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No one asked for this shit
[Based off of this trainwreck]
It's some sort of poison, he thinks, as he pauses by the river to peel off his shirt and look at the blood soaked bits of Signless' cloak they'd used to wrap around his side.
Fucking stupid of him, honestly, and a breath rattles out between his fangs as he lightly touches the makeshift bandages. Still wet, and his gray fingers come away putrid yellow. It hasn't stopped bleeding even a little bit. No clotting, no closing up of the wound. Stupid fucking plants with their leaves like razors. Of course they would have brought Alternian flora here, and he curses himself for not being more careful. How long had he been traveling on his home planet? He should have been more prepared for this.
His body won't stop shaking as he sets himself down by the river, wondering if it's even worth it to clean the wound. Would more blood just pour out, a flood impossible to hide?
He needs supplies. Needs medicine, something to seal up the wound or force the blood to clot or stop whatever weird poison bullshit was on that stupid piece of shit plant. But first aid wasn't what he managed to grab when they were all released like wild animals. Does he know anyone else who does...?
Lyn. Lyn does, and for one low moment he thinks of hunting the kid down. It's gone in a second, and he rubs at his face. "Calm the fuck down, you tremendouth athole," he hisses to himself, voice unsteady. What the hell is he thinking? Lyn, scrawny and wide eyed and jumpier than a nutbeast, trooping with him through the shitty fucking forest and rambling to him about one of his dumb favorite movies like that could hide how he was ten seconds away from flipping his shit. He needed all he could get. He wasn't going to be the one to fuck him over.
For a moment, all he can do is space out, staring at his hand and noting blankly how its lost what meager color it used to have. "Tho what now?" he finds himself murmuring to thin air.
There's no way he can move himself to go and search for supplies himself. His body can't stand it- he's pushing it just moving as he is now. A long trip... Yeah, good fucking luck.
So.... This is it. The realization settles something in him, and he's not sure if the sudden onset of calm is because he's lost too much blood or if because... Well, he was always hoping for death one way or another, right? The calm carries him through, lets him pull his shirt back over his head again and he tiredly makes his way back to where he and Signless have made camp for the day. The other troll looks up to him, rattled and wild eyed- sleep hasn't come to him sweetly for ages. It's been rough for all of them, but his best beloved has had it hardest.
Detached and hurting for all the pity and love he has for this broken down troll, Psii gives him a smile like nothing's wrong. "Hey, relax- I came back, didn't I?" It hurts to breath, but he can hide it as he settles down besides him and wraps his arms tight around him. "C'mon... let'sh take a break. Jutht retht, okay, Eth?" He gives a snigger. "Fuck thith diurnal bullthit. I'll watch out for you, alright?"
When Signless finally falls asleep besides him, brow furrowed from all the daymares that wrap around his pan like thorns, Psii brushes his fingers along his jawline.
Who's going to look out for him when he's gone? Who's going to help him through this fucktacular shitshow, make him eat, keep him going?
Who's going to look out for Lyn? Little shit is good at surviving, he'll give him that, but there's some fucked up assholes around here he won't handle in a fight- he thinks of those creepy fuckers with the harnesses, of the asshole sharing his sign and horns, of Schuldig...
Ha. He actually gives a snort at that, fingers jerking somewhere near Signless' ear, and his side gives a dull throb of pain. Schuldig. What a piece of shit. He feels his heart give one weak throb, pitch right down to its core against all goddamn semblances of sense. The memory of that night, when a bunch of them huddled together to share a fire either because strength in numbers or just to keep an eye on the others, flashes through his mind. He'd looked like so much trash, a mess from not enough food and not enough caffeine, fingers jerking and eyes bloodshot. Psii had felt a surge of protective hatred as their shoulders had bumped near the fire, digging untrimmed claws into the back of his hand and hissing into his ear, "Don't fall apart yet, fucker".
Someone has to take care of the rotten bastard.
He guesses... it's just not going to be him.
