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

[snowblindmods]

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

Comments

[keepscalm]

[England and Enoch aren't exactly close, but that's not of any particular importance right now. They all share this experience now, regardless of their acquaintance before. And no one else is obligated to show them any sympathy for what they've done.

He approaches to sit down on the bed next to Enoch's. His gaze is attentive at first, but after a moment he averts his eyes out of consideration for Enoch's spectacle of emotion. He doesn't say anything for now, simply offering his silent companionship until Enoch is able to hear anything more.]

[warriorscribe]

[He feels England watching him, and tries to catch his breath and stem his tears. While he succeeds in the former, it feels like every time he's stopped, he remembers another detail, another tool in his hand, another scream of pain and fear ignored, and it begins anew.

He looks up at England eventually, lowering his hands slightly, and speaks with a helpless tremor in his voice.]

I-...England, what have we done?

[keepscalm]

[England's silence turns from companionable to contemplative, evidenced by the slight furrow in his brow as he looks back to Enoch. He's clearly either searching for the right words or for the will to say anything at all.]

...I wish I knew. [They both know what they did, of course. But as far as the consequences go? It's impossible to say.

Especially since it's not over yet.]

[warriorscribe]

One of mine, he can't- he won't survive like this! I broke his feet, I-

[And there it is, another wave of tears. He speaks through it, though, if on a slightly different thought.]

...and Rhys, poor Rhys...he's suffered so much here already.

[keepscalm]

The medical technology here is different. Some of them shouldn't even be alive right now, much less later. [England has the wherewithal to grimace.] Death might be a mercy for them at this point.

[Not that England wishes death upon any of them, but God, after what they've had done to them...]

[warriorscribe]

[And that- he'd touched on the idea with Manny but framed in terms of choices and options and personal agency. Hearing it laid out starkly like that, he can't take.

Finally, the anger that normally precedes this crushing sorrow comes late.]

And we did it. It may not have been our minds, not fully, but some of it was - they used our personalities, our voices, our hands...

[His voice rises into a tearful shout at the ceiling. That seems to always be where the security cameras are.]

First the eyes and now this - I AM NOT ONE OF YOURS, DO YOU HEAR ME? SHE DIDN'T WANT THIS, YOUR PROPHET DIDN'T WANT THIS!

[Predictably - or predictably for him, for instability in a particular, well-worn pattern is no less unstable for being predictable - it burns away and he's left in a wordless, exhausted daze, heaving breaths to keep from crying again.]

[keepscalm]

[England watches Enoch's outburst, unsure of what to say but feeling a hollow ache in his chest all the same. He wants to say that it wasn't them, not really, but Enoch does have a point. England can remember too well the days when he savoured having that kind of power over people, and that's what they brought out of him for these nefarious deeds.

He looks towards the ceiling, too, reading Enoch's intent. Surely someone has their eyes on this.] I hope she can't see this. [Whatever part of her is left in this town...England hopes that wherever it is, it isn't here.]

[warriorscribe]

[He takes a moment to respond, choking back further tears.]

Samantha, poor girl. I hope so, as well. To see it's still happening even when everyone else is gone...and to be...helpless to stop it.

[He lets out a slow, shuddering sigh.]

I hate that word, now. "Helpless".

[keepscalm]

[England manages some semblance of a frown, an echo of dryness in his voice.] I've never been terribly fond of it. [Being as stubborn as he is, the idea of certain futility does not sit well with England. But now...

He closes his eyes as if that will stave off the memories of the others begging them to reconsider this lesson in helplessness.] They...we aren't helpless. There's got to be a way out.

[There has to be. England doesn't want to know what the alternative to escaping is.]

[warriorscribe]

We can be. We can be and not realize we've been yoked again...

[He shivers, curling up tight.]

...Do you have any ideas?