists, and the way the flesh crackled and turned black under the heavy irons. He had lost feeling in his hands long ago, the nerves dying under hot brands and his fingers curling inward towards his palms, and the hot blood that ran down his arms felt almost cool by comparison.

And then, after his blood--his cursed, mutant blood--gushed away from his body and left a sticky, clotted pool under his feet... then, there was nothing.

No neverending light, no peace, no absolution. Just darkness, and emptiness, and a million years crying soundlessly into the void.

And then there was a jolt, and a return of the pain, and he was lying face first on cobblestones, soaked through, and this was all very familiar.

Sufferer looks up, his hair soaked and falling in his eyes, his bare back exposed to the air and still slowly running with blood. His eyes blur, and refocus, and he's next to the fountain, in the Plaza. Vatheon. He's back in Vatheon.

Struggling, he tries to push himself to his knees, but he's hindered by the arrow protruding from his side, its shaft slick with blood and its blue (b100) feathers tacky and standing up like little brushes. His hands are useless; blackened, melted things on the ends of his wrists, and the chains he wore when he died, his shackles... they're still there, turned a cold, sullen black instead of pulsing red, and it's hard to tell where the chains end and his wrists begin.

His mind whirls, remembering Vatheon, images coming to him in fractured, fragmented half-memories--Karkat, growling crabbily after getting a hug... Dualscar's fins, moving under his fingertips... Sola, asking questions with that plaintive look on his face... Zelda... Johnny... Jacob... Dave... Disciple... Spider... Psii...

Psii.

He tries again to get to his feet, but his wounds and the chains on his wrists are too much, and he topples forward again, groaning as the arrow digs deeper into his side. He's worthless, useless, he led them all down the wrong path, everything he told them was wrong, he's a failure, he's failed them all...

Sufferer looks up at the bubble's dome, his eyes so bloodshot they're red almost all the way through, and his jaw works, his teeth grinding together and the tendons in his forearms standing out as he tries to clench his hands into fists. His voice is raspy, his throat raw and choked from the last time he spoke, centuries and seconds before.

He throws his head back and screams at the bubble's dome. "FUUUUUUUUCK!"

His voice ripples and echoes back to him, distorted, animalistic, the cry of a brute instead of a savior. Slowly, he bends back over his chained wrists, resting his forehead on the irons, and the red that stains the cold steel is not blood this time.

"...fuck."

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Karkat arrives out of breath and panting. Pacing himself for a nice jog was not an option here; he wanted to get there as fast as his feet could carry him. It hasn't helped the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, spawned by the hate for those who did this, and the sight of his ancestor in such a state.

But here, as his pace slows on his approach, he can take in more. The details are finer when not crammed into a handheld screen. There is the scent, of blood and sea water and... and something burned. A part of him knew, intellectually, that burning irons would burn flesh, but here is where it sinks in. The acrid smell, the way, when he notices, that Gamzee and the Sufferer are staring at... at his blackened hands...

He can't stop smelling it, either. He's breathing too hard, lungs demanding more air than he has in him, and each inhale brings the sent again. Do not faint. Do not fucking faint. But he can't stop the sick feeling, and he stumbles off to the side, away from the two, to empty the contents of his stomach. Once the scent inspires no more but dry-heaving, and he's wiped his mouth clean with some miscellaneous scrap from his sylladex, he approaches them again.

Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe, and don't faint. Kanaya may have bisected Tavros in front of him, but this here is already done, and he can't help any if he lets it overwhelm him. There are still tracks of red down his face - tears - but he can hardly care about not crying in a situation like this.

"How... how do I help? What do I do?"

Gamzee glances to the side when Karkat joins them. He had noticed him earlier, of course, but with the sight before him, and Karkat veering off to be sick instead, by the time his mind had caught up sufficient to tell him 'go see to your moirail' Karkat was already returning. And he has no input here, absolutely no solution forthcoming from this brain. Instead all he does is lay one hand on Karkat's back, perhaps hoping to offer some comfort or perhaps hoping to draw some from him. Cause fuck. Fuck what do you even fuckin' do in a situation like this? He does wordlessly offer Karkat the faygo turned water bottle though, in case he wants to rinse out his mouth.

Edited 2012-09-26 23:44 (UTC)

Sufferer doesn't even realize Karkat is there until he speaks, and it's only the sound of his descendant's voice that gets him to tear his eyes away from the burnt ruins that used to be his hands. He turns his head slowly, the tendons in his neck creaking, and stares at Karkat for a moment, his eyes wide and hopeless, before he makes an awkward, lurching movement towards the younger troll. He can trust Karkat, he can trust him like he hasn't trusted anyone else yet, it will be okay, this will all be okay... somehow...

