carnagecarnival | We The Lost Mailbox

[His face is twisted right up with trepidation, shame, and embarrassment. Even before she says a thing, he's already shrinking down. Once she does, he somehow manages to shrink further. He takes it back like it's going to sting just to touch.]

You're right. It's stupid. This is stupid.

[He crumples it immediately, shrinking it down and turning it to trash, even when he doesn't have the heart to tear up what was a spilling of said heart. He paces a little, crumpled paper still in hand.]

I just wrote what up and came to me. He ain't need this. He doesn't fucking need me. I ain't a decent troll, barely a decent person. I can't be an ancestor to nobody. I should be... I should just... Maybe an invitation to congregation? No, no, then he'll presume it like it was or like I did of my ancestor. But if I don't get talk of what's being the haps, he'll take the fuck off.

[He keeps going, rambling to himself now, a hand through his hair occasionally.]

I just wanted to be what I would've... wanted to hear... back then... Which is all the motherfucking more pathetic. Maybe if I had something else what to offer, but I don't! Ancestors are supposed to have great legacies what to pass along and I've nothing. [He walks to a wall, slumps against it, and groans loudly into his hands.] He's probably not even going to motherfuckin like me let alone want to talk and here I am telling you like it ain't burden open you to have to pretend to give a damn!

[He straightens out and tosses the note aside.]

... I'm sorry. It's just, I ain't actually knowing what all I'm doing yet. I'll figure out what to be doing. I can let you know then.

Kurloz... [She tries to jostle him out of his ranting when he's only partway through, but her voice is low, and he probably doesn't hear her. She's too tired to try again, instead letting his rambling run its course. When he finishes, she meets his apology with a dry exression, art annoyance and part exasperation.]

Kurloz... You're already a far better ancestor than he deserves. [He probably isn't going to like hearing that, but at least she's not saying it to be cruel to Gamzee. It's just the truth as she feels it. She tries to focus on him, more than anything else.] You're barely more than a wriggler yourself, and you've done so many things. Everything you did in Panem? That's not Nothing. Everything you've done here? That's not Nothing, either. Any troll should be glad to have someone like you to look up to. You shouldn't have to do shit to earn their favor.

[He frowns at her for such a comment but says nothing, both because he expects that sort of thing from her and because it's clear she's got more to say and he's really rambled on enough. He's also got to frown at being "barely more than a wriggler" but that's old habit by now. On that at least, she's right.

As for the rest, he's unsure. He's mostly felt like he's fumbled up everything, except for where at she called him her hero.]

Maybe. But it ain't just that. [He starts toward her, moving back into that pile, if not so close as he was.] I remember the way you'd speak of the Neophyte, even when you felt hurt. Aletheia too. Only a fool could be missing what she means to you both. And then all them other motherfuckers we've met knowing of ancestors, idolizing... But opposing is my own memory, my own ancestor. I kept my distance cause even then I got presumption like there ain't wouldn't be time for me and then it was me what got running out of time. And when the kid showed the fuck up in Panem I got being distant again.

[He sighs.] No one in the world is going at to get these things what is being between us, me and him. There ain't know other what's got experience so alike. Same form, same pan, more or motherfucking less. And you and me and him, we ain't got lusii so... this is all we got. Doesn't it ever make like... [He turns over to her, just a little.] like you ought to connect? Don't you ever want to pry out story and all the fuck else from 'em just to be knowing it ain't you alone? They're your literal goddamn blood, doesn't that just wipe the fuckin pan entire?

[He's doing it again. Babbling. And worse babbling to his matesprit. He frowns.] ...We ain't got to talk about this. We've been so caught up in strife I ain't even gotten to asking you nothing. I think right now it might just be me what's being overwhelmed. You talk, aight? I'll get my listen on quiet.

Edited 2017-03-24 05:12 (UTC)

[He keeps going, and by this point, she figures there's no stopping him. He rejoins her in the pile, and though it's not as close as she might like him to be, it's good enough. He offers to let her talk for a while, and she wonders if he really means that. He's obviously rattled in a way that she doesn't think is going to ease.

He promises her his quiet, but she leans a little closer, kissing him just to make sure that she really has it. It's a brief kiss, short and sweet and sorely needed, she thinks.]

