thebastion | Day 255

Entry tags:

Day 255 - Yeah no

When: Day 255, midday
Who: The Helmsman and anyone who trips over his prone body
Open/Close: Open
Where: The middle of the Bastion, facedown
What: You know what's nice? Grass is nice.
Format: I'll match
Warning: Blood warning/minor self harm in Aoi and Disciple threads

Ever since he'd been brought to the hospital in the middle of the night by Aradia and the Disciple, the Helmsman has been quiet. His throat has been in no condition to really speak, which had been one thing, but besides that... Any attempts to speak with him have just earned a narrow eyed look and thinned lips, although he'd gone along with attempts to feed him and put him into some cleaner clothes.

Apparently, today's the day that changes because anyone going about their business in the Bastion is liable to notice the gray-skinned and horned alien laying facedown in the middle of the little settlement. The clothes he's wearing are far too big for his food-deprived skinny body but despite what it looks like, he is breathing and is alive.

Don't mind him, he's just gonna be here for a while. If you trip, well, that's your problem. Suck it up.

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Pile is in the respite block, but it's to the wall that he wanders over to. The style of those pictures is different and yet the same, something he couldn't forget no matter how hard he could try. (He's never tried.)

Perhaps the respiteblock might show evidence contrary to what his mind is piecing together, but for now, all he can do is look at those splotches of green and start to shake. This hive is nothing like what he'd imagine Dii to ever take up if they ever stopped their wandering, if pipe dreams ever came to fruition, and that color shouldn't be there, not when she's the only oliveblood he's seen in the entire settlement thus far.

She's busy in the kitchen, grabbing some water (that he is going to drink) and a piece of jerky (that he is going to eat). A little time alone might do him--ah fuck. He's shaking.

"Psii--what is it?" She has to skirt past the large awkward pieces of furniture in the room but she doesn't drop anything when she catches up to him by the wall. Oh--was it the pictures? She looks them over, unsure of what he's seeing. Was it just how she drew? Did he forget what her work looked like. It was basic things, trees, deserts, a sketch of the skyway. Her lusus. In a corner, them. Nothing breathtaking but then again, Disciple had forgotten that biting her thumb for the green under her skin wasn't habit before they had gone.

"I didn't draw in my respiteblock yet, would you like to go in there?"

It takes a second for him to answer the question, and when he does, it's just a low alarmed keening noise that drags on. That's it, this really is a hallucination, bad like all the others, this proves it, she's supposed to be okay, she's supposed to be alive somewhere and maybe curled up with furs and away where no one can hurt her, she was the only one to escape she's supposed to be okay-

Yeah the keening noise isn't stopping anytime soon, for however much it's getting ragged and rattly.

That's it, she's dragging him along into her respiteblock, onto the pile she's made. It's a haphazard mess, full of blankets, a mattress, pillows, and some of the pink-red leaves she went back and plucked off the land she had come in on. It lacks the personal touch, too much curling up, not enough preparing for something she didn't think was going to really happen. She gently nudges him onto it, making sure to put him on the softest parts.

"Drink Psii. Shooosh, just drink the water." She pushes it to his lips, trying to coax a few drops down his throat at least.

That's for the best. Once the pictures are out of sight, he stops making noises although he doesn't look any more reassured. There's no real thought into going along with all her nudgings, and he just curls up on the pile like if he becomes small enough things will be okay. The glass to his face earns a wince, but only because he's startled. It's a clean smell, not heavy with salt or other natural things. Tap water. That's good.

His fangs clink against the glass as he opens his mouth just enough for the lip of the glass to press in. There's just a sip before he refuses anymore.

A sip works for her. He drank something, even a sip, so she feels better. Putting it far enough from the pile not to be knocked over, she settles in beside him. Pulling her legs up onto the big mattress that makes hte base of this, she gives him her attention again.

"If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. If not, it's okay, alright?"

As is quickly starting to become the usual, it takes him some moments before he can calm himself down well enough to start using psi to form letters in the air again. His tongue grinds against one of his protruding fangs the whole time.

6l00d

"Blood."

Like a lightning bolt, she realizes. Her first instinct, and the one she indulges, is to curl her hands in on themselves, bury them further into the pile. It's first a little shame, then embarrassment. He didn't--of course he didn't. She hadn't before, not until...She looks away.

"I forgot. I'm sorry. I ran...a lot. And hid. I wrote down his words when I hid and I couldn't always get ink or paint and I just...used blood. It's basically paint anyways. I didn't think anything of it--but I won't. Anymore. I promise."

She pulls her hands free and places them palm up on his. Tiny nicks and scars litter her fingertips, the thick part of her palm attached to her thumb.

That... That makes sense. He guesses. He doesn't want it to, doesn't want her to be hurt, but it makes sense. There's the urge to pull his hands away when she offers hers, yet he refrains and just looks down at them. Somewhere, deep in his memories, he knows there should be something he should do here. Something right.

All he ends up doing is holding her hands, his own scarred and unnaturally thin fingers trembling.

He doesn't pull away, which is more than she had hoped for. In his hands, she doesn't feel quite so off, so strange. He probably had her in his mind the way she was before it all. He probably had held them up so high in his mind that she's not sure she can attain that perfection he seemed to see in them. Sweeps and sweeps, is she even that person anymore?

"I can clean the wall. Start fresh. Just charcoal and fruit paints and things."

