snowblindrpg | [log] Noisy Black Part Three

Rhys has been quiet during most of the day, except for his contacts over the network to check in and his attempts to keep helping his fellow inmates, but it's clear that it's taken its toll as the shock and wear start to set in. As the afternoon wears on, he cares for his own injuries and then retreats to his bed, and when feeding time comes, he doesn't resist, eating what he's given with no fight and just an icy glare.

He needs to keep his strength up.

As the night goes on, he gets more restless and more disoriented, his demon tail thumping against the floor and bars like a snake in a box. Sometimes, he sings, mostly to himself: snatches of songs both familiar and old in a surprisingly strong, though somewhat hoarse voice. Mostly, he's quiet, if not truly asleep then at least resting with his eyes closed.

But when the girl's is heard echoing through the cells, it seems to startle him from his stupor, though not entirely back into awareness.

"Tell her it's okay...tell her...it wasn't her fault..." He stops, tries to look around, flinches when the pain stops him. How did he get hurt? His head hurts like it's been stapled together very, very badly. Was it the truck?

He kind of remembers the truck. And the pavement. And the screams and the lights and the ambulance and...

"Kendra? Kendra, I'm so sorry..."

Sylar hasn't been sleeping since people came in with food and IVs. He's been standing, leaning occasionally against the bars, and trying to will the confusion away. But focusing on reference material he'd read over and over only causes him to get lost in it, not to focus. He barely hears the crying girl at first, and only later realizes Rhys is talking. It takes him another full minute to parse the words.

"There's no Kendra here," he offers helpfully, his soft countenance not sounding like himself at all. Sylar's had too many personas- there's no point to trying to sort them out right now. "That's- that girl has nothing to do with you. It's okay."

Right now, it's asoothing voice, and that's enough. Rhys isn't exactly sure where he is, or when he is, and if he's seeing awful things, well...he hit his head. He knows he's hurt and this is the sort of shit that happens when you're hurt.

Or detoxing. Though he thought it's been a long time, he doesn't know. But hospitals are full of miserable people in pain, right?

"Someone should call her and let her know," he insists, sounding drained and miserable. "He won't, the asshole. I should have taid her more. She should know I'm okay. That I'm alive. And it's not her fault."

"I..." Gabriel can't think of anything to make this guy feel better. He's not good at emotions, or helping people. But he's bored and he's in pain and he's tired, so what else is he supposed to do here? "I'm sorry. If I see her, I'll tell her to talk to you. Okay? But we're...here. For awhile."

He couldn't remember why. Something for his mother, maybe? Had he been hurt? He just knew he had to wait.

Rhys nods, then flinches at the pain it causes. He reaches up, fingers brushing the staples around his scalp, and flinches.

They did a shit job. Where's his IV?

...Oh. Things come creeping back, a little at the edges, and he shivers, balanced on the edge of two separate memories. He can hear the sound of life support machinery and he does not want to go there.

"I should call her," he agrees, weak and miserable and knowing he has to let the conversation go. There's nothing he can do. He should have told her, but it's too late now.

"Sorry if I woke you up."

"It's okay, really," he assures Rhys. "I've got nothing to do but wait, anyway. Did you get a phone? The nurses were bringing them around earlier, but I don't think they had enough for everyone."

He's very curious now who this is and what happened to make him so miserable-sounding. But he knows it's polite to wait and give them a chance to offer their story. He'll be good.

Rhys sinks back into his pillow, exhausted all over again and tired of trying to look around. Things are filtering back to him, but still hopelessy broken and out of order. It hurts to think too much and he wants his damn morphine. They usually give morphine for being this fucked up, right? At least some Vicodin.

"Think they missed me." His eyes are wet, and he had to reach up to make sure it's not blood. Nothing but salt, even though it doesn't feel like he's crying.

"Doesn't matter. She thinks I'm dead. Don't wanna... Don't wanna make trouble. Don't want money. Told him that. But I'm going into the Potter's field, 'cause I'm not blood...not even human..."

Sylar's ears perk up at that last part. That was new. And it does a lot to distract him from the pain he's currently in. "You're not? What are you, then?" This is terrible manners, but he can't hold back his curiosity. "I don't mean to pry. I've just never met anyone different."

The gentle, conversational manner is enough to make Rhys realize what he's said, and how wrong it was. How it doesn't fit, how there should be outrage, there should be yelling.

