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thearena2015-06-10 10:16 am
metalicarus) wrote in thearena2015-06-10 10:16 am
Entry tags:
[Open] There's a devil in the church
Who| Jet and OPEN
What| The Gamemakers make sure Jet's getting punished for his actions
Where| Outside in some shade and then in the castle for the other two prompts
When| Tuesday-Thursday of Week 3
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of insanity throughout and reference to alcoholism in the last prompt. Feel free to tag any or more than one, if it interests you.
Ever since he'd been shoved into that tube still battered and bruised from the Peacekeepers, Jet had been expecting more, something awful that would rain down on him for his actions. They'd already been in the arena for nearly a month and there hadn't been much.
Sure, there were a few instances here and there, but not as much as he was expecting. Of course, when the beginning of the week rolled around and he tried to tug on that damn sword and all he'd gotten was terribly sick, he had to wonder if there'd even been a point in trying; something like that, the Gamemakers were sure to prevent him from even having a shot at, why reward someone you were trying to punish? That was what he thought about all that day as he recovered and questioned his life choices.
But that too went away after a bit and he couldn't stop the feeling that there had to be something worse around the corner, something he might not even see coming. Of course, part of the punishment could be just this: making him ridiculously paranoid, but he'd be surprised if that was really all that was in store for him.
What| The Gamemakers make sure Jet's getting punished for his actions
Where| Outside in some shade and then in the castle for the other two prompts
When| Tuesday-Thursday of Week 3
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of insanity throughout and reference to alcoholism in the last prompt. Feel free to tag any or more than one, if it interests you.
Ever since he'd been shoved into that tube still battered and bruised from the Peacekeepers, Jet had been expecting more, something awful that would rain down on him for his actions. They'd already been in the arena for nearly a month and there hadn't been much.
Sure, there were a few instances here and there, but not as much as he was expecting. Of course, when the beginning of the week rolled around and he tried to tug on that damn sword and all he'd gotten was terribly sick, he had to wonder if there'd even been a point in trying; something like that, the Gamemakers were sure to prevent him from even having a shot at, why reward someone you were trying to punish? That was what he thought about all that day as he recovered and questioned his life choices.
But that too went away after a bit and he couldn't stop the feeling that there had to be something worse around the corner, something he might not even see coming. Of course, part of the punishment could be just this: making him ridiculously paranoid, but he'd be surprised if that was really all that was in store for him.
Outside in the horrific sunshine, Tuesday
At first, it was fine, he sat with his back to something solid and pressed his face into his hands to hide from the brightness for a moment. But that was when the whispering started. It was quiet, something just out of earshot like he'd heard in the forest before that tree had grabbed him. But, unlike then, these whispers got a little louder. Jet's hands fell away and he opened his eyes, expecting the voices to go away...but they didn't. Some of them got louder and one sounded like it was right next to his ear, whispering his name.
He bolted up and looked around, as though the owner of the voice would suddenly appear when they'd never been there to begin with.
"Who's there?"
He felt silly as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Of course there was no one there, this was just the arena messing with him. He started to sit back down again but the voices that had died down to low whispers again kicked into cacophonous life, like a whole group of people had surrounded him. Most of them where whispering his name, but not all of them. Venus' voice and Albert's voice and even the voices of the people he knew where still safe here in the arena all started whispering to him as well. 'Why didn't you help me? Jet, Help me! Please, it hurts, I can't stand it!
"Cut it out! I'm not falling for your bullshit!"
To Anyone else, it simply looked like Jet was talking to himself, shouting up at the sky like the birds were going to answer him. But there wasn't a soul around.
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That's when she hears a voice shouting into the distance--a familiar voice, and one apparently in distress. Terezi hurries in that direction, eventually happening upon Jet in all of his possibly-insane glory.
Instinct tells her to approach cautiously, and she does. She calls out to him before she's actually within range of physical contact. "Jet? Hey... Are you okay?" Probably a stupid question, but she needs to get him talking to her somehow.
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"I thought you were with the others."
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"What about you... Why are you off by yourself. You should have a partner at least. It might help."
In the Castle halls, just outside the banquet hall, Wednesday
Hoping it might be there again, Jet had gone into the great hall in the hope of finding food and being able to bring some back to the others. It had been there, piled in a wonderful array (although, he noticed it was a little smaller and simpler than before, but food was food so he didn't question) and he'd wasted no time in digging in. He filled his own stomach, then piled as much as he could carry into his bag and started off back to 'camp.' With no one immediately around him in the hall, the whispers seemed to start back up with a vengeance, Seemingly making up for all the time they hadn't been there.
