Entry tags:
Prisonstuck XI
[The invitation comes to the hive in drapings so rich, the Psiioniic knows it is worth more than the lives of some trolls. With it comes bad news.]
[Things up until this point have been... Well.]
[With her wiring removed, their little Helmsgirl has learned to move with her own limbs again in short time. She'd not been a Helmstroll long, after all, before they'd taken her away from it all. She clings to his side like he's a pillar or a shield, more often than not, only harder when Dualscar is about however muuch the Psiioniic tells her he's no threat to them, not right now at any rate. He stays patient best he can; it was a lesson he needed time to adjust to as well after all. There's the lusus too, fetched from its plains, and he's seen it poking its nose out from its den some nights to snuffle suspiciously at the smell of the sea.]
[Those same nights have him wishing he's not so used to it himself.]
[Yet he is, and only part of it is because he was raised in a port town where the smell of the ocean permeated even past the scent of blood and sweat in the factories. The other part is in the form of the handsome seadweller troll he takes to pail whenever he returns from his seas, that same scent flowing deep into the Psiioniic's lungs as he presses his mouth to Dualscar's throat as welcome.]
[Funny, he thought he'd have to worry about pain and humiliation only the first time he laid eyes on the lightning-horned troll who had stepped into his cell with a cold violent slash of a smirk and eyes that glittered malice. Some days as the two of them lay in the same recuperacoon and he's tracing literary quotes against Dualscar's spine, he wonders if maybe that weren't more preferable. Pain and humiliation from highbloods, he knows that well. All those in the slave caste do. It's being treated so carefully, so tenderly and with those violet eyes gazing at him in trust, that's new and he wonders if maybe this isn't a trap of its own.]
[Because he keeps making excuses. They both do. He pours through all of Dualscar's books and takes advantage of that royal station and blood to get access to information he'd have to work for if he were out and free, and he keeps telling himself This is all for when I leave, it'll be useful then. Except leaving never happens. He needs to make sure Sonica gets better, he needs to make sure the lusus is fine, he needs to make sure Dualscar will be fine when he inevitably sets off. He needs to do this, he needs to do that, and he knows it's just bullshit, so much bullshit, and it's terrifying.]
[Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow is what he's telling himself for perhaps the 52nd time when Dualscar enters the library with that envelope with its ocean purple seal and gold stationary and pretty handwriting probably written by a domestic slave whose life was worth less than the price of the ink used. It puts him on edge even without seeing the look on Dualscar's face.]
[It's an invitation to some fancy highblood party, which he would normally not even give two shits about save for the fact that he's mentioned. Politics amongst nobility aren't something he's care for but it's impossible to not see between the lines here. This is some reputation bullshit- to see that the great Orphaner Dualscar really has done his job correctly, to see that he's really broken the runaway-slave-turned-rebel. Maybe there's really some genuine curiosity there too. He'd known that taking a title like his was both a boast of power and also a pair of big middle fingers to the Empire where the word "psionic" also meant "battery". There has to be some vague interest in what sort of mouthy little lowblood would do something like that... and how far he's fallen.]
[Finishing the letter has his mind screaming at him leave leave right the fuck now because the prospect of being paraded (however acted out) like some glorified prize in a room full of highbloods and seadwellers with his only protection being Dualscar makes him want to vomit pure acid.]
[He says no and nearly refuses to budge on it at first. The entire affair nearly puts him on the tipping point of a manic swing, fingers jittering with energy and eyes bright. He comes around within the hour, reluctant and nervous, but what can he do? Highbloods and their goddamn reputations- failure to provide is humiliation on a best case scenario and culling on worst. He can't run away with that possibility weighing heavy. Logic says it's because Dualscar is their best link into the system, but really it's because the idea of him dying makes him want to set an entire fleet and maybe a few major cities on fire.]
[At least the invitation leaves plenty of forewarning, because fuck knows he needs to get into the act of being a slave again and also figure out how to act the part of a domestic slave. There are apparently a thousand and two utterly ridiculous rules a domestic slave needs to follow and know. They get into an argument about forks. Everything is ridiculous.]
[But he's clever and a goddamn genius, so it's not as hard as it could be. The night comes for the whole affair. Dualscar looks fucking resplendent, as they both know he should be, and him, well, he gets clothes good enough to not be an eyesore but drab enough that it's clear as moonlight he's property. He shakes, violently, when the seatroll pins his sign to his clothes to mark who he 'belongs' to. The quiet apologies can only help so much.]