...What do you want me to talk about? I'm not sure that I have anything to say... Except that I think you're being too hard on yourself. Our ancestors never did anything to earn our favor directly. We learned about them through textbooks or journals or another people. It was an idea already built up in our minds. I don't...actually know that much about mine, outside of that. I barely got to talk to her. [Not for lack of trying, of course. The memory still hurts, though, so she moves on. She tries to make it sound a little more teasing, but the humor probably falls a little flat as she asks:]

Do you want me to write some stories about you? Leave them lying in undisclosed locations for...whatever trolls you might want to impress in the future? [She's not going to name Gamzee specifically, but she'll leave it open for Kurloz to assume.]

[Very, very much needed was that kiss to be. He smiles under it, eyes closing in the moment so as better to savor. It's brief, but he ain't mind. He moves to fill some of that space, small and gradual.

He definitely is making sure not to say that that's being the kind of ancestor her doesn't want to be. He's had his real and self-imposed isolations. He's seen her sadness. He doesn't want to cause something like that. But again, that requires Gamzee caring first.

He thinks to explain the Neophyte again, to elaborate that it's not to do with Terezi that things was being as they is. But he doesn't really get the Neophyte too well either and it's far easier to reach for her hand, squeeze, and let the sorrowful thoughts settle.

His quiet first breaks with a laugh. It spills out and makes his smile brighten. It's a flat humor but it's good all for him anyways.]

That would most mother fuckin certainly be impressive and not any manner of desperation move, that. Talk so much of I all the time already. [He winds his fingers with hers, in so much as that's being possible.] And you'd have all the best sort. Save a few Beforan. I'd read your writ. You should tell about my matesprit. She's a miracle, don't you know. She can do anything. That's where the real wonder's being to lay.

[He kisses the back of her hand, hopping briefly back into solemnity as he says:] Perhaps I should tell you of the other shade of your ancestor some time, back in her younger days Beforan. If you'd like that. I don't know what she'd say to being spoken of... [But he doesn't think she'll ever be here to say no. His friends as he knew them were very, very dead.] Or you could make writ to the Neophyte yourself. She's in that place, Midnight. Just warn she can be... terse. And unfriendly-like, as us ancestors is seeming to be. But maybe you'd be getting through.

Edited 2017-03-24 06:54 (UTC)

[His talk of making stories about her gets him a dry look. He flatters her so much--too much, in her opinion. But she won't be swayed to deviate from her topic.

At least, not until he mentions her ancestor being in one of the other realms. She looks startled. Half a moment of stunned silence, and then a graceless "What" blurting past her lips. Her heart taps out a beat just a little quicker than normal. She should really keep her focus on Kurloz, but she can't help but ask now that he's brought up the possibility.]

She's in one of the other worlds? Is she... Does she remember? What happened in Panem? [She tries not to appear too hopeful, but her voice betrays her desperation.]

[He had intended to deviate topic from his ownself, particularly when his ownself's quarry now rest with Gamzee, a topic he can henceforth avoid at all costs now that it no longer has any relevance to her. Not to mention, he misses his matesprit and likes knowing her going on's.

But now she's really excited and this... this is exactly the sort of thing he means, that rush and longing to meet. And worst of all now is that he has to disappoint her. He shakes his head.]

Sorry, sister. She ain't of Panem. She's an iteration alternate like whereas all motherfuckers from all the fuck over got playing that game of ours. Different Neophyte what's knowing different me. Few other players what's being up in the hivecluster here, Bertie, Waspfire... I got talking at to her once before. It was some fucking dream what I was thinking between here and the Capitol, but I only got learning her to be up in Midnight that last time the walls was down.

[She isn't entirely sure where Midnight is. The past two times that the walls were down, she had lingered either in the Meadous or in Sunset Circus, save for her short jaunt in...whatever that cold place was. It hadn't really occurred to her that there might be other people that she wanted to find beyond the borders of these two worlds. But now she wishes that she had at least taken a stroll through the others. Given them a cursory once-over.

