thearena | [Open] There's a devil in the church

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.

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"I'm sorry." He's a broken record, but nothing else seems to want to come out. He took another step back, putting as much space between them as he could in the hall. Jet couldn't be anywhere near him, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Initiate.

"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.

Jet stepped away, and without thought, he mirrored a step forward. Jet shouldn't fear him. He doesn't want Jet to fear him. Especially not like this. Even if what it really is is fear of himself, fear of madness. Mirth, if any motherfucker knew a thing about madness it would be him.

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.

He hated it, he hated how quickly Initiate shut down just from the way Jet said something and it made him hate himself even more for doing it. But it was better than him getting hurt because of Jet.

"I'm sorry." He was saying it too much and yet he couldn't say it enough. He felt like he needed to say it every chance he could until he heard a response in Initiate's own voice. "I need to protect you, even if it's from me."

The urge to reach out to him was there again, just as strong, willing him to pull his brother in close and whisper to him how Jet would make it up to him some day, would do everything he could save and protect and care for Initiate like he wanted to. But he still couldn't. Even just standing here, Jet was a threat to him, but he could say one thing. Being damned in the eyes of the Capitol already gave him a little more freedom, at least.

"Please, just remember you're important to me, so I need to keep you safe. You shouldn't stick around here." Around him. He couldn't back away any further with his back to the opposite wall, but he lowered his own eyes, staring at the ground between them and waiting -hoping- to hear the sound of footsteps walking away.

He knows it's going to happen. He's no more than a tool, appliance, furniture, all just things in the eyes of the Capitol. He is not bitter about this. He doesn't have it in him to be. It settles just right inside him, the perfect connecting puzzle of all and every sin his hands have brought to being. He is due no matter what for another pretty little polishing coat.

One day Jet will understand. One day Jet, and everyone what all he knows will see, that he had to do this to himself to save himself. It's far from the most selfish thing he's ever done, or is capable of. Every bit of harm he dished out was to protect himself. Every bit of harm taken now to save the others was to protect himself.

That was the deal he made. I lose people, I live a monster. I turn myself better, I can't lose no one. Sanity is concept so fucking abstract to most. They are the audience. He is the funambulist atop the wire high, feeling the breeze so high up here, teetering his way from one side to the other with a straight back and held breath.

But he doesn't want to hurt anybody. Not anymore. Least of all them what's his friends like Jet. He has his orders, commands what override all of Jet's wants. He's not allowed to leave this place, not until dusk when he returns to his duties in the capitol-- otherwise he would. He'd do whatever his friend needed of him to do. Thankfully, he can use them orders some to his advantage.

When he walks, he doesn't make a sound, because he's been trained and conditioned so as not to. But he does walk, even if it's only a short distance away before stopping, shoulder facing Jet and waiting for his friend to look up before he walks another short distance and stops. And waits again.

There's no sound, but there's a shift in the air, a movement his highly-tuned sensors pick up and reflect as a small blip of a notification in the corner of his vision. It nearly brings a sigh of relief to have Initiate leaving, not a reaction he was used to having for his friend.

But then he looked up and noticed Initiate had stopped. Jet watched as he started forward again only to stop once more. Jet could read a 'follow me' when it was given to him. He took a step forward, half waiting for the voices and sounds to come back before deciding waiting for them was an awfully stupid thing to do, so he took another step and continued on to follow at a pace that was only a little slower than Initiate's, enough to keep Jet a step behind him.

He didn't know what the game was, but his options were limited and unpleasant in all directions, this was the best of the bad lot.

Of course there'd been some worry Jet wouldn't follow. Nothing worse would've come of it, but nothing really good either. Being as he is, it seems to him he ought to at least try for making some sort of motherfucking something be of happenstance.

The moment he's sure Jet is following, his walk steadies. There's the ghost of relief in him. He doesn't look up but his ears flick in a way that shows he's listening. His own steps are silent, but he can try and hear on Jet's.

He brings his brother to the wide doors of the great hall, pushing one open and holding it until Jet is through. Once done, he's quick to dart toward a chair and pull it out for his brother to sit in, grabbing food and water, things he hopes Jet likes, and laying them out before the seat. It's just a shame things ain't so fresh this week.

Jet's steps are audible and solid, not heavy, but certainly not normal if he were human, either. Having metal feet (and not those cheap knock-offs the capitol gave him) produced a different sound. But they didn't waver, either, he didn't stop following Initiate.

He knew where he was being led and he took the chair offered to him, but seeing Initate run around collecting things for him brought a swell of unease in his chest. He shook his head.

"You don't have to serve me, 'nitiate, no one's ordering you to."

He knows that probably won't stop him, but he couldn't just sit there and say nothing. The fact he couldn't just refuse it was bad enough.

Out of all the things brought, it's the water he goes for. He wasn't so sure he had an appetite after nearly offing his brother. The same one who was now acting subservient when it was Jet who wanted to sit Kurloz down and do that for him instead. He felt sick.

He catches the shake of Jet's head. It's the quick dare in a breath of time, to look up in order to process any possible command, but to do so without truly making any eye contact or show that he's looked. Automatically, his hands stop touching the plates of food and utensils.

He starts to straighten, hands pulling back slow. But then the blank flat line of his mouth presses just the barest bit tighter. It wasn't actually a command. Right? He will make it clear. He's doing this because he wants to. Because it's something.