[For blatantly obvious reasons, he's never been inside a proper highblood estate during one of their little get togethers. Read about them in books, seen glimpses of them in advertisements for movies he never had money to see, things like that, but nothing more. It's nothing like seeing it for real and even when they're still approaching, he's hit with the sudden painful feeling of being outclassed and surrounded. Thank god he's not in a manic swing- he gets the thought to jump out the window and haul ass the opposite direction and in a swing like that he'd probably do it.]
[But he's stable, he's stable and he can do this, and he does his best to remember all the bullshit he's had to stuff into his mind on the short amount of time they've had. He does his best to act a good slave for all he wants to scream at it all, obeys Dualscar's curt orders and follows quietly just behind him with his head bowed. Living with the seadweller, he thought he'd be used to riches but the sight of just the entrance hall is... Shit. Holy shit. He just barely catches himself before he can swear that sentiment out loud. It's obnoxious extravagance, that's what it is, and he can't properly articular why it terrifies him.]
[Good thing no one wants him to fucking talk. He just sticks to Dualscar's side, or at least as close as he can manage under this farce of theirs, and tries not to scream at being surrounded by so many hues ten times as high as his.]
[No one touches him, is the good thing, or at least no one touches him much, Dualscar the protective bastard he is, but there's enough words and actions that Psii knows it's only because of his immediate presence there that it hasn't happened yet. It's both a relief and a worry when he's finally dismissed to go assist the other slaves, and he hopes his hurry is seen more as an eagerness to please. At least he can do the other thing that had encouraged him to attend: put a finger to the pulse of the collective slaves here, see if there's any trustworthy, see if there's any other followers amongst the collection.]
[It keeps him busy for most of the night, doing what work he can and getting a feel for the other lowbloods here. But eventually, inevitably, he's regulated to simply standing at the side and trying to play invisible while something deep inside him won't stop trembling. He's left hoping that another lowblood will have him work and keep his hands (and his mind) busy, or that Dualscar will give him some form of a break from all this.]
[He tries his best not to think about what he might have to do if another highblood comes to fetch him for whatever reason first.]
[Things up until this point have been... Well.]
[With her wiring removed, their little Helmsgirl has learned to move with her own limbs again in short time. She'd not been a Helmstroll long, after all, before they'd taken her away from it all. She clings to his side like he's a pillar or a shield, more often than not, only harder when Dualscar is about however muuch the Psiioniic tells her he's no threat to them, not right now at any rate. He stays patient best he can; it was a lesson he needed time to adjust to as well after all. There's the lusus too, fetched from its plains, and he's seen it poking its nose out from its den some nights to snuffle suspiciously at the smell of the sea.]
[Those same nights have him wishing he's not so used to it himself.]
[Yet he is, and only part of it is because he was raised in a port town where the smell of the ocean permeated even past the scent of blood and sweat in the factories. The other part is in the form of the handsome seadweller troll he takes to pail whenever he returns from his seas, that same scent flowing deep into the Psiioniic's lungs as he presses his mouth to Dualscar's throat as welcome.]
[Funny, he thought he'd have to worry about pain and humiliation only the first time he laid eyes on the lightning-horned troll who had stepped into his cell with a cold violent slash of a smirk and eyes that glittered malice. Some days as the two of them lay in the same recuperacoon and he's tracing literary quotes against Dualscar's spine, he wonders if maybe that weren't more preferable. Pain and humiliation from highbloods, he knows that well. All those in the slave caste do. It's being treated so carefully, so tenderly and with those violet eyes gazing at him in trust, that's new and he wonders if maybe this isn't a trap of its own.]
[Because he keeps making excuses. They both do. He pours through all of Dualscar's books and takes advantage of that royal station and blood to get access to information he'd have to work for if he were out and free, and he keeps telling himself This is all for when I leave, it'll be useful then. Except leaving never happens. He needs to make sure Sonica gets better, he needs to make sure the lusus is fine, he needs to make sure Dualscar will be fine when he inevitably sets off. He needs to do this, he needs to do that, and he knows it's just bullshit, so much bullshit, and it's terrifying.]
[Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow is what he's telling himself for perhaps the 52nd time when Dualscar enters the library with that envelope with its ocean purple seal and gold stationary and pretty handwriting probably written by a domestic slave whose life was worth less than the price of the ink used. It puts him on edge even without seeing the look on Dualscar's face.]