The fact that this isn't the Redglare that she knows and remembers is disheartening, and it shows. But an opportunity is an opportunity. She won't pass up this chance to get to know her ancestor simply because she doesn't remember meeting her for the few short weeks they were together.]

How do I talk to her? Do I write? If I ask Fovos to deliver it to her, do you think it'll make it there like your letters come here?

[He throws his hands up and shakes his head.]

Don't be asking me how to get a talk on at her. I ain't do nothing but fuck up by what's by her, swear at it.

[Of course, that ain't exactly all of what she's asking. He puts his hands back down.]

But yeah, just write I figure. Fovos is a chill motherfucker. If my letters get on to you and back from then it ought to be working. I've told her a bit on about you. I think she'd like to know you she's just got fear on cause all she's a recluse what pretends she don't feel shit. [A pause.] Don't tell her I told at you that.

She's known some alternates more of you, I think. And she's had close dealing with elder of me. Though not exact as we know, it ain't good. Maybe get avoidancies for them things.

[Terezi's already got her hands up, like she plans to placate him somehow, when he seems to catch on to what she means. He has her undivided attention for as long as his instructions and warnings continue, filing everything away so that maybe...maybe she can work herself up to this.]

I'll be careful. I just...want to be able to know her better, you know? Not just things I've read about her. I want to make her a little more real.

[And in the process, probably prove his point. It occurs to her that she deviated from their conversation about how he didn't feel like a very inspiring ancestor to...talk about her own.]

...Have you tried asking her? How to be an ancestor? Or asking Meulin?

[He barks a laugh. It's more self-depreciating than cruel, but he couldn't blame her if she heard him all wrong.]

Fuck no.

[He shakes his head again.]

... I've talked to Meulin, for some motherfucking sense of what could be called it. We were thinking to lusii brought back in Panem. We got admitting them dead. Descendants came in natural turn. We talked on losing and trying not to be making attachment and doing so anyway and all them ways a step would be willed averting. We talked on that feeling, knowing someone's yours... but that's what it was at. Wasn't really how to be being an ancestor as all it was wishing we was better ones, taking times missed.

As for the Neophyte, I couldn't ask her advice on nothing, I think she'd just get ire on at me or close the fuck up like she's always doing. [He shrugs. He doesn't actually know.]Most I could manage was telling her of you.

[But Terezi's a Pyrope so maybe she'll get through better. Maybe.]

[The way that he talks about her ancestor has her worried... What if she doesn't take to her any more than she's taken to her matesprit? What if she's not good enough to earn her favor? They got along well enough in Panem, but only after some miscommunication had Redglare running her down like a criminal. Even after that, she still wasn't sure how much the older troll liked her. Did a few pleasant conversations mean that she would be able to engage with this Redglare, too? Or was she simply more amiable due to needing allies in a place like Panem?

The thoughts preoccupy her again, and it takes her a moment to snap out of it. She almost wants to demand what he told Redglare about her, but she bites her tongue on that train of conversation.]

Maybe... the point is that no one really knows how to do it. I mean... We're not even supposed to meet our ancestors. Or our descendants. At best, they could leave things for us, and even then, that was only the higher castes. Anything beyond that was unheard of. Assuming that someone was your ancestor felt like taboo, unless you had undeniable proof. It felt like there were so many rules, so many missteps... I was terrified the first time I met Redglare. And you had already told her my name and everything. [She pokes him in the side as retaliation, though she's long been over it.] But that terror wasn't just from meeting her... It was everything else, too.

So maybe the point is that... it's probably not a big deal if you don't know what you're supposed to be doing. You care about doing it right. That's probably already better than most of our species ever managed.

[Her fears spin round and round. He can take her hand, give it a squeeze as all to comfort, but he can say nothing wit certainty. He doesn't understand the Neophyte well enough at all to be stating on proper response to a descendant, even if he thinks the Neophyte should respond well enough, both in theory and kindness.

He listens intently, with only a slight furrow in his brow, right up until she prods his side and he's forced to grin sheepish at her. He doesn't regret what got done. He spoke no ill of her and besides, he'd hardly cared back then.]