I don't know what you are, but you don't belong in this house and the charity is over.

Rhys's breath hitches, and he moans as he realizes the mistake he's made. One arm comes up to cover his eyes.

"Fuck. What am I what?"

"If you're not human," he says quietly, working hard to keep the impatience out of his voice. He needed to try a different tactic- this man was too distressed. "I've always thought there was something...different about me, but I've never been able to find out exactly what. Maybe it's not the same as what you have but I- I'd like to know it exists."

He lets that sit for a moment, then adds, "Are you okay?" quickly following it up with, "Of course you're not. Sorry. No one here is okay. Just- if you need a minute..."

He quiets down here, and hopes Rhys takes the bait.

Thoughts race around in Rhys's head, the grim and grotesque truth about why what was done to him is so viciously perfect.

He's said too much, but he'd talked to Gabriel before, and their worlds were more alike than Rhys thought possible. Their true worlds, not the civil, pretty, blind veneer that covered Rhys's reality.

His very lonely reality.

He shifts on the carpet, head pillowed on his arm to keep it off the harder floor, and admits, "I don't know what I am. Mom had an affair. I popped out nine months later." The confession is soft, tinged with bitter humor. Everyone who's called him a bastard has been more right than they'd ever known.

And the facts of it, cold and painful and stark, help him focus. It's a truth he's known for years, written in a little notebook hidden in his bookcase and read a thousand times as he struggled with the explanation. It's practically tattooed on his brain by now. He continues, "In my world, the theory is that the only people who have magic, have monster blood in their genes. Mine? It's really close to the surface."

Good. Good, they can actually talk about this.

"You think you're a monster," he says quietly. "I could- I could help you figure it out, if I could just get out of here. Maybe you're not exactly human, but- that doesn't matter. You can use what you have for what you want."

He figures that's a good enough explanation for that, but something else is poking at his brain, screaming for attention. He ignores it the best he can, but it does make him think of something. "I'm sorry your family wasn't good to you. I had my mom. She was fragile, but she did what she could for me. I miss her." He closes his eyes for a moment, seeing her blood-stained floor. "Is Kendra a sister? A friend?"

"They think m'a monster. Didn't exactly prove them wrong."

Not just his powers. He'd done plenty of other things, but in his defense, he'd been messed up. He's still trying to forgive himself.

Sunny would have forgiven him.

"Kendra was my sister. She thinks I'm dead, though. ODed. S'what my dad told her to keep me away from her."

He tugs his cloak a little tighter over his shoulder. "Asshole."

He doesn't curse much, but he certainly isn't going to blame Rhys for it. It sounded accurate. "That's awful. I'm sorry. Maybe you can find her once you're out of here. Talk to her and not your dad."

He waits what he figures is a respectable amount of time before continuing. "So what is it that's so different about you? What happened? What landed you here? -if you're okay talking about it, of course," he said, the last sentence more apologetic than anything else. "If not, I can tell you about me, but there's not much to tell."

"Think he might be the one who had me committed."

He's slipping again, caught between the illusion that he's in the hospital and hurt, and in a mental ward. The mental ward doesn't let you have beds if you're dangerous, right? He can't remember. That sounds right.

He quietly buries his head in his arm, wincing at the sting of stitches against whole skin. "There was...an accident? I don't know." He pulls his legs up tighter against his body, to get his entire frame under the cloak."Devil. Unclean. Junkie whore. Should've been drowned." He laughs, and it's tired, but completely sane. Maybe it's a little worse for that, and he sighs, as hidden as he can manage under his cloak with just the pointed tail sticking out.

Okay, that particular choice of alteration might have been a little too personal.

"It's better for her if I don't find her."

Gabriel isn't exactly the best person to help someone find their self-esteem or get over past traumas. As it is, he thinks he's probably in a mental ward himself. Even if he'd never thought about it before, it seems like the sort of place he'd be if things went...poorly.

So this guy had probably lost it a little (or maybe a lot, who knows?). The fact that the same probably held true for Gabriel goes ignored. He just asks bluntly- "Have you killed anyone?"

Edited 2017-08-02 19:32 (UTC)

"Mmph."

Too much truth already, and Rhys's head hurts. If Gabriel is trying to peel back Rhys's skull (hahahahahaha), he's not quite that easy to get all the way inside, because some secrets are bone deep.

