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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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."

Sufferer leans his head on Karkat, almost swooning with pain and exhaustion. He is very, very close to the end of his endurance. "Drag me if you have to."

"If we carry him we're doing it together," he starts, before the Sufferer takes to leaning on him. "And we're not dragging you. We want to keep you in one solid piece, not encourage parts of you to come falling off. Hold on a little longer."

He looks towards the door, then back to Gamzee. "Get an arm behind his back and his knees, and scoop him up like that. Let me support his upper half -" He's already in position for that, roughly. "- and we'll bring him in like that. Slowly, so we don't jostle him too much."

So long as the Sufferer doesn't veto it, Karkat goes to reposition himself a little before nodding a go-ahead to his moirail.

Gamzee moves into position slowly, giving Karkat ample time to adjust his arms if needed before, when given the go-ahead, he scoops up Signless. It is a surprising amount of weight. Signless might not be tall, but he sure is compact, and put together out of a lot more than just elbows and knees like Gamzee. The cuffs don't help shit either. But still, they'll manage.

"No worries, my brother. We'll got you all up a these fuckin' stepcases in a motherfuckin' jiff, no trouble."

He knows they mean well, and he knows they're trying. Really, if it weren't for the two of them, he'd probably still be slowly bleeding to death next to the fountain. But the act of getting jostled around when he's picked up is too much for him, and he curses loudly as he curls in on himself, completely forgetting that tucking into a ball is not really conducive to being carried.

"FUCK!"

Karkat cringes in sympathy as the Sufferer curls as he does, but also in shock to hear the curse. It's not that he didn't know he could; he was told before he met him of the Vast Expletive, but that doesn't make it any less strange to hear from the mouth of someone normally kind and gentle.

"Hey, hey, relax--please, just try to. Lean your back against me so I can help carry you." He doesn't pull or prod as he speaks, relying on words alone to - hopefully - coax him into an easier position. "I can't begin to imagine how much it has to hurt for you, but please. It'll be over as soon as we get you there, and they'll help you, and things won't be as mindfucked terrible as they are now."

Sufferer wants to cooperate--he does!--but the pain is just too much. He feels like if he tries to lay flat again, he'll rip in half and leave the steps to the clinic soaked in vile, mutated blood. He grits his fangs together so hard it feels like they're going to snap off.

"Just get it over with," he manages, and lays his head back on Karkat's shoulder. That's the best he can do right now.

This is absolutely in no way utterly upsetting. Absolutely not. Nope.

Gamzee's arms tremble faintly. Not due to physical strain. Signless is heavy but he can hold him. It's more the mental aspects of it. To hold someone in his arms who is crying out with so much pain, to feel blood stickily congeal against his skin, to smell the burned skin. Nope. This is no picnic in the park. But it has to be done as Signless says.

Gritting his teeth, he hauls Signless up the steps with the help of Karkat, stepping through the doors of the clinic that slide open once they come close enough.

Remember this day well, Gamzee, because this is your birthright. The arrow in Sufferer's side might be tipped with blue, but the injuries across his body were done with weapons and claws tinted indigo. Remember this, and do all that you can so that you never become someone who would do such things, and spend the whole time honking in laughter.

Sufferer is a rigid ball of agony by now, past being able to speak or articulate himself very well, and all he does is moan quietly as they carry him into the clinic.

Thank inventors for sliding doors. Karkat wouldn't even know what to do if they reached them and he had to jostle his ancestor around anymore just to get one open. It's bad enough to see him like this, to have to carry the heavy, sticky weight of him. It's bad for Gamzee, surely, but Karkat's the one who has to see blood his own color, and know the hate they could bring against a mutant like him. Here is the living, breathing story of his sign, horrifying as it is.

Once they're inside, he's shouting at whatever employee can hear him. "Get us a fucking four wheel device! Or one of those flat things to lay on, whatever you call them, something, because if you shiftless anal contusions take so long we drop the Signless, there will be unimaginable hell to pay!"

With any luck, that should get them some nurses and a stretcher so they can finally put him down, and he can get the care he needs.

Luck has it that what nurses there are in the clinic are of the quick and efficient type. It isn't before too long before they are rushing up, a bed along with them, ready to lift Signless off the two young trolls and onto the bed. It is a flurry of medical attention that leaves Gamzee standing slightly awkwardly, certainly glad that Signless is finally getting some proper attention but in that odd, detached sort of way where he mostly just can't help but notice the blood and soot staining his arms and shirt.

Sufferer stays curled in a ball once he's on the wheeled bed, the broken off arrow pointing rakishly towards the ceiling and his cuffs staining the white sheet he's laying on. His throat is too dry to speak, and his vision is starting to fade out, but he lifts his head when they start to wheel him away, and makes a gesture with his hands while looking directly at Karkat. It's an odd, disjointed gesture, spoiled by the shackles on his wrists and his own weakness, but the implication is fairly clear.

Don't leave me.