The motion is too much for his precarious balance, and he starts to topple over again.

When he feels Gamzee's hand, Karkat wants to cling onto him. In this moment out of any, with this situation - not utterly unfamiliar, but worse yet than their first meeting - he feels a need for that comfort, for the solid presence and cool touch of his moirail. Before he can so much as take the bottle, however, the Sufferer starts to stumble.

"Shit! Gamzee, help me!" he shouts without looking. His movement is a dash, direct and unthinking, ending right before his ancestor as he tries to catch him from his fall. For all Karkat isn't weak, the Sufferer is taller than him, larger, unable to hold his own weight from the pain and exhaustion of it all. The irons at his wrists can't lighten him any further; and when it's this hard just to stop him from collapsing against the ground, it's near impossible to attempt real care about his injuries.

Gamzee ducks to Sufferer's back, looping his skinny yet rather strong arms around him. As gentle as possibly, he tries to tug Sufferer against his own body as a support, trying to take as much of his weight directly of Karkat as he can. Karkat needs to be able to help him, and he can't do that if he is just being squished underneath his ancestor's heavier and taller frame. He's completely forgotten about Sufferer's earlier demand not to touch him, too focused on trying to help Karkat.

"Aight, here, I got ya. We got ya. S'gonna be alright."

Sufferer groans as they catch him; the motion jostles the arrow in his side, and Gamzee's chest against his back presses into some of his cuts and bruises. The worst, of course, are his hands, caught between himself and Karkat and squeezed between their bodies. He didn't think they were capable of pain any longer. He was wrong.

"Karkat..." he mutters, his voice thick and slurring with exhaustion. He's in pain, but he has something very important to tell his descendant, something he needs to get out as quickly as he can. "Karkat... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Karkat wishes he were taller or stronger, or hell, that he was psionic. If he just had the means to catch him more simply, there wouldn't be the aggravation to his ancestor's wounds. With Gamzee at his back, and it seeming that he won't fall, he does try to shift to support him better. The movements are slow and careful now, not daring to risk letting him topple over again.

What stops him is the Sufferer. To hear his name is one thing, but the apology makes him outright cringe.

"Signless--Dad--" he starts, meeting his eyes. "Don't, god, don't apologize. This isn't your fault, okay? It's--it's those casteist assholes, those bastards who did this to you, they... Fuck."

He tries to peer past the mass of the Sufferer. "Gamzee, help me get him to the coral. Slowly, and don't you dare let him go."

He nods, though he doesn't need Karkat's reminder in this case. With his arms around Signless, he tries to help him rise onto his feet as carefully as he can, forcing himself to pay no attention to the wet stickiness that had leaked from Signless' wounds onto his shirt. Just... just sea-water. Sure, yeah, it was just that.

He tries to take the manebeast's share in the awkward shuffle trying to get Signless as carefully to the coral as possible. He keeps his posture awkwardly stooped so Signless can lean on his shoulder as much as he wants, his hands occupied with trying to keep him steady. It's a sigh of relief when they finally manage to bridge the small distance to the coral.

Dimly, Sufferer realizes that they're taking him to the coral, and a part of him laughs bitterly at the irony; his second time arriving in Vatheon, and his second time getting dragged towards the coral by his descendant and another troll. But this isn't a joyful reunion with Lulu, or meeting his descendant that he dreamed of so often, or even a shared bottle of Faygo between new friends; this is him realizing that everything he ever said or believed was a lie, and him leaving a trail of filthy mutant blood behind him on the cobblestones.

"So sorry, Karkat..." He's not apologizing for being an inconvenience; he's apologizing for existing.

Karkat offers what aid he can, even being the shortest one of the three. He stabilizes, he supports, and he gives directions where needed; it wouldn't help for Gamzee to go the wrong way. Once there, he looks from coral to Sufferer as he tries to sort out how to do this next part.

The repeated apology still makes him frown.

"No, come on, don't say that," he exhorts, looking at him again. It hurts to hear him so defeated. "We're going to help you, and things will--they'll be better, I promise you. Just stop apologizing. How could you think I want that after everything that's happened?

"Just hold on, and try to endure this. I'm going to touch the side of your arm to the coral, alright? Gamzee, hold him steady."

After checking that Gamzee's support won't waver, Karkat goes to take hold of the Suffer's arms just below the elbow. His hold his light and ginger as he can make it, and his movements slow to keep the irons from jostling too much. His aim is to just brush the nearest forearm against the Lamufao.