Everything seems dim and colorless. God, he's so tired...
But there are worst ways to die, and worst places too, he thinks as he stares at Signless' face.
The Psiioniic lets himself go to sleep with a tired smile.
He doesn't wake up.
It's some sort of poison, he thinks, as he pauses by the river to peel off his shirt and look at the blood soaked bits of Signless' cloak they'd used to wrap around his side.
Fucking stupid of him, honestly, and a breath rattles out between his fangs as he lightly touches the makeshift bandages. Still wet, and his gray fingers come away putrid yellow. It hasn't stopped bleeding even a little bit. No clotting, no closing up of the wound. Stupid fucking plants with their leaves like razors. Of course they would have brought Alternian flora here, and he curses himself for not being more careful. How long had he been traveling on his home planet? He should have been more prepared for this.
His body won't stop shaking as he sets himself down by the river, wondering if it's even worth it to clean the wound. Would more blood just pour out, a flood impossible to hide?
He needs supplies. Needs medicine, something to seal up the wound or force the blood to clot or stop whatever weird poison bullshit was on that stupid piece of shit plant. But first aid wasn't what he managed to grab when they were all released like wild animals. Does he know anyone else who does...?
Lyn. Lyn does, and for one low moment he thinks of hunting the kid down. It's gone in a second, and he rubs at his face. "Calm the fuck down, you tremendouth athole," he hisses to himself, voice unsteady. What the hell is he thinking? Lyn, scrawny and wide eyed and jumpier than a nutbeast, trooping with him through the shitty fucking forest and rambling to him about one of his dumb favorite movies like that could hide how he was ten seconds away from flipping his shit. He needed all he could get. He wasn't going to be the one to fuck him over.
For a moment, all he can do is space out, staring at his hand and noting blankly how its lost what meager color it used to have. "Tho what now?" he finds himself murmuring to thin air.
There's no way he can move himself to go and search for supplies himself. His body can't stand it- he's pushing it just moving as he is now. A long trip... Yeah, good fucking luck.
So.... This is it. The realization settles something in him, and he's not sure if the sudden onset of calm is because he's lost too much blood or if because... Well, he was always hoping for death one way or another, right? The calm carries him through, lets him pull his shirt back over his head again and he tiredly makes his way back to where he and Signless have made camp for the day. The other troll looks up to him, rattled and wild eyed- sleep hasn't come to him sweetly for ages. It's been rough for all of them, but his best beloved has had it hardest.
Detached and hurting for all the pity and love he has for this broken down troll, Psii gives him a smile like nothing's wrong. "Hey, relax- I came back, didn't I?" It hurts to breath, but he can hide it as he settles down besides him and wraps his arms tight around him. "C'mon... let'sh take a break. Jutht retht, okay, Eth?" He gives a snigger. "Fuck thith diurnal bullthit. I'll watch out for you, alright?"
When Signless finally falls asleep besides him, brow furrowed from all the daymares that wrap around his pan like thorns, Psii brushes his fingers along his jawline.
Who's going to look out for him when he's gone? Who's going to help him through this fucktacular shitshow, make him eat, keep him going?
Who's going to look out for Lyn? Little shit is good at surviving, he'll give him that, but there's some fucked up assholes around here he won't handle in a fight- he thinks of those creepy fuckers with the harnesses, of the asshole sharing his sign and horns, of Schuldig...
Ha. He actually gives a snort at that, fingers jerking somewhere near Signless' ear, and his side gives a dull throb of pain. Schuldig. What a piece of shit. He feels his heart give one weak throb, pitch right down to its core against all goddamn semblances of sense. The memory of that night, when a bunch of them huddled together to share a fire either because strength in numbers or just to keep an eye on the others, flashes through his mind. He'd looked like so much trash, a mess from not enough food and not enough caffeine, fingers jerking and eyes bloodshot. Psii had felt a surge of protective hatred as their shoulders had bumped near the fire, digging untrimmed claws into the back of his hand and hissing into his ear, "Don't fall apart yet, fucker".