It's easier once the Sufferer is out of his arms, in the manner of a physical weight lifted. His arms can relax now. He doesn't have to worry if he's hurting him anymore. Still, he's left feeling bereft that he can't help any further. He would be ready to just go to Gamzee and get to some much-needed mutual emotional comfort, but then he sees the Sufferer's gesture.

Hopefully Gamzee's ribs are resilient, as in the next moment, Karkat is wrapping him in a brief but crushing hug. "I'm sorry, I have to..." he babbles out, every word sincere, and then he's pulling back.

"Let me go with him!" This shout he directs to the nurses as he chases after the rolling bed. He prays, as much as a guy who only believes in the gods he's seen can, that they'll let him. "I won't interfere, I'll keep out of the way, just let me be there because by whatever cruel fates have wrought this, he does not need to be alone right now."

There is a little 'oof' when Karkat slams so suddenly into him, but Gamzee's ribs withstand the sudden blow. He drops his arms to squeeze Karkat around the shoulders, combing his claws through his hair for a moment. "Aight. Just... later, aight. You call and I come--" He's mostly babbling too, not even able to finish his sentence before Karkat is pulling back again and yelling at nurses. They don't really seem to object to his orders though, or perhaps simply cowed in the face of Karkat's superior yelling skills. Which means Gamzee's role here is over. He'll go home, take a bath --the scorching hot sort that is sure to get rid of any ruddy red blood stains-- and wait for Karkat's call.

It is not for some time that Karkat leaves the clinic. While there were certainly limits to what he could do - hovering over the operating table was very much not an option - he did what he could to be there, and to see how they took care of his ancestor. For as nerve-wracking as the whole thing was, however, it did provide a sense of security. To actually check that the nurses were doing their job helped assuage the worries he would have had otherwise. Does he trust them more? No, not really. But he's glad that they helped the Sufferer.

When the nurses have done all they can (and it's certainly no light bandaging that went on), and the Sufferer is left to rest, recover, and be monitored, Karkat reluctantly takes his leave. The other half of the arrow has joined the back end in his sylladex, and will be handed over at a later time. He's cleaner than he was. However, lacking the chance for a full, long shower, he wants to go back to his hive before he calls Gamzee.

Any explanation to Eridan would have been short, something along the lines of "I need an ablution, and I need my moirail, and I promise I'll explain later but I can't right now." But once clean and re-dressed, he fires off a quick message to Gamzee.

GET OVER HERE.

Gamzee has been waiting for that message, an unusually testy and impatient collection of skinny limbs in the rough shape of a troll. Since getting dismissed from the clinic, it had been straight home for him and straight into the trap, but even the hot water and then the very careful reapplication of his make-up had been any sort of calming.

The moment his SFC beeps, he sends back the shortest message he can possible think of sending ( k ) before he shoves up and stalks off. He doesn't even pause to let his hivemates know where he is going but they are a bright sort, they can figure it the fuck out.

The walk over to Karkat's is blissfully short and it is mere minutes after Karkat pressed the send button on that message that he ends up on his stoop, looking testy, impatient, worried, and tired, pounding on the door like he is rethinking his stance on black relationships and adding a whole additional clause on furniture.

(is a door furniture? We just don't know)

Edited 2012-10-12 01:09 (UTC)

Karkat's wait for Gamzee is spent in similar impatience. He's been concerned enough about him over the time spent in the clinic, but now that the two can actually meet, he can hardly stand to wait for it. The reply is quick, but there's minutes enough for him to pace before the front door before his moirail gets there.

At least when the knock comes, sounding like he wants to knock the door down, the answer is prompt. Karkat throws the door open - probably not furniture, but who cares - then slings his arms around Gamzee. Is it usual for him? Definitely not. But this, now, is not a usual situation.

"Get in here," he muffles somewhere against his clavicle, for all he's not stepping away. It's just difficult: He's had all this time to soak up what they did to his ancestor, and know what they had to do to even try to fix it, and what in turn could not be fixed. And for all that, he knows even more that how heavily it affects him can't come close to what it must be like for the troll himself.

When Karkat tosses himself at him, Gamzee immediately reaches up to cradle the back of his head with one hand, his head bend low to the point of his nose just barely touching those unruly strands of hair. If this was a rom-com --though very thin on the com, right now-- or one of those romantic tomes that Karkat likes to read , Gamzee thinks, the whole motherfuckin narrative would be on about how Karkat's hair smells like something or another, something flowery or fruity or shit, but really mostly it's just shampoo. "Shoosh."

It's a little hard manoeuvring with Karkat stuck to his chest like a particularly sticky burr, unintending to let go, but Gamzee manages an awkward little shuffle step that brings him into the house far enough that he can close the door.

It isn't until he's inside that he cups Karkat's face best as he can between his rough-fingered hands. And then as gentle as you can expect a clown to be, he tries to pry Karkat's face away from his collar bones, so he can look down into it, his thumbs sweeping slowly over his cheekbones. "Sshh, brother, I'm here now. I'm here."

Edited 2012-10-12 04:37 (UTC)

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

consider it skipped!

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