[It's an invitation to some fancy highblood party, which he would normally not even give two shits about save for the fact that he's mentioned. Politics amongst nobility aren't something he's care for but it's impossible to not see between the lines here. This is some reputation bullshit- to see that the great Orphaner Dualscar really has done his job correctly, to see that he's really broken the runaway-slave-turned-rebel. Maybe there's really some genuine curiosity there too. He'd known that taking a title like his was both a boast of power and also a pair of big middle fingers to the Empire where the word "psionic" also meant "battery". There has to be some vague interest in what sort of mouthy little lowblood would do something like that... and how far he's fallen.]
[Finishing the letter has his mind screaming at him leave leave right the fuck now because the prospect of being paraded (however acted out) like some glorified prize in a room full of highbloods and seadwellers with his only protection being Dualscar makes him want to vomit pure acid.]
[He says no and nearly refuses to budge on it at first. The entire affair nearly puts him on the tipping point of a manic swing, fingers jittering with energy and eyes bright. He comes around within the hour, reluctant and nervous, but what can he do? Highbloods and their goddamn reputations- failure to provide is humiliation on a best case scenario and culling on worst. He can't run away with that possibility weighing heavy. Logic says it's because Dualscar is their best link into the system, but really it's because the idea of him dying makes him want to set an entire fleet and maybe a few major cities on fire.]
[At least the invitation leaves plenty of forewarning, because fuck knows he needs to get into the act of being a slave again and also figure out how to act the part of a domestic slave. There are apparently a thousand and two utterly ridiculous rules a domestic slave needs to follow and know. They get into an argument about forks. Everything is ridiculous.]
[But he's clever and a goddamn genius, so it's not as hard as it could be. The night comes for the whole affair. Dualscar looks fucking resplendent, as they both know he should be, and him, well, he gets clothes good enough to not be an eyesore but drab enough that it's clear as moonlight he's property. He shakes, violently, when the seatroll pins his sign to his clothes to mark who he 'belongs' to. The quiet apologies can only help so much.]
[For blatantly obvious reasons, he's never been inside a proper highblood estate during one of their little get togethers. Read about them in books, seen glimpses of them in advertisements for movies he never had money to see, things like that, but nothing more. It's nothing like seeing it for real and even when they're still approaching, he's hit with the sudden painful feeling of being outclassed and surrounded. Thank god he's not in a manic swing- he gets the thought to jump out the window and haul ass the opposite direction and in a swing like that he'd probably do it.]
[But he's stable, he's stable and he can do this, and he does his best to remember all the bullshit he's had to stuff into his mind on the short amount of time they've had. He does his best to act a good slave for all he wants to scream at it all, obeys Dualscar's curt orders and follows quietly just behind him with his head bowed. Living with the seadweller, he thought he'd be used to riches but the sight of just the entrance hall is... Shit. Holy shit. He just barely catches himself before he can swear that sentiment out loud. It's obnoxious extravagance, that's what it is, and he can't properly articular why it terrifies him.]
[Good thing no one wants him to fucking talk. He just sticks to Dualscar's side, or at least as close as he can manage under this farce of theirs, and tries not to scream at being surrounded by so many hues ten times as high as his.]
[No one touches him, is the good thing, or at least no one touches him much, Dualscar the protective bastard he is, but there's enough words and actions that Psii knows it's only because of his immediate presence there that it hasn't happened yet. It's both a relief and a worry when he's finally dismissed to go assist the other slaves, and he hopes his hurry is seen more as an eagerness to please. At least he can do the other thing that had encouraged him to attend: put a finger to the pulse of the collective slaves here, see if there's any trustworthy, see if there's any other followers amongst the collection.]
[It keeps him busy for most of the night, doing what work he can and getting a feel for the other lowbloods here. But eventually, inevitably, he's regulated to simply standing at the side and trying to play invisible while something deep inside him won't stop trembling. He's left hoping that another lowblood will have him work and keep his hands (and his mind) busy, or that Dualscar will give him some form of a break from all this.]
[He tries his best not to think about what he might have to do if another highblood comes to fetch him for whatever reason first.]
no subject
I wwon't.
[He puts his hand over Psii's, over the sign he wears on his chest, and gives it a quick squeeze. Then, before it gets too hard, he steps back and picks up his breastplate, putting it back on and latching it in place. With one last, lingering glance, he turns and leaves, heading back to the party, his cape swirling behind him.]
no subject
[It's a dumb desire. He knows it is. There will be questions, likely, if he stays away for too long. There's also a chance that another highblood will wander in and try to seize any chance they see. The taste of acid is on the back of his tongue as he thinks it and it's enough for him to leave a few minutes after Dualscar. His bad luck is shit as it is. He won't court it further.]
