unspoken words /sin+cas

[gamemaker kelsier]

s i n .

" I've been dazed and confused
From the day I met you
Yeah, I lost my head
And I'd do it again"

For a tender moment, Sin had forgotten what it was to live in the space between feeling. It'd become so natural for him to push away anything that hurt or healed him back in Twelve. He'd lived so many years of his life surviving on tiny, perfect things that he'd become unable to navigate anything more than a smile sent his way. It was better off ignored.

In the training centre, he'd made small allowances for more. Fridae's hand open beside him and the soft ding of the machine as it dropped a snack for him, freed from its metal coils. Nan's sad smile when he dropped the bottle of champagne off the roof, then watching the stars with her after. Saylor's pride when the first little fox approached his fingertips, unabated. Castor's shaking voice and gentle touch when Sin had almost killed him. Even Lore, co-existing in the elevator with him for a few beats, had been sweetness.

But somehow he'd been made soft by it, all that kindness as if he were a rock wall and those tiny perfect moments were causing him to erode. Sin knew he had no real place in any of their hearts. He was just the silent boy, the Mortuus mute, the boogie man from Twelve. He was disposable to every single one of them and he knew that.

So he slipped back into that headspace, the rip in the wall, the empty places between feeling and he gripped Castor's hand tighter as they ran from the violence happening behind them.

They were unhurt mostly. Sin's arm ached a little where Flynn had hit him but no one had gotten near Castor. He didn't know if that was a good thing yet, or if it was bad. The longer Castor lived, the more attached Sin would get. He knew that. He'd always coveted pretty, shining things and Castor shined in a way that felt bad.

Like if he couldn't be around him anymore, he'd ache.

Sin still didn't know how much he wanted to live through this. There was no one waiting for him back in Twelve, no lifeline, his connection to the District was shaky at best. All he had were the bones of those he'd buried, the only reason to go back being that he was the only one who knew where they were. His graveyard was filled with the scraps of society, the unwanted things and Eirlys, forgotten in the end too.

Their whispers had followed him to the arena, with every step and breathe he took, he heard them still. Bargains and begging filled the night as he lay in the dark, wondering if he had gone mad. That seemed like a given.

Sin didn't know when that had happened, if it had been gradual or all at once. Memories blurred together, some had gone missing over the years. There were large pieces of time that no longer belonged to him, as if someone had reached in and taken them.

That seemed alright. It left him more space to remember the perfect little moments, like Silk's shoulder against his as they sat in silence and stared out the twelth floor window.

He pulled Castor closer as they stumbled over the Cornucopia's outskirts. The footing was bad, slowing them both down, but Sin didn't leave Castor.

Maybe he should have but he couldn't.

[Sin Mortuus picks up Radiation Pills]
[Sin Mortuus picks up Needle & thread (2 uses)]
[Sin Mortuus picks up Brass Knuckles]
[Sin Mortuus flees thread]

[tick 12a / calla]

C A S T O R

► ► ►

The awful noise fades out slowly, just enough that the screaming and the sound of metal on metal grinds down to dull roar.

Sin's hand is like a tether, pulling them both along, and Castor trips over his feet enough times that it's a miracle they're still connected. The whole bloodbath had been a cold sort of panic, numbing in a way, shadows had flitted by and he'd floundered in it for the few precious seconds it took for Sin to find him. It was deep waters, the little point in the ocean where it's the darkest and everything is murky and cold and wrong.

But he wasn't even hit, he was barely even touched, and it's almost painfully obviously that it was because of Sin. Castor doesn't know why he trusts the boy that tried to kill him only days ago. He's used to giving up the reigns, he's been doing it for years, but there's something stranger about it this time. Anyone else would have left him there at the pedestal to be an easy target. Maybe some things just look different when you're sitting toe to toe underneath a kitchen sink.

Then suddenly there's a red hot pain that shoots up his spine. The shock of it makes his teeth buzz and he stumbles, tightens his grip on Sin's hand out of reflex. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine that it's Pollux's hand, and the sound behind them is just the early bustle of Five and soon they'll hit the end of the street where home is. The piano will be sitting there waiting, and Castor will plunk away at the kays before dinner while Pollux sits somewhere nearby and listens.

But the ground echos all wrong to be cobblestone, and instead off the strum of a street busker there's a long drawn out wail that snakes through the air. Castor's bones still tingles with electricity, and the hand he's clinging to isn't his brother's.

He forces his feet forward instead of stepping carefully, relies on someone else's senses and tries not to let his skin crawl because of it. It's like there's cotton wrapped around his head because the world feels fuzzy and subdued and without seeing the landscape it's hard to tell how much time passes. But Sin still tugs him close and there isn't enough time to catch a breath, or even ask to. Castor doesn't trust their surroundings enough to stop anyways, not if Sin is still making them move.

So he lets himself be pulled and tries to keep up, shaking his head once and then twice to try and disperse the fog.

[collects needle & thread and brass knuckles]
[flees]