You don't stay out of jail by forgetting about the statute of limitations. Namely, that there is none on capital crimes like murder.

"No one that wasn't already trying to kill me," he mutters.

Liar.

Gabriel's too interested to notice how Rhys is emotionally backing away from the subject. His answer is practically a 'yes', and it makes Gabriel feel less alone.

"I killed someone, too," he replies. "But he wasn't doing anything to me. He came to me for help, and I just- it was like it didn't matter, what I was doing. Not until afterwards."

He's not worried about sharing, because he figures that's why he's here. It has to be, right? He belongs here.

That's a pretty terrible confession. Rhys blinks slowly, trying to process that.

They're all monsters here. Is that the lesson? They've all got some sort of demon?

Flowers growing on the hill
Dragonflies and daffodils
Learn from us, very much
Look at us but do not touch
Phaedra is my name...

He doesn't actually realize he's singing until he hears the song in his head and remembers it's supposed to be Nancy Sinatra singing it and not his own hoarse tenor. He stops, blinking, and then is sad that it's quiet. Then remembers Sylar was talking. About serious things. Ugly things. Secrets.

"Someone's they see what you are no matter how hard you try."

The song is nice, and he thinks he remembers hearing it before. It seems like the right thing for this situation, even if he's not sure why.

"...yeah," he replies, quietly, before trying to explain further. "It felt like the man, he was broken, and I could take the pieces and- I don't know. It's unforgiveable. I should be here, I'm not safe. I don't know about you, though." If he'd only killed someone who was coming after him, that's just self-defense, right? It's not fair for Rhys.

Rhys can only give a broken laugh, curling up to rest against the cool bars for a minute. It hurts a little less this way, for a minute.

"Don't think any of us are safe. Maybe they figure we'll eat each other."

He feels like there's more to the song, but Lee Hazlewood's half doesn't work in his head, even though the words do. It's a weird disconnect.

Some velvet morning when I'm straight...

"I guess that's what monsters do, right? We consume. We take."

He reaches up to touch the horns on his head, touching the bone with a shudder. "Truth in advertising...'the devil hath a pleasing countenance...'"

He doesn't think he can really counter that argument- either argument. It would explain why no one has been by in...how long? He didn't even remember. Clearly they were being left for dead. And he had to be a monster, one who took other people's specialness.

The nicest possible term for it was predator, and even that was too kind. They were evil. He doesn't speak for awhile. When he finally pipes up again, the emotion is thick in his voice. "I don't want to be this way. I'm sorry. I tried to stop, but it all kept falling apart. I tried everything I could think of. I'm not...how do we make it stop?"

He barely knew what he was saying, now. But there had to be something better than this. Anything was better than this.

Kind of awful how much it explains, isn't it? Rhys has had longer to accept that quiet, horrible truth, and he's more resigned to it.

From the very start, he's known what he was. There's no illusions there.

"I don't know. Wish I did. I stopped. Don't know if it made things better or not. Seems like things got fucked up no matter what I did." He sighs quietly. Even when he was trying not to be a monster, bad things happened anyway.

Some are born to sweet delight...some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.

Words that aren't his keep dancing through his head, bits of songs and poens and...aren't songs just poems set to music? He keeps trying to find the tune for that one, but there isn't one, and it seems strangely maddening.

"Maybe it's just what we're supposed to be. Wherever it leads." Some people do bad things. It's what they do. What they are. Maybe that's what this place is. To keep the good people safe from them. Because Rhys has never felt so naked, even though he can't even use his powers here.

They weren't words of comfort, but at least Gabriel wasn't alone in this. He certainly didn't have it in him to refute that this was what they were supposed to be. So he just leans forward, until his head is against the bars. It's the closest he can get to comfortable with his body like this.

Rhys might hear Gabriel sniffling from time to time. Or he might not- there were plenty of other noises of fear and sadness coming from all the other cells, after all.

Comfort is a scarce resource here, but there's something to be said for company in Hell. Rhys doesn't have anything else to offer, not as tortured as he is, and it might be exactly why he's here: a confused and exhausted ruin years before he ever set foot in this place.

But for now, it's enough to settle his torment, let him ignore the voices, and if there's tears, well...there's going to be a lot of those anyway.

It's going to be a long night.

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

Overnight 261 - cw: just mild trauma references right now

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject