thearena | [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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

[Open] There's a devil in the church

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