He needs to do something.

He reaches back to the table, for the water this time, picking it up and brings it close. He has the vision in his head of bringing it down, just enough to make a sound, a small insistence that Jet accept his help. But the vision of the noise is enough to make him flinch internal.

But there's only so much he can bring. Eventually he has to step back and stand by. It's automatic instinct to be as perfectly still as possible. He tries to be more alive, move his hands an inch, look over at the cracks in the floor. It's forced, but it has to be.

He's a little surprised there's any kind of reaction, at least until he realizes it could have been perceived as some kind of order and Initiate was simply obeying. But then he picked up the water and for a moment he could imagine it was Initiate daring him to do something about it, but that was silly, at least the way things were now, so he dropped the idea. But it didn't stop at the water, Jet's attention didn't have very much to go to other than Initiate so the tiny differences in his friend's demeanor became noticeable. They were unimportant normally, but considering how rigid he'd been the last time Jet saw him, they were something.

In his own way, Kur was trying.

"Thank you."

What else could he say with cameras on them? He didn't want to call unneeded attention on his brother, the attention Jet gave him was likely what anyone with half a brain expected, but anything from Initiate himself needed to be kept hidden to keep him safe. It wouldn't help for him to be improving only to be punished again and lose that.

Jet took a small bite out of whatever was closest and swallowed. He was accepting the help offered. What he wished he could do in return was find a way to tell Initiate that Jet was going to do whatever he could to save him. It wasn't something he'd said before, but he should have. Now there were cameras everywhere and Jet couldn't even tell him the simplest thing. He couldn't even warn him it was likely Jet was going to end up like him, if not out and out killed in the damn streets.

Well...maybe there was one way. But should he? It wasn't like Initiate could do anything about it and even if he could, it would be dangerous, Jet wouldn't want him to. Then again, he'd have given anything to have some warning when Albert had gone off to kill himself. Even if he'd have been clawing at the walls, it would have been better than learning the news from Kirk.

He flashed a brief smile over at Initiate. "Hey...you remember how I asked you to come up to my apartment and clean it now and then? Got this dumb tribble up there that I want you to do something with. Donate it, whatever, just take care of it, think you can do hat for me?" Maybe it was too subtle, but that was fine too, at least then Al's dumb fluff ball could go to someone else and not just rot away forgotten or even get thrown out with the rest of Jet's crap.

Smiles like that, from his friends, disarm him. It doesn't show much, but he thinks, for a split second, how things could get on being all a sorts motherfucking normal. All up and about a proper normalcy in getting right by his friends.

He listens without response but he listens intently. It's mostly by what his conditioning commands but he likes to think that at least some of it is just because this is Jet. He accepts the imformation without much thought. He knows where Jet's place is, he knows where the tribbles are kept and could find them by their cooing aside.

The majority of Tribute items, once the Tribute was gone and out of commission, were gathered and sold off at auction. It was Avoxes who cleaned out the rooms of the dead and muted. He could place it among the shelves of things to be passed off and along-- as keeping it himself is an impossible dream, Avoxes have no belongings any more than chairs do.

But then his mind catches up, working fast as he realises that, if Jet's not taking care of it, he's not going to be around. Something's going to happen.

NO, he thinks, louder and clearer than anything else he's managed up to this point. No, no, no, that wasn't right, that wasn't fair, everyone should be protected, Jet should be protected and safe, oh mirth.

His blank eyes go glassier and for a brief second, his hands are clenched tight. What did Jet do? What could have have done in all this time? He recalls again Jet's bruises and the realisation just out of his reach sits like a stone in his gut. He can't process nor react to this. He can only pray. Albert was thought dead once too and it turned a brother was fine. He needs that.

Slowly, he takes another step back and goes still again. He accepts the information and is willing to do the task presented to him at soonest available opportunity. Please, not you. But that's just how things up and are in war, ain't that it? This is just how things always go.

He can't let himself wonder yet if his choice was a mistake.

He can see the tells only because he's looking for them, otherwise they would have been too subtle for even his perceptive abilities. But they're there and he wished he could offer something comforting. He can't, it is what it is and he made his grave when his fist connected with Sigma's face. He had no last ditch hopes, no last minute rescues around the corner, he had no choice but to lie in it.

He stuffed a last bit of food in his mouth and knocked back the water as soon as it was clear again and stood. Quietly, he moved over to Initiate, not looking at him as Initiate wouldn't look at Jet. It was even that way. His hand came up to rest on Initiate's shoulder for a split second before pulling away. That was the only contact he figured he could afford.

"Thanks again. I'll see you around, brother." He wouldn't, but it was nice to say and pretend.

He headed back for the hallway and the way to his camp, hoping the voices would stay away just a little longer.

There's no time to mourn. There's not going to be. If it takes the rebellion years to get their roots, there will be nothing left but a poorly healed scar what never saw stitches.

The hand on his shoulder brings jolts of fear not all unlike the electric shock used on him in part of making this all happen. It's suffocating. It puts a buzz on his motherfucking thinkpan.

But he closes his eyes and tries to remember the feeling all the same. He tries to remember the voice and record so no matter what they do, he'll remember this. He hopes he remembers this.

Jet leaves and the chaos in his mind settles. Rather than calm, he just finds himself feeling a little colder.

See you around, brother.

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[Open] There's a devil in the church

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