This time, they were definitely louder, no longer whispers so much as distant voices and ones he could easily recognize too. There was the same sort as before, but more had been added on top of that. Perry's voice was there, taunting as he slit Chaud's throat in their very first arena, Felicity's screams as Jet fought and lost to Kevin, Chaud's own voice, condemning Jet for giving up so easily, like a coward. But then the voices weren't just from Panem.
Jet felt himself go cold as a small, innocent little voice rang clear as a bell in his ears. 'You...you saved me.' Eve. He could hear her, see her just out of the corner of his eye and he turned to try and catch sight of the little girl who'd depended on him. Depended on him and he'd failed her horrifically. 'JET!' She screamed and it wasn't distant, it was right next to him and he whipped around, reaching for something, anything he could grab to get all the whispers and the dancing at the edges of his vision to go away.
His hand wrapped around something and he pinned it to a wall, dagger coming up to press at the person's throat. Yes! Maybe now it would stop, maybe now he could make the voices in his head go away.
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So to say that Kurt is surprised when the blonde man's hand snatches him cleanly from his hiding place and shoves him brutally against the wall, brandishing a knife, is a vast understatement.
Frankly, Kurt's certain in a distant sort of way that he's going to need to find a clean pair of pants.
The mutant gasps at the knife on his throat, going stock still and wide-eyed at his assailant. This is it, then? Is he going to die here cut up by some paranoid stranger? He can't simply teleport out of the man's grip, it's too tight and he'd end up taking the guy with him, so all he can do is panic.
"H-hey!" Kurt cries out, his words more heavily accented for his distress. "I didn't mean to-! I was just hiding! Stop!"
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Between those eyes and that accent (heavier, but unmistakable) Jet let go quickly and dropped the hand that held his weapon. His free hand ran across his eyes as he took a step back to try and show he really wasn't going to do anything. "I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't..." 'see you' sounded stupid in his head. He'd definitely grabbed the kid by his neck, that was a very hard thing to be an accident.
"Are you okay?"
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He could teleport away right now, he could just bamf from one end of the castle to the other, but then that beacon would show up again and he'd be all but a sitting duck for any other Tribute to find and kill. He's not exactly safe here either, but the guy's stepped back and isn't actively trying to attack him anymore. Maybe it's a bit like dealing with the Brotherhood, then.
Better the enemy you know than the unknown.
"Y-yes." Kurt's voice comes out wavering and weak, almost cracking at the end, so he repeats again in a stronger tone. "Yes. Who are you?"
Why did you try to cut me throat? seems like a stupid question given their situation, but it does come to mind.
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He blinked and the vision was gone and he put his knife back into his bag before anything else decided to screw with him.
"Jet. Just another tribute, like you." Obviously the kid was new, Jet was fairly positive he would have noticed a blue fuzzy German teen before today if he wasn't.
"Look, I'm sorry for scaring you, sometimes the arenas like to screw with you so be careful." That was easier to tell himself than the sneaking suspicion it wasn't just the arena. "You should get out of here." He took another step back just so he didn't feel trapped with Jet still kind of close. It was better if he just left before Jet really did lose it.
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He still moves away, down the hall. He can't risk being on the receiving end of this guy's mental missteps, not when he's trying so hard to survive, and even with the knife put away, the blond is taller and from the feel of it stronger than him.
But he can't go far, not with someone so obviously in trouble. "Will you be alright?"
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The thing was, Avoxes weren't people. To everyone watching, Jet is still very much alone. The only difference is things getting a little more motherfucking exciting than the norm of Jet on his lonesome. He wasn't a person, but he could still spill blood.
He gasps, more because he's been grabbed than anything else. His back slams up against the wall and the knife is pointed at his throat. His eyes are wide when, for the briefest moment, he stares at Jet's face. His eyes drop down. Perhaps he was to die here after all.
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Her screams of horror, the taunting voice of Nevua threatening Eve's life to win Jet's compliance, Albert's tired, defeated and pained voice asking about the others -the ones still stuck with Jaden that Jet wasn't there to rescue- how that guilt mixed with hopeful relief morphed into accusation and disgust. He clenched his eyes shut. He just wanted it to stop and the blade pressed in a little closer as he nearly did what he should do.