A nod. What else can he say? What else can he do? He swallows, and his throat still feels too dry and raw. Even in his mind, he can't have them happy, is that it? It's unfair. It's too goddamn unfair, but since when has anything in his life ever been fair? Miserably, he starts to curl up in on himself again... but takes her hands with him.

1'm 20rry

Oh Psii. She doesn't really understand what he's thinking. She lets him curl up, lets him pull her hands in close. She's screwed up. She did something wrong and she can't fix it.

"No--no I'm sorry. I know...I know you wanted me...I don't know, to be..." Perfect feels too accusatory. Happy feels too vague. He wanted more for her, she thinks, but the world always has different ideas.

"...It was lonely."

1'm 20rry still stays up instead of fading away like any of his other words, flickering and brightly painful for all that they're only two mangled words. He wishes he could have done something. He wishes he could have ended it for them before the Empire got their hands on them all and twisted something good into something broken. He wishes for so much, but it's too late now.

Soon, new words come to form beneath them. 1'm 20rry 1 d1dnt h3lp.

She's crying again, just a few tears, but she refuses to pull her hands away from him. He's sorry. No, no--her shoosh dies on her lips.

"Don't--Psii, it's not your fault. I know you're going to insist I don't blame myself and I'm going to insist you don't blame yourself either. It was lonely because I lost you all. It was lonely because I ran away and lived and had to live knowing you all were gone. Dead or as good as dead. And it's not your fault, it's not my fault, it's the highbloods fault."

She takes a deep breath, "I'm not broken. You aren't broken. We're still here. We're hurt and we need to work ourselves back into dealing with the world, but we are not broken and we should stop blaming ourselves for it."

Hypocrisy at its finest but fake it til you make it.

Those words feel like he should be crying again. All his tears are dried and gone, though, and it might be quite some time until he can manage them again. She's not broken, he knows that much. In his mind, she's too strong, too much a survivor, to be broken.

Him? God, he's...

1 d0nt kn0w 1f 1m 4 tr0ll 4nym0r3 flickers into existence, there for just a moment before he hides it away like he's revealed something horrible. Binary and bitter bitter spite- that's what he's subsided on for so many sweeps. Can you call someone like that a troll anymore?

She shooshes this time, pressing in a little closer. Wary of his scars, of his frailty, she leaves a small space between them, just enough to let him pull back or lean in as he likes.

"Of course you are. You don't become less than a troll because someone treated you like that. You weren't that way before we met you and you certainly aren't that way now."

He gives a shake of his head, one that ends with his face pressed into the pile best as he can. 1m 0nly m3 b3c4u23 1 h4t3 3v3ryth1n9 d11. 1 d0nt 3v3n kn0w 1f th4t2 m3. 1 d1dnt w4nt h3r t0 w1n but 1 d0nt know.

What if he's no better than everything he ever tried to fight against? What if he's worse? Even... Even if this is real, even if this is somehow impossibly real, then he's not the kind of person she'll need, that she'll want.

"Well that's a lie."

Even if he's pressed into the pile, he can still hear her. She takes advantage of that.

"You don't hate everything. And you're not you because you hate things. You don't hate me. Or Signless. Or Dolorosa. You don't hate oranges, you don't hate a lot of things. You're you because you're brave, you survive, if it's just to spite her, it doesn't make it less amazing. You came out the other side with a personality and memories and caring about things. You didn't let her win, but now you can let her go. Refuse to think of her, don't mention her name. She doesn't have control over you anymore."

He's not brave. He's never been brave. He's always been terrified out of his mind, it feels. They'd called him a hero, but what did any of those other trolls know?

And let Her go- he's never wanted to hold onto her. It's always been the opposite- still the opposite, he reminds himself, because this is a hallucination and he'll come to any minute now and be aware of her cruelty and her horrible smile and her cold nails and her atrocious shitty sea puns. How can he let go of that?

1 d0nt kn0w h0w

"I don't really know myself. I hate the executor but he doesn't haunt my dreams anymore. I don't wake up wondering why I'm not dead. ...I can't give you answers I don't have. But I'll help if you let me. Take things one night at a time."

She leans in, nudges his forehead with hers slowly, gently. He's warm.

She'll help him. She'll help him just like she did before, just like when he was a slave the firs time around and it was fear that kept him going more than spite.

Hallucination. Has to be. His mind just replaying events he's gone through before but with a different spint- 1 d0nt kn0w His stare at her is wide and desperate. 1 d0nt kn0w 4nth1n9. Especially not what he wants to do.

She finally pulls a single hand free. Cupping his cheek, she nods. She knows. It's scary and she knows. She'd spent too many weak moments curled up in furs, wishing that arrow had come loose, feeling such guilt she was alive. Life was a scary thing to live, more so when you lived it alone.

"It's okay. You don't have to know anything. You just have to take it day by day. I don't...think I'll be as good as he is at it. He was always the best with helping. But I'll try."

For the first time in nights, he lets himself sink into her touch although his body still won't stop its trembling. There's an unfamiliar ache in his eyes, something different than the usual strain which has plagued him for centuries.

y0u'r3 g00d

And he'll stick to that for eternity.

She doesn't protest his statement. This feels good. Right. Different, in so many ways, but right. He trembles but he's close to her and she feels like things might...be okay.

"You're good too, my 22."

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Day 255 - Yeah no

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tw for mention of self harm to be safe

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