Someone has to take care of the rotten bastard.
He guesses... it's just not going to be him.
Everything seems dim and colorless. God, he's so tired...
But there are worst ways to die, and worst places too, he thinks as he stares at Signless' face.
The Psiioniic lets himself go to sleep with a tired smile.
He doesn't wake up.
whatever other shit I got
no subject
There are a dozen different retorts he could shoot off, but instead, Schuldig is perfectly petty enough to speak through the nose as he says, "Every day you tthhhhhtrive to prove me wrong." It's juvenile. Extremely so. However, his favorite hatefuck has pulled his hair outside the bedroom and drawn a dick on his face, so he's in good company. It's worth it to see that smug fangy smirk flip into a scowl. Before the troll can decide to jerk him around psionically, Schuldig half drapes across him in an effort to peer around the dark street. "Anything interesting happen yet, or has it been just another lonely night of you playing with yourself thinking of me?" He smirks up at Psii from the side, nearly able to see himself in that quiet heterochromic glow.
Psii's lip curls up over one protruding fang. "At leatht then I would know I'd get a fuckin' orgathm. Anyway." His head jerks in the direction of the latest club they've been told to keep an eye on in the past week. "Quiet tho far."
no subject
Most people wouldn't think so- not with the sounds of nightlife and the buzzing city and Psiioniic's sniggering right in front of him. Most people are also worth less than cheap candy.
Yet instead of reaching up to tear the blindfold off or, for anyone else, tear out the offender's eyes, Schuldig just twitches. For all that he might not like it, this is actually for his benefit. As incredibly common as psychic ability might be in trolls, he's also learned (mostly from poking Psii's own brain) that they run the gamut from expected to complete extraordinary bullshit. Seers' minds are insane enough- they have to be in order to handle the sheer amount of future bullshit that they have to sort out. Psiioniic's version of seeing the future is even worse than that, on account of relying on the dead and dying... who, to Schuldig's complete unsurprise, make the already present clusterfuck worse than it already is.
In the self-taught way of so many other psychics, Psii has learned how to mostly block the chatter so that he doesn't lose his own god damn mind. Probably why he'd adjusted so quickly to providing a white noise barrier against Schuldig's own abilities, easy to break through it as it is. But when he really concentrates... Schuldig thinks he'd rather have his head smashed into concrete than be anywhere near him.
Still. It doesn't mean he has to like it. It doesn't mean he can't reach back and hold the blindfold himself. Psii doesn't object. In fact, to Schuldig's surprise... As his hands hold the blindfold in place, he feels a burning hot hand slide over them, claws lightly pricking at his skin.
Only a minute is needed- probably less- before the crackle of psionics around the blindfold vanishes. Schuldig is taking off the blindfold before he's even given the go-ahead. Psii is quiet, opaque gaze elsewhere, and his thoughts are among the steady buzz which washes into Schuldig's mind once again. Even a self proclaimed 'genius' needs a second to sort through so much information and pluck out the right parts.
So out of it at times like this, Schuldig had once suckerpunched him, just because he thought it'd be funny, and Psii's indignant startled outrage had been so funny that he'd laughed so hard he'd almost missed the chair that had come for his ankles.
Fun stuff like that can wait for another time. They have work to do.
no subject
Sometimes, it's because of each other- punches and scratches and bites that they revel in.
Sometimes, it's because of their line of work. You don't work with a mafia boss and a fight-happy yakuza heir without getting shot at or stabbed a few times.
Psii's mocking had always been expected from the start. That's the entire essence of their relationship. What had been new was the way he had stuck around, talking shit even as he dug out a first aid kit. His fingers were careful as he cleaned up Schuldig's injuries, every scrape or press of his claws purposeful, and his psionics hadn't hurt when he'd used them in place of a third or fourth arm. They'd been uncomfortably warm, sure, but they'd never burned.
In the quiet of the room, they'd bled together.