Descendants wasn't something I ever thought about. I got hearing of it before it'd even up and occurred. I feel like I would've figured the damn things would just... never crawl out of the caverns. Die up in the trials and the better to them. Then I'd just... not have to fucking care. I don't know if I ever could've been like how the empress does at it, just culling them off, no care up at all. But then, I'd probably have got culling any all anyways since that's how I tended to do shit.

[He obviously motherfucking cares now. A lot. And definitely doesn't want to be culling Gamzee, so long as nothing goes spectacularly badly.]

This the part where I confess I ain't know what to say to him all otherwise and how all it matters to me while you get pretending like it ain't make you all a sorts nauseous? Because we can skip that part, don't you know. [He leans in to kiss her quick.] Thank you, by the by.

[She squeezes his hand back, instinctively. She knows what fears he must be feeling off of her, and she appreciates the comfort.

The conversation veers more and more to talking about Gamzee directly. She's been trying to avoid addressing him and only speaking about Kurloz's side of things. The moment he mentions a 'him', Terezi cringes internally. He's not wrong. It does make her feel nauseous, and she's glad that he understands that well enough to let her drop it.]

...You're welcome. I wish I could be happier for you. [In that, she wishes that his descendant was anyone but Gamzee Makara. But that much doesn't need to be said.]

Edited 2017-03-25 00:37 (UTC)

[He wishes she could be. He wishes all were easier. But he doesn't need it to be. This divide will not kill him.

He leans on in, bumping his head to hers, nuzzling a bit.]

You've done a lot. Just today you got on pushing much with this, with everything. And I know still you're hurting. Would only make us unhappy if you got pretending like you wasn't.

[He rubs his thumb over the top of her hand.]

Mere wish it'd not worry you so.

[His nuzzling is taken and returned, despite the uneasiness that she still feels in her heart. He's her matesprit. No matter how much trouble he causes her, she'll never stop pitying him. That's been such a constant in her life these past few years. She's not sure what she would do if that ever did change.]

I'm okay. [Or she will be. Probably. It's close enough to count, she thinks. She needs to really think about everything that she's talked about in the past few days--and they've given her a lot to think about, but once she gets that sorted... Okay is a good word for what she thinks she'll be.

She lifts her hand away from his, resting it against the side of his neck. Her fingertips brush against the curls of hair at the base of his skull.]

...What about you; are you okay? Really okay? After everything? [Everything that he had told her. They only barely touched on what had happened before the fighting had started, and he had said that he was fine--better than fine, but she's starting to wonder if she had taken that response for granted.]

[He thinks he understands. Sure, there's more fear to be felt, but being okay wasn't something what's being perfect, he thinks. In this particular instance, he believes her, and he's happy for it.

He must admit, even if only to himself, that the little returns of affection and gestures new tend to help the notion of all being well. It's hard to doubt when she's brushing through his hair like that. He closes his eyes and tilts his head to it, just short of a purr, but certainly not short a smile.

It's amazing the differences that time and trust create. He notices it now after telling a tale of injuries inflicted.

He answer with only a little confusion. Mostly a laugh.]

I got you here. I got all everyone nearby as normal. No one's hurt, nobody's dead. We've fought before, and we've always got working it up and out, haven't we? Just like we up and did. Not sure why a brother wouldn't be being okay.

[If she means anything else, it's not come to him yet.]

[It would be just like him to miss her meaning entirely. So worried about everyone else all the time, he doesn't realize that it's his well being that she's asking about.

She gives him that dead pan look that she does when he's being particularly thick. A thin press of her lips together and a tilt to her head... then she uses the hand at his neck to pull him in for a brief kiss.]

I didn't realize that scaring me half to death was something you'd forget so quickly. [She's teasing him, of course, but there's a hint of exasperation in her tone.] I don't really care how everyone else is doing right now... I just want to know about you. How are you doing?

[He felt the look and sure enough, when he opened his eyes it was there. The confusion grows in the face of her unimpressed stare. There's been a lot to be talking about. Whole motherfucking lot of things getting thought done over for.

He has to trace back. Scaring her to death? His shouting at her? No. That pertained to their fighting. A different time. (Too many times and also not nearly enough considering who he is and what self preservation lacking that means.) Not Gamzee for she wouldn't want to talk about that...]