Sufferer stops apologizing, but only because his throat is too dry and raw to continue. His lips keep moving though, mouthing and forming the words over and over again.

There's no resistance when Karkat lifts his arms, beyond slightly narrowed eyes and a hiss as the weight of the chains tug on the skin the cuffs have melted into. He closes his eyes and hangs his head when his arm touches the coral, and as energy drains into him, he becomes more awake and lucid.

"How long was I gone?"

He forces himself not to watch his mouth. Luckily, watching where they're going and what he's doing makes good reason for it. To not have to hear the apologies makes it easier, but to see him mouthing out the shapes still would be all the more painful. It's not his fault, none of this is. Not what happened to him, not the failure of the movement, none of it, and for all the hate and disappointment Karkat feels, he can't bring an ounce of it against his ancestor. He was a good troll - not perfect, but better than any he's ever known.

With the brush of arm on coral, Karkat gently moves them back into a lax state, then lets go. Just the boost of energy won't be enough on its own. There's too many wounds that could become aggravated or infected; surely, sterile implements and environment weren't on the minds of the torturers.

He looks up as he answers, "About a month on the human calendar. It's September 24th. But we can't just stand around catching up, we need to--" A look to his moirail. "Gamzee, what can we even do? He needs to get clean, and bandaged, and these fucking irons--his hands--"

His voice chokes up on him.

If Gamzee wasn't tasked with keeping Signless standing, he'd be tucking Karkat into his chest right at the first sound of his voice choking, but he can't. Later, he will. For now all he can do is carefully shift Signless' weight onto one of his shoulders, letting go with one hand to just grip Karkat's arm for a moment. It's the nearest thing he can grip without potentially unbalancing everything.

The question though, now that is a tough one. The closest time he has ever seen a troll this hurt and not dead was that one time Darkleer had gotten injured. But the arrow still sticking from Signless' side with the oh-so-bright blue fletching waving in the air like some motherfuckin' banner nixes any chance of getting Darkleer involved. but who else? None of them can really heal anyone right? Somehow playing sgrub had taught them plenty about how to destroy, but nothing about how to heal.

Gamzee meets Karkat's eyes with a sad, brows-furrowed and uncertainty shining in his eyes kind of look. "We.. fuck, we need some sort of miracle, bro. Some motherfucker what knows how to be a doctor or shit."

Sufferer leans more heavily on Gamzee, letting the taller, younger troll take most of his weight. Even in all his sadness and anguish, he hates hearing Karkat sound like this, and if he could, he'd reach out and run one hand through his descendant's messy hair.

But he won't be running his hands through anyone's hair ever again, now will he? Not with hands like these, all broken and useless before him. He sighs, a deep, shuddering breath. "Sorry, Gamzee," he mutters quietly, unable to meet the young indigo's eyes, even knowing that, if he's only been gone a month, they haven't started to change yet. He swallows, and when he speaks again, his voice is a little stronger.

"Take me to the clinic."

Karkat takes the grip of Gamzee's hand gratefully. While there will be practical concerns after this, like clean clothes and washing his face and hands, what he could really use is time with his moirail to sort out this mess of feelings. He's sure Gamzee will need his own comfort, too.

They can't drop everything and jam just yet, though. Gamzee speaks the obvious, but Karkat doesn't know any doctors, or healers, or anyone remotely helpful at a time like this. Maybe Lily could have done something if she were still around. When the Sufferer speaks up to suggest what would otherwise be obvious, however, the look he gives is uncertain.

"The clinic? Are you sure that's where you want to go?" he asks. He has no better suggestions, but the worry is there nonetheless. "After that prank last April, do you really think we can trust it?"

"That were a fuckin' while back. Maybe they became better motherfuckers since then." Gamzee offers his somewhat hopeful suggestion while looking at Karkat. To be honest, it seems like they have few if not simply no alternatives, so they might as well try and find peace and optimism in the decision they are forced to make.

"Where else is there to go?" Sufferer asks, his head hanging down and his limp, blood-matted hair hanging in his eyes. Once, he might have tried to dance around the issue and soothe the young troll's worries, but there's no time for that now. "Please... take me there."

Gamzee's optimism comes as no surprise, but it's the Sufferer's simple question that sticks it in his mind. That, and his plain desire to go there. Karkat sighs.

