midwayers /sin+cas day 1

[gamemaker kelsier]

s i n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Sounds faded quick after leaving the cornucopia behind them. All that noise, sudden and filling every oriface, was gone and Sin slowed his steps, chest heaving. Breathing came hitched, air stuck between his lungs and his mouth caught on ragged edges and he bent over, hands on his knees.

The air still burned slightly there, as if whatever it was that Sin had noticed before had yet to dissipate. Maybe it never would. Maybe that was their fate.

The ground in front of them had faded out from the uneven footing of the Cornucopia and was flat. It was dry, dusty and Sin could already feel the chalkiness of it on his bare skin. When he looked up, he saw towering black metal beasts in a standstill, tipped towards the sky even as their roots sunk into the earth. They reminded him of the pumps in Twelve, used to pull water from a new mine. These machines were still though, rusting relics.

He placed a hand on Castor's shoulder to keep him in place. The run had been hard, Sin had half-expected to have to carry Castor the rest of the way but he'd kept up. The Bloodbath had been a whirlwind and Sin had been pretty sure that Castor hadn't been hurt, but he still needed to check, just to be sure.

Communication was difficult. Sin had never really tried to hold a conversation with anyone before, it had always been pointless. He'd never been taught more than what was necessary. He couldn't read, couldn't write either and speaking wasn't an option. Most people gave up on trying within moments of meeting him, but not Castor.

Castor had taken his hand, turned it palm-side up and carved a mark into his hand with his pointer finger. "That's a question mark, alright? That's how you can ask if I'm okay." The motion was circular, slightly ticklish, then Castor had dragged his finger down his palm and poked it.

Sin had practiced the motion later in his room on his own hand, drawing again and again until he was certain that he had it right.

He took Castor's hand in his, ignoring the way his knuckles ached and the way he just wanted to sit down right there. His legs shook and Sin already wanted water. Staying there promised nothing, the land was barren. The only thing they could do was keep moving.

He drew a question mark onto Castor's hand and then placed a hand on his jaw to tilt his face up and check for bruises. His face seemed clear so he ran a hand down his arms, gentle as he knew how to be.

As Sin worked, he tried to think of a time when someone had been just as careful with him. It was hard to, even if he'd arrived home bleeding, Eirlys had him patch himself up, "Because you need to know how, I won't always be here," she'd said.

Her locket hung heavy around his neck and Sin could feel the way that it wanted to sink down into the earth to lay with her.

He wiped a thumb across Castor's cheek dirt from their run having made its way there. Then he picked up Castor's hand again and tugged gently, this time leading him at a walking pace.

They needed to fine Lore and Syren. They couldn't stay.

[sin mortuus picks up Canned spam (Food)]
[sin mortuus picks up matchbox]
[sin mortuus picks up Revolver + Ammo (6 bullets)]
[sin mortuus picks up Radiation Attenuating Surgical Gloves (+3 hands)]
[sin mortuus flees thread]

[tick 12a / calla]

C A S T O R

► ► ►

When they finally stop, Castor expects to hear Lore and Syren. Because that was the plan right? To meet up after all the chaos? But they slow, and Sin's hand slips out of Castor's and there is a sudden, fleeting, terrible moment of panic when the connection breaks. There's a span of three seconds where he breathes too fast, where his ribcage curls in on itself and his lungs fill up with something heavy.

So it's not so much the sudden hand on his shoulder that makes him jump - it's the cold wave of relief that comes with it. It travels all the way through his body, right down to his fingertips, and makes him feel like an idiot.

All of his breath comes back in a shove, and the force of it is enough to make him dizzy.

Sin takes his hand again and traces a little question mark on his palm, using the little codes Castor had come up with when it was obvious Sin wouldn't be talking any time soon. Not that Castor really minded, it just meant that Sin was a really good listener.

"I'm okay." He says gently, trying not to let his throat croak. But he still makes a strangled little sound when a hand comes up to his face. His parents was always sparse with touch, his mom thought he was fragile and that one wrong tap would make him shatter. Pollux was a little more free with it, but there was still an undercurrent, and the two of them were never allowed to play rough.

Eventually it got to a point where they weren't allowed to play at all.

So when Sin checks him over for injuries, Castor goes almost shock-still. Something in him short-circuits. He was a sickly kid, he was used to being taken care of, but it was always done so clinically. There was a whole month when he was twelve where no one was allowed to touch him without wearing gloves.

He's wondered what the other boy's looked like for days now, and he so badly wants to reach out and return the favour and poke the spot between his eyes like used to do to Pollux when he was being annoying. But there's boundaries here, and the last time the two of them had been this close, Sin had been trying to kill him. But he still takes the feeling, and he takes the thought, and he tucks it in close to his chest for later.

[collects canned spam, matchbox, revolver + ammo (6 bullets),
and radiation attenuating surgical gloves (+3 hands)]
[flees]