... Are you meaning the memory of vision? [He looks her over, searchingly.] I'm whole. Well and motherfucking feeling. I got about healing you of me before, you recall. Mere did about the same my ownself and was motherfucking new again. Made sure I wouldn't go down too far by the vision so as to make sure I'd know to be repairing later. I even learned recent this all can be of help with more than just me, so that's all the motherfucking better too. Sorry I scared you by it.

[Which is all truths for how he is doing. Just not how he was doing. Past tenses ain't matter though. Even if a twinge of guilt has him forced into saying:]

You needn't worry about me, Terezi.

[Even as he assures her that he's well, she hears all the things that he doesn't say. I'm whole, he starts with--and just by saying that, he puts an emphasis on the difference between this and... some time when he wasn't whole. She hears the same again with him and 'feeling', and it doesn't sound like a coincidence. Between that and his description from before--mentioning his old self as being burnt up--she gets the impression that he's trying to hide how bad he really was.

As such, his last comment only has her frowning at him.]

I always worry about you. Even more, when you don't seem to worry enough about yourself. One of us has to.

[Of course she says that. He should've expected.

He turns his eyes down, away from her. He fidgets absently.]

I brought it on myself. I still think it worth it. I needed to know this and I needed to know how to motherfucking overcome. But it was my choice. Feels foolish to spill ills up over it. It'll only bother.

[He says all this, but he continues. He says like it's his own damn fault, and yet still his voice gets so small and his eyes so distant.]

I've never felt fear like that in my life. It was so much more than anything I've ever known. I've been burned but that was hotter. I've drowned but that was so much more what to swallow. It was so much, too much, I could feel myself tearing apart and I still couldn't hold. It spilled on the fuck out from my throat.

[His breath is more audible. It doesn't race, not yet, but it ain't far.]

Started as the same old dreams. I'd had them before, I just never got far enough, clear enough. Like I was only catching echoes of the moment to come. I watched the world fall to pieces just like foretold. I watched and I would remember the way Mituna's psionics wove up in, all those screams. And then there was dark. A great motherfucking void. There was a light. A bright green motherfucking light what I watched and couldn't move from. And then He was there. The Lord. He opened his maw. And then all that fear came on out and poured the fuck in through me.

[His hands shake now, just a little.]

It was a scream and it was a direction branded into my soul and it was a hailing of the end channeled through me and it... it was familiar. I was caught between the revelation, the pain and fear of it, and... Meulin. I could hear her pleading to stop. I was not able. She held me and I could hear her cry... calling me. My name. And that's how I stopped. I stopped the memory there.

[He blinks then, shaking his head a little. His eyes lose that distance, bringing him to heres and nows. He looks mildly confused as he reaches up with one hand and finds something wet and lightly purple on his face.]

Oh.

[He presses at his eyes and shakes his head again.]

I... It wasn't actually her. I warned everyone to stay clear. I had Ienzo don them protective bits for his hearstalks. It was just the memory of her. That's all.

[He sounds so small, and all she wants is to hold him close and protect him from the harm that he speaks of. The story that he tells unsettles her, and he might feel the way her concern shifts--from a worry that he might not take care of himself, to a worry that there's something inherently dangerous about this Lord that he speaks of. Not just that this might be a real person that could hurt her matesprit... but that it's someone her matesprit still looks up to, someone he would obey without hesitation. She's not entirely sure how to feel about that.

But more pressing is the way that he starts to cry without realizing. Her heart breaks for him, and she reaches up to pull his hands away from his eyes. She wipes his tears away for him, taking care not to smudge his paint. Then she pulls him down and plants a kiss to each eye. She takes up his hands again, gripping them tightly.]

What happened back then wasn't your fault. You were attacked, and through you, Meulin was also hurt, but... You were a victim just as much as she was. You realize that, don't you?

[It made sense when it wasn't him. When it was his other self and not just a part of him. He could say easily that the motherfucker got being some kind of cursed and there was nothing to be done of it. Even when it became a memory to him, he could understand it as a thing what simply was.

For some reason, it's a whole other thing to hear it said back at him. Was he attacked? He didn't think it like that. He merely thought it a happenstance of a mortal trying to contain the will of a god. Like squeezing the hand of a lowerblood and being surprised when the bones break.