But then, in the darkness, it registered: the skin his blade was pressed against was grey not black and inky. The eyes that had been wide and directed at him for half a moment were purple and lacked that eery sick glow somnua had.
Initiate.
A horrified gasp choked him and the dagger fell with a loud clatter on the stone as Jet jerked back and away from his friend. One of his closest friends, and Jet had nearly sunk his blade into his throat. Was that what they had wanted? It seemed like fittingly cruel irony that the very reason he suspected he was being haunted was technically Initiate himself. Jet's head and eyes were clear like there'd been nothing clouding them and it made Jet sick with terror for what he'd nearly done, there was an indention on his neck and everything and--if he'd just pressed a hair harder...
"I-I'm sorry. God-Initiate...Are you okay?" He wanted to reach out to him and pull him close and make sure there wasn't lasting damage, but he couldn't. What if it started up again and he lost it and couldn't stop himself a second time? He didn't even care it wasn't a good idea to show that much care and concern for a traitor avox, what more could they do to him that they weren't already going to do?
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He's not supposed to but his hands start to shake. He can't fight back. He wouldn't, it's jet, but he can't because it's a Tribute and he can't. But this is the first time he's met a fear so strong it could rival his conditioning. He can hardly think through it, eyes squeezing shut, but he knows this won't be any good for Jet either. Or maybe Jet thinks it's a mercy. All too many considered killing him last time because they thought it better. He hadn't know he was going to come back then either, but he hadn't know what death meant enough to think it bad as this.
He hears the gasp just barely over the sounds around and the fear and pleas in his own damn head. He hears the clatter though. He feels a pain on his throat but his throat aches fucking always these days and it doesn't matter near so much as who's before him and what's been kept from happening.
He's not supposed to, but he gasps in relief, in a sudden rush of emotion he's not allowed to have. He knows for certain he'll be returning to reconditioning after this but he can't help himself, the relief is too much, and he struggles to catch himself. His breath keeps coming in short bursts and he raises and a hand to wipe roughly at his eyes. Then he swallows, even for all the difficulty that is, and offers one very small, very stiff nod.
He's alright. He's alive. He'll be alright. They can both still get back to alright.
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"Y-you need to get out of here, I don't want you to get hurt." It terrified him to think he could hurt someone important to him all because he was...what? Losing it? Being tormented by the Gamemakers? He couldn't even tell and that was just as terrifying.
Except, there might be one way to tell. Every other time, when someone else had been around, it had stopped but not this time...either that meant he really was going insane or maybe...
"Wait...did you...did you hear anything a moment ago? Besides me?" He had to take a breath and force the clarification out. "Voices?" Just asking about it made him feel crazy and he wanted to just leave before Initiate could tell him no and confirm what Jet feared, but he needed to know. Except, if this was the gamemakers trying to fuck him up, asking Initiate to answer when Jet knew they were being watched was like asking him to lay down in front of a damn car just for Jet's peace of mind. Like hell.
He quickly shook his head and held up a hand. "Nevermind, don't answer me." He phrased it like an order on purpose. It needed to be listened to, for Initiate's own safety.
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There's no getting out of here. There's not even going to be no getting hurt. But he's not a fool, he knew what the fuck he'd signed up for. He won't leave, not unless he's directly ordered to. And then where all would he even motherfucking go? The dusk's not yet come.
His ears go higher on alert as Jet begins to question. His poor tormented brother. And now that he can finally get even quickest glance, he notices that Jet's not in the most perfect of shape. Something happened. Oh mirth, brother, what happened?
But voices, maybe he can help with. He could never be certain himself. He used to hear things all the time, and even he knew only about half were something real and true. He doesn't think that counts for this time. He thinks, if Jet heard them then...
He opens his mouth to answer, forgetting himself, damning himself to inevitable reconditioning to be scheduled sooner. Then the command comes and his mouth snaps shut. He goes stiff and still and blank and stares down at the floor.
Perhaps his reconditioning wouldn't be so close then after all.