[The other slaves glance at him from the corner of their eyes as he joins them, and it doesn't take long enough to figure out they're taking in various parts of him- the flush still spread out across his ears and down along his throat, sweat against the side of his face still new, his ruffled state of clothing. He tries to straighten out his clothing like that will do anything... But he finds himself unable to be too worried, not at the understanding nods or sympathetic elbow brushes.]
[They're all thinking of the Orphaner's reputation, after all.]
[Funnily enough, a protection enough in such moments as much as the sign pinned to his chest. He can only hope it carries him through the rest of the party.]
no subject
[It's easy to fall into the role, although Dualscar plays it now more than he ever did before. Now it's not just his life that depends upon it, but Psii's as well, and Sonica's. He has to be what they expect and want to see.]
[The party is beginning to wind down by the time he reappears, and he swirls through the thinning crowd, socializing and smirking and playing his part. He keeps an eye on the clock, though, and when it's late enough, he slips away.]
[No one notices, and if they do, they don't question it.]
[He snaps at a random slave, ordering him to go find the troll who wears his sign, and waits as the terrified slave skitters off, his stomach roiling with anxiety. Psii can't be back in his arms soon enough.]
no subject
[He might not have been the only one keeping an eye on the clock.]
[Psii keeps his eyes focused downwards just enough, fighting down desperation away from his expression even as much as he's hoping that this is it.]
no subject
Until wwe meet again!
[He turns on his heel, moving so his cape billows out behind him, and strides away, lugging Psii with him.]
[As soon as he’s on his ship—a smaller vessel, one he’s capable of manning on his own—he sets Psii down, carefully and tenderly.]
Just until wwe’re out of sight…
[Then he turns to steer, turning The Condesce’s Wrath into the waves and aiming her towards his hive. Towards their hive.]
no subject
[His body locks up as he's tossed up onto Dualscar's shoulder- not from any fear or acting, but from trying to hold himself back so that he doesn't lash out or tear off the helmet to raze the entire building to the ground. When he's finally allowed on his own two feet, his fingers dig into the palms of his hands.]
[His voice is a low hiss.]
Get uth out, get uth out right the fuck now, 22...
no subject
[As soon as the highblood castle fades behind them, dipping below the horizon, Dualscar turns to Psii immediately and undoes his helmet, letting the clasps fall free on either side of his neck, lifting it off him.]
no subject
[When the feeling of that forced restraint finally leaves him for good, he hisses out a breath. Hands that are trying so hard not to tremble latch onto Dualscar's arms as psi crackles along them. He wants to release it all in one go, take comfort in the only kind of power he can get on this stupid fucked up planet, but that would defeat the purpose of them getting out of sight from that estate. A show of psionics would get anyone's attention.]
[So he takes what little comfort he can, just letting it out in little shows that rattle against his fingertips and along Dualscar's body. With a shaking breath, he rests his forehead against his chest and tries to think of the sign pinned to the other's shirt hidden beneath armor.]
Fuck doing that ever again.
no subject
I knoww. Never again.
[He moves a hand up and down over Psii's back, stroking him gently, trying to soothe his nerves and his fear.]
Wwe wwon't havve to do that anymore, it's okay, wwe're awway noww, wwe're safe...
no subject
...Tho. What thort of bullthit did you do with the retht of them anyway?
[He knows there had mostly been a lot of stupid boasting short of shit, but anything interesting?]
no subject
Nothing special. Just a lot of boasting and bulge swwinging.
[You know, typical highblood stuff.]
But your friends havve been sighted.
no subject
[Again, the thoughts start. He's a coward, a fool, just a plain fucking asshole. No matter how much information and intel he's gathered, he's still hiding away like an asshole. He should be with them. Why isn't he?]
[His eyes squeeze shut.]
What happened?
no subject
[Dualscar resists the urge to tug Psii in, to wrap his arm tighter around him, to get grabby and territorial. He can't do that anymore, Psii isn't his to claim, and though his arm aches for wanting to hold him, he resists.]
They'vve been sighted on the coast. Some subjuggulators tried to track them dowwn, but they got awway. [Dualscar cracks a faint smile.] Turns out no one told them about the jade blood and her chainsaww.
no subject
[Even his tone is distant.]
Alwayth eathy to mith that when she keepth it tucked away... [His hand rubs along at his face.]
22... Let'sh jutht get back already. Daylight ith coming.
no subject
Okay.
[He gives Psii one last, protective squeeze with his muscular arm, and then lets him go, turning back to his ship and guiding her towards their hive. He half expects to feel the brush of psionics against his back, and then turn around to see an empty space where Psii had been standing, and a streak of crackling blue and red lights arcing away from him, a distant speck in the sky.]