She kisses him. She tends to his face. She is oh so motherfucking gentle with him, even in her words. He leans into her and closes his eyes to savor each little touch.]

I... suppose so. I wish it to have gone some other way. [But it didn't and it couldn't have. Even Meulin's deafening would have been important.] I culled no one but I believe I went about some action terrible. Our session had to fail so you could all come to being. By writ of vision, I had to make it so. [They are used to this by now, aren't they? Acts predestined. Necessary evils to lead into a good.]

I know it was needed. I understand how the fuck this all is being to work. I know I ought not to question. But I have grown so mother fuckin tired of playing as pawn to another. Even if it is the will of the Lord, as his servant, I... I do see idol in him as you think. But I have removed from him a power over me. I ponder that perhaps this might only be that which I wish to be the right thing to motherfucking do. I wonder if that the right thing is that we, my line, may only be that which we are later designed. That our cruelty is somehow correct. But for all how it is something I'd see the will of the Lord I wonder yet, why would he... erase her holiness from me? Have I not proven loyal enough to him? Am I undeserving of her? I and those around me are safe once more. But I am so motherfucking confused. I struggle not to see this a mother fuckin reckoning due. A punishment for some thing unknown. Perhaps for being so damn drawn.

Edited 2017-03-26 19:38 (UTC)

Kurloz... [He goes on and on about this Lord of his and the hows and the whys of what happened to him. For all he talks of removing his influence, she's not quite sure that he realizes the hold that this Lord still has over him.

She runs her thumbs over his, feeling his skin against hers. It makes her aware of how much smaller than his her hands are, and yet, he feels so much more fragile than she does in this moment.]

You have removed one power, but as long as you still hold him on a pedestal, you haven't freed yourself yet. You're still tormenting yourself with what you think you did wrong to deserve this, but... Maybe you did nothing? Maybe he's just... not the person you thought he was. Maybe he doesn't care about you as a person, not the way that you deserve to be cared about.

[She knows that this won't be something that he wants to hear. It goes against everything she knows of his faith, and she doesn't find any pleasure in ruining that for him. But he was there to help her realize the harms that were done to her by those she trusted, and she needs to be there for him in turn.

She releases one hand, touching it to his cheek to make sure that she has his attention.]

Kurloz. You don't owe anything to someone who would hurt you like that.

[He's got to bite his tongue some lest he speak before she's done. There's so much there to pick apart, but she does it with kindest intention. She does it with love and only a very small part of him warns she'll stray him off the path. He puts it out like snuffed light. That, he is certain, is wrong. But she isn't all on the same page either. She doesn't see him like he does, which is an ironic statement in its self]

You're speaking him like just anybody and I perceive him as... so much more than. He is far above mortal whims... [He's not sure she'll understand that. He tries another way.] You must understand, even if he wasn't, I don't... I don't want to be freed from him. I was hatched to serve them, the holy two. They're written into me. They saved my life by showing me how to save myself. They were there when no one else was, before you were even a thing to be. They gave me a motherfucking purpose. I...

[He can concede on some things, even if he does so miserably. Even if follows up with further defense.]

... Whether he meant to or not, he destroyed me. And I don't even know where her Highness was for it all. But I need him. It's not pity or such, but it's not no small thing either, it's like... it's... I love him. I love them. [He shakes his head, the words too heavy a confession, and a frankly stupid one even to his own ears.] The Lord at least was never meant to be a deity kind, I knew this, it was foolish to expect otherwise for he guides in ways otherlike. I got to be chosen twice, I got to serve direct, and that's how things are supposed to motherfucking be. [He should be grateful. He's not. Terezi says he owes nothing and he doesn't know if that's true.] But I wanted it to be different. I wanted to be theirs. If it's not my fault, if it's just how things is, then how will I ever... how can I get...?

[He can continue no more. It's too much to speak. He wanted to be held, he wanted to be loved, he wanted to motherfucking matter. He wanted something certain.

He curls up then, as much as he can. Useless and fucking pathetic. But he isn't able to look at her. He feels like a child. He never should've talked of this even though he did, and a part of him had wanted to.]

We The Lost Mailbox

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