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The cathedral in the Castle, Thursday
That certainly seemed the case when he turned down a hallway and the chorus of whispers that had been plaguing him suddenly stopped. Blissful silence left a bewildered Jet slowly heading down the seemingly dead-end hall. It was long and the walls were lined with intricate mirrors leading all the way to what he could see was a large and open room. The first large mirror he walked past, he thought he caught sight of something in the mirror, something that wasn't himself, but it wasn't there when he looked again. The second mirror had the same effect, but when he looked at this one, whatever it was winked out of existence just as he was looking at it. Jet was instantly on edge. The last few mirrors did exactly the same thing, it wasn't until he finally got to that large room that he saw what had been haunting him.
It was a cathedral. Octagonal in it's structure and stained glass made up an intricate pattern on most of the ceiling, causing what little light there was from the storm outside to appear colored. The stone pillars were intricately carved and framed windows -whose glass reflected the inside instead of showing the outside- along nearly every wall except the one across from Jet which held the largest and most ornate mirror he'd seen yet. There, surrounded by mirrors, he could see the reflection of himself twist and change into the picture of his father instead. Ciro Licursi stared back at Jet with hate and anger and every way that Jet moved, the man in the mirror moved.
The voices started up anew, louder than before. 'Just like your father' 'A disappointment' 'fell into a bottle.' "Shut up!" Ciro's expression twisted into one of fury to match the one on Jet's face. A split second later, the vision changed.
Where his father had stood there now was a taller, lankier red-head whose brown eyes held contempt and hatred. Jet himself, over thirty years younger, the person he'd been. But other voices flooded his mind as those eyes glared him down.
'Hey, Goldie. We solid, right? You and me? Family.' Q's voice. Almost pleading.
'Ruuuubio...' A haunting whisper. Nevua.
'What. A. Guy. You a big damned hero, huh?' That same hateful voice as Nevua taunted him for his courage.
'For as Messiahs will and gift, we are meant to change. WE ARE MEANT TO GROW AND ALTER AND SO EMBODY THE DUALITY THAT IS OF THE MOTHERFUCKING UNIVERSE! We will turn their false peace to war! WE WILL TAKE THEIR FALSE HOPES AND MAKE IT TRUTH! We who know death and yet are only of life. WE WHO KILL OUR LOVES--' Initiate's last sermon, followed swiftly by a joyous laugh in his friend's voice that was discordant with all the pain and anger and hate in his head.
' I said don't--LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT-- Fuck! You know... You know that you are hopeless. That you are mine.' Nevua's scream in his ear forced his eyes closed and when he opened them again, the vision in the mirror across from him had changed. He was there, as he is now, but he had his younger-self in front of him, a knife tracing his cheek and down to his throat just as Nevua had done to Jet over a year and a half ago. But as he could feel the sharp edge against his skin like back then, he was the one holding the knife, threatening the red head's life. His own-no the one he should have had. Nevua's voice returned, right at his ear whispering in a seductive and evil way that made Jet's skin crawl.
'That's it, dusi. do it. NOTHING NOTHING nothing nothing nothing... will save you. My Rubio...'
"SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP!!"
Jet's voice broke through the voices in his head and echoed around the room as his hands came up to clutch at his head. There was a click and a whine in the air as he activated his accelerator and tome slowed. He dashed through the cathedral and broke every single window and mirror in the entire room with his own hands, leaving them torn and bloody. When he stopped in the middle of the room, on his knees, time started again and all the glass shattered at the same time, causing a rainbow of sharp rain to fall across the chamber.
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The sound echoed down stone corridors, ringing loud and clear in his enhanced hearing. Maybe he should have thought some more before heading towards the source of the noise, should have been more wary at the chance of walking into a fight in progress with unknown participants but his mind rang with the smell of opportunity more than anything.
If there was a fight in progress there could be a chance where he could take advantage, removing an opponent or scoring supplies for his own group.
Of course the moment he walked into the cathedral and saw who was inside all thoughts along those lines flew out the (broken) window.
There's no way to move silently over broken glass, even if Bucky wanted to. He still steps slowly, boots cracking on shattered pieces, careful to avoid the chance of a shard piecing the sole of his feet. It wouldn't last but it would still damn well hurt and there's no much chance of him finding another pair of serviceable boots in this place. "Jet? Jet what happened?"
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Slowly, he looked over his shoulder, expression worn and the mental torment was there in how dull his normally bright blue eyes were. What was he supposed to say? He punched the windows and mirrors because they pissed him off? He looked back to his torn up hands, a mixture of red and white fluids in the cuts on his real and synthetic skin. He took a breath and finally gave an answer.
