Who| Initiate and Kain, Justin & Sigma, Elsa, Orc, and Di (all separate times and threads). ALSO OPEN.
What| DEATH AND MURDER ALL THE WAY THROUGH. Also zombie-family.
Where| The forest/orchard, the amusement park, wherever
When| Week Four! And maybe onward???
WARNINGS| Gore, violence, death, desecration of corpses, language, Initiate, so on

When the people start emerging from the fog, wandering, lost, he doesn't think much of it at first. Sometimes they brought motherfuckers in part way through these things. New blood, new faces. He watches a few pass, keeping low. Maybe "thinking nothing of it" is understating. It's hard not to grow a little suspicious when person after person passes with that same blank-faced, glassy-eyed look. He finds himself gripping his weapon a little tighter than before, eyes narrowed.

But then, just as easy, just as quick, he forgets all that. From the fog emerges a new form, this one with horns. He knows those horns. He would know them if all he were a motherfucker struck blind.

His descendant emerges, looking lost, but it ain't that different than how all he'd been, it ain't that different at all. Just like there were harsh administrations done painful is all just--

He's rolled off the food stand roof he'd been perched on and is landing hard on his feet before he even gets the thought in pan to get such actions done. He's pulled like a fish on a hook, feet picking up speed and carrying him along and then he's there, before him, the descendant he'd never meet without the Capitol (and never have with it).

"Gamzee!" He shouts at the kid. "GAMZEE!" His hands are on the kid's shoulders, shaking him. Gamzee doesn't respond. He stares blankly up at the Initiate, like he doesn't recognize him.

"Motherfucker, speak!" He doesn't. Gamzee doesn't make a sound. He just continues staring blankly right on through. There's a strange hollow feeling in him that the Initiate is only half sure he recognizes. His expression makes to twist but he stops it and hardens it all, making himself colder. He slides the pack off his shoulders and slips it on Gamzee easy, kneeling as he does so. He makes sure it's on good, gives Gamzee's shoulders one more pat as he stares into the kid's unseeing eyes. Then, in a few awkward but quick motions, he gets his descendant's bone thin arms wrapped up around his neck and hoists up the kid's legs, carrying the boy on his back. Gamzee's head rests on his shoulder, his curly hair getting up in front of his eyes and in his paint, but not a thing is evinced, no change in expression at all, just a mere blinking.

He knows a place he can keep the boy safe, deep in the Not-Carnival. Safe in a place where all he can make to come back to. For the first time in any arena, he gets the thought in him to try and beat all everyone. But not for his own self. It'll be easy. Just a quick raking of claws along his own throat. Then, maybe, it could work.

In the back of his mind still cries the Alternian rule; he's a detriment, it's dangerous, he's been made invalid, he's just wiggler bratt, he should be culled, it is duty, It's his duty as subjugglator. He should be culled.

Alternia could get pailed.