"How are we going to do this?" he asks, all pragmatism again. "I don't want to hurt you any more than moving itself is going to do, but I seriously doubt you can just walk on your own right now. Maybe if we..." He looks to Gamzee. "Maybe if we supported him from the back? Your arm at the shoulders, mine lower, and a hand on his arm to steady him more?"

"Maybe I could carry him?" He is taller than Signless. Carrying him shouldn't be a problem, right? Even if Signless is more solidly build and weighed down with the heavy irons. Surely just carrying him would be... fine. Probably. Maybe.

Gamzee turns his head to look at Signless, figuring that whatever is decided, the decision is probably best left with either Signless or Karkat. "What do you wanna?"

Sufferer sighs; despite the burst of energy from the coral, everything is starting to build up again, and he hurts. He hurts, and he's tired, and he just wants to curl up somewhere and be left alone with his thoughts. It will be penance, for all he's done.

"Lean on Gamzee, Karkat under my arm," he says quietly, then glances down. "And break off the end of that arrow."

"No, Gamzee, you're not carrying him," Karkat answers immediately. For all the idea seams easier than having to support him with his tired legs to walk, he doesn't trust that his moirail has the strength to do so without risk of dropping him.

Luckily, the Sufferer offers his own preference. Karkat looks back to him. "Got it. Both of you, hold still. I'm going to do this as gently as I can, okay?"

Not wanting to try to do this while he's under his arm, or leave his ancestor less supported to let Gamzee do it, he turns his attention to the arrow. He'll be happiest when it's out entirely, not merely for health's sake, but for the symbol of hatred it's become to him. To at least break off the end will ease some of it.

He places one hand against his side, clenching the shaft of the arrow between thumb and hand proper. It's not the strongest grip, but it should help to keep it still. He clutches just above that with the other. One look passes to each of them, to check that they're ready, a deep breath, and then he snaps off the arrow's end.

He clenches it in his hand as he steps back. "There. Unless you've got something better you want to do with it, I'm going to burn this stupid thing as soon as I get the chance. But I'm going to get under your arm now, alright? Both of you, tell me I'm doing it wrong, because I don't want to hurt you too much--" A look to the Sufferer. "--or making supporting him more difficult." And one to Gamzee.

So, after captchaloguing the arrow's end (if his ancestor has no objection), Karkat will go to get in position with as much care as he can.

Gamzee waits patiently while Karkat snaps off the end of the arrow. Though its sight doesn't instil much hatred in him, it is a depressing reminder of what someone he loves a bunch did at one point in his life.

With the arrow gone, he shifts slightly trying to adjust his posture in such a way that he gives Signless the most support possible from a lanky teenager. "If you wanna stop, you just gotta fuckin' say, aight?" That's directed to Signless, though it is probably something that doesn't necessarily needs to be said.

He fusses at his side for a moment, trying to find the best place to put his arm before he gives a tiny nod. "Ready whenever you is."

Sufferer winces and breathes out hard when Karkat snaps the arrow in half; as gentle as his descendant was, the arrowhead still jarred inside him, and a fresh trickle of blood runs down his side. He looks up, though, when Karkat mentions burning it.

"No. I want it. I want the top half too." His reasons are his own for this; the arrow was once carried by Darkleer for sweeps. Now it's time for Sufferer to carry it and mull over it and all it represents for a time.

He leans heavily on the two young trolls and, walking as best he can--although there are times when the boys are more dragging him than actually helping him walk--they go to the clinic. Once there, though, Sufferer blanches a little at the stairs, his face going even paler. "I... I don't think I can walk up those."

Karkat frowns; he'd really like to destroy the thing, to make sure it's wiped out of existence as completely as possible, but he also can't deny the Sufferer's larger claim to it.

"Alright," he says. "I'll hold onto it for now, and though I detest using these words for that object, I'll keep it safe until you can take it."

Pushing that thought out of mind, and once in proper position, he helps his ancestor (and Gamzee in supporting him) to get to the clinic. It's not the easiest work, meaning that the stairs look daunting enough before the Sufferer speaks up.

"Shit. Is there any other way?" He looks to Gamzee, questioning, "Or are we going to have to carry him after all?"

"I think I could carry him." It's just a few steps, right? That should be manageable. Really, the big problem here is less whether he could hoist Signless that far but whether he could do it without injuring him further. The whole walk here must've already taken a lot out of the wounded troll and getting slung around by a well-meaning, but clumsy clown might be too much for him to handle.

"Or... Or maybe we oughta like fuckin' ask one of the motherfuckers what does work here? Maybe they up and got some better way alls of getting him at where he need to go."

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should we just skim over the whole walking part? might be easiest.

consider it skipped!

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