"I think I'm going crazy, Buck." He didn't want to admit it, but if there was one person in his family who'd know what it meant to loose your mind, it would probably be Bucky.
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"Wouldn't recommend it." he looks around the cathedral, scanning for a possible threat, anything that might have set Jet off to the level of destruction he'd caused. Bucky wants to touch Jet's hand, assess the injuries and try to patch them up but the look of distress on Jet's face makes him old back. Whatever's going on, Jet's clearly not stable right now.
"What's going on?"
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"I'm hearing voices. I think that's pretty grade-A insane, especially since they're telling me to do things." Somewhat. Nevua had been. Telling him to cut his own throat...had he been holding one of his daggers to his neck and didn't realize it? Part of that wasn't memory, even if a lot of it was.
"...seeing crap too, crap that's not there...but it got to me anyway so I broke 'em all. The voices, they get louder and more real when I'm away from other people and they've been getting worse, but the minute someone else shows up, they're gone again and...I can't tell if the arena's fucking with me or if I finally cracked."
The hellarena where he first met Bucky, he'd been practically despondent before the broken man under the tree gave him something to focus on. Then he'd lost his sight and given up his will to live, something he never thought he'd do in a million years, then he'd gotten trapped in that cave for so long in the last arena he really had gone crazy. The reset had fixed his head, but it had nearly come back while Jet was busy drowning himself in alcohol. And then there was their mission and everyone around him almost broke and Jet tried so hard to keep them in one piece...maybe this was just the final straw. Maybe this was him going senile.
He was scared.
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The words fall out of his mouth immediately, even if he didn't know it for a fact he'd still say them. It'd be the arena one way or another, whether an actual tricks or the sharp repetitive cruelty of it breaking them down. There's enough in the Gamemaker's torture to make anyone go insane eventually; Bucky has enough experience of what it's like to break someone down this way, he even remembers some of it.
Pain, degradation, humiliation, over and over.
Realistically though, it's the arena.
"They stop when others are around because it's the arena." his voice is soft but firm.
That didn't make it any easier though, to brush off or to bear.
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And he's real damn glad that everyone he loves is okay with grouping together, because otherwise he'd be pretty damn hard pressed to be around for the lot of them like he feels like he needs to be.
He's doing around of checking on everyone when he hears the screaming and the breaking of glass, and changes his path almost immediately. His guard is automatically up as he approaches the cathedral, looking around for any sign of of attack, but... there's just Jet, kneeling in the middle of scattered shards of glass.
Sam moves forward cautiously, trying to step on as little glass as possible so he doesn't wreck up his shoes. "Hey," he greets quietly, making sure Jet sees him before he reaches out to try to rest a hand on his shoulder.
"Let me take a look at your hands?"
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But even if Jet didn't want him there, he was and Sam was trying to play doctor and the fact the voices were gone cause his brother was here now was definitely a plus.
He held up his hands for Sam to see. Cuts -some deep, some barely scratches- ran across his hands and fingers, the worst were near his knuckles and on the back of his hand. Having metal hands like usual would have been nice for this, instead a mixture of thin red and viscous white fluids stained the torn skin. "Some of it's real and some of it's synthetic...the skin, I mean. Mostly real."
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But that doesn't really matter, not at the moment. Sam's still not going to ask in the middle of the arena.
He crouches down next to Jet, hand sliding from Jet's shoulder to cup his elbow as he tries to guide him up. "I think I can probably figure it out. We good to go?"
Is something going to try to attack us, he means, but he lets Jet fill in the blanks.
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They needed to leave, but the silence he'd found after breaking all the windows and mirrors was so inviting, like he could stay in the cathedral and retain his sanity or face the arena outside these walls and possibly find the voices were returning. But laying around in his own destructive mess was a coward's choice and, if he was losing his mind, he could at least cling to what he still had left in response.
He took the first step towards the exit, but any bravery he might have felt he was holding to was undermined slightly by his unwillingness to be more than a few inches from Sam's side.
But being so close...it reminded him of Initiate and how Jet had held a blade to his brother's neck just as easily as he'd done to his own minutes before and while it had been his choice or not to cut his own throat, he didn't even realize Initiate had been there until it was almost too late. What if that insanity came back tenfold and the same happened to Sam?
"Sam...promise me that if I start flipping out and put you in danger, you'll knock me the hell out? Not gonna ask you to end me or anything dramatic like that, just don't let me hurt you or anyone else."
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