snowblindrpg | [log] Noisy Black Part Two

[log] Noisy Black Part Two - Mingle [closed]

Characters: anyone signed up for the noisy black event
Location: an office building
Date: Night 260, Morning 261, and Day 261
Summary: You give, or are given, medical treatment.
Warnings: body horror, psychological trauma, serious body deformities, please warn for specifics in threads and make sure to note the night/morning/day your thread is taking place

Sinners
Converted

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[America crouches down to get on the Cat's level. He has to shift his tablets around a bit.] Is that a yes?

[ He settles his head back down on the floor, making another little jingling noise that makes him want to take this damn bell and crush it in his jaw. ]

The only people I wish to contact are here, in a great deal of pain.

It'll only be temporary. [He's trying to be reassuring.]

If you have their tablets, give them to Karkat and Davesprite. It may bring them some comfort.

[ His own tablet would be about as comforting as a brick. ]

[America frowns in mild confusion.] I could give Davesprite his, if he wants. [He'd have to speak up, though.]

[ The way he says Davesprite, like Karkat is less than human, like he isn't even an option, makes his tail lash in agitation. ]

You are still under their sway.

I'm a follower of the Prophet. [That's probably not what the Cat means, but it's how America interprets it.] All of you will be, too.

[ It answers the question, either way. ]

Then what harm does it do, providing them some comfort?

It has to be earned. It's not like I want you guys to be upset, but I also want you to get better.

You might think of it as a show of good will. You do have good will towards us, do you not?

Yeah, but--no, it's like how you don't give a kid dessert for breakfast. Not that you guys are kids. [America laughs, embarrassed.] I'm not the best with metaphors.

Compared to me, America, you are a child.

When converting followers it is often important to develop a positive rapport. Elsewise it is easier for a captive to pretend cooperation than continue to incite punishment. I have watched such things countless times, from both mortal and star shapes.

I'm not that young. [This is the voice of someone who has been called young a lot.]

But--look, I don't make the rules. I want to be friends with you guys. We'll be friends later, definitely.

I am older than your entire planet, youngling.

If you do not make the rules, who does?

The Prophet does. We all follow her.

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absentconstellation - 2017-07-19 20:44 (UTC) - Expand

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fifty - 2017-07-19 20:46 (UTC) - Expand

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fifty - 2017-07-19 22:38 (UTC) - Expand

[Davesprite's been listening in. With the awareness of the prophet symbols constantly in his senses and the insistent pain at his back, listening to other people talk is the best (and only) distraction he really has. But tablets are important, and he catches his name. It might be a trick, maybe something will be wrong with them, but what use is it if he doesn't at least make the effort.]

America!

[He tries to turn his head their way, but with his eyes sewn shut behind the clear lenses grafted over them, he can't actually see.]

America, please, I want mine. Can I have it?

Edited 2017-07-19 18:44 (UTC)

[Davesprite can't see the confusion and disorientation on America's face as he looks over at Davesprite, but maybe the others can see it.] Yeah, you can have it. Here. [He slides it over so it bumps up against Davesprite. He can't see, so hopefully that will help him find it.]

[And Davesprite wouldn't care to explain why he looks at he does, either, had he been able to tell. America can just deal with it after what Kid did. But he feels the tablet bump against him, and just that is enough to knock an almost disbelieving breath out of him. He's sat on the floor, pain too much for him to even want to try balancing enough to stand; it's his knee he feels it against. His hands move under the cloak until he can grab it from the floor.]

Christ. Thank you.

[His voice is rough, and his mind still fires with distrust, but it's the best he has right now.]

I'm—I'm going to... talk to the others.

[He swallows. Maybe it will go better if he gives a good impression, given what he's heard.]

I'm supposed to be a guide, right? I can help them. Fuck. I can show them the way.

[He's already scooting, slowly and against the burning pain of it, away from the bars. He can't hand it back over easily.]

Yeah! [America sounds hopeful when Davesprite says that--it's not that he's stupid, but it's obvious that he wants to believe the best option, even if right now in his mind the best option is that they're going along with the conversion.] You can talk to them and then the sooner all the conversion stuff is done with the sooner you'll be feeling better again.

[Conversion. God. Hah, no, not that—the closest thing to his god smells like blood and burned meat right now. He forces himself to nod, then clenches his jaw against the sound of pain that wants to claw from his throat for it.]

Y-yeah. Exactly. I'm—I'm here to help. 'S what I'm good for. What I'm made for.

[He keeps on scooting backward, hissing, breathing harder for it.]

Can you help the—the others, too? They can spread the word.

Everyone's gotta earn it on their own. It's part of the rules. But don't worry, I'm sure everyone'll earn it eventually! It just takes some people longer.

Okay.

[Another shaky breath. It sounds horrible to him, and he hates every piece of it as much as he hates what was done to him (eyes like beacons strung back to him, each tiny movement a thread pulling at his senses, the pain), but he isn't so stupid as to miss the value of feigned agreement now. He mutters again,]

Thank you.

[Then he finishes his journey to the back of his cell. He'll only bother with the network once America's no longer there to listen in—and once the greater wave of pain has died off.]

[America looks like he's about to leave, but he does stop for one more thing...] You can get water, right? I know some people can't. [America would be happy to go in and get some for him if necessary...]

I can.

[He doesn't want to risk more. It hurts, and the feel of stitches on his arms is impossible to ignore any time he moves them, sickening him with the memory of being a monster, but he's done it before.]

My hands still work.

[He hesitates, loathing rising again for even thinking to say it, but—]

Thank Kid for me.

[America nods (but once he's back on the converted floor, he won't tell Kid anything).] Get well soon, okay? [Then he'll leave Davesprite to his tablet.]

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[log] Noisy Black Part Two - Mingle [closed]

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cw: eye trauma and related blindness, mild reference to other surgery

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cw: mention of burning

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