contractuallybinding | (no subject)

The call had come while they were out exploring. Sometime, as they were walking through the caves, each one seeming the same as the last, shadows jumping in their single torch, a sound like trumpets had bounded through the air.

It settled into each of their minds, stirred them to simply stop, and as one, they each turned and walked directly back to an enormous double door. Other people - most much younger than the three men, and all wearing other colors - were also gathered, and as the double doors opened, they were let into an enormous arena.

It was then, and only then, that they realize they had been controlled and how little choice they'd had in coming there. They'd no more held control of their feet than they had of the air they breathed or the ground they walked on.

The arena had been massive, a beautiful, sunlit sky in it, and soft grass on the ground...and in the center was a throne that housed a statue at least ten men tall. The marble figure in it sat still, though when they blinked, the expression changed. The figure was a man in a twisted clown mask. It was fashioned into laugh, but his giggles held nothing but rage and madness.

The first round required them to come up with lymmerics. The dirtier and sillier the better. Many teams had laughed and chatted amidst the bawdy rhymes and deadpan revelry.

The next had asked them to dance, and dance many did, though there was no music or beat. No two danced the same, though many danced with each other, exchanging makeshift names, and sometimes a smile and a wink.

And finally, the last round, they were told that this was the only round that mattered. This was the important one, that would determine who would win.

Kill someone. Anyone. Anyone who killed, their team would win.

Between Bastard and Wisp, Fawn is covered in blood.

All three of them hold a single piece of paper as they stand at the door of their dorms, with little idea of how they had gotten there.

They were the one of three teams to win.

Wisp is really not having a good time. Starting with the part where they'd been compelled into the arena (with a feeling uncomfortably like Bastard naming him), continuing with the first two rounds (which he'd been terrible at). The other teams had barely seemed to notice him? Well, they were all busy, so that was fine, but - it had seemed so odd, it was like their gaze passed over him on the way to Fawn and Bastard. Like he only existed for the moments he got their attention and then promptly disappeared afterwards. And then.

And then that last one. Wisp had frozen, hesitated - argued too, in trembling tones. He didn't want to do this. No one should do this, this wasn't right, what had gotten into anyone. (Fallen on deaf ears, or drowned out by others shouting.) And while he'd hesitated ...

Well. He clings to the piece of paper in his hand, fingers trembling. Trying to make himself look at Fawn's bloodstained everything.

"We - we need to get some sort of bath figured out," he says, as if washing the blood out will make everything better. "Is there a bucket or - or something? I thought I saw some sort of underground river..."

Fawn had - unwillingly - been good at the limericks. Markedly less good at the dancing. And then.

He wasn't very good at murder; he keeps reviewing the chain of events in his mind, trying to figure out how so much blood had gotten on him. Someone moved suddenly; Jon reacted, wound too tight with the knowledge that Wisp's dithering was going to get them killed for nothing. There was no calculation behind wildly slashing for the neck - though he had unconsciously been touching the scar at the base of his own neck ever since.

Fawn has no sarcasm to offer for Wisp's fussing. He nods mutely; he would rather prefer not to be covered in blood. He stares down at then paper in his hand for several more moments before he actually tries to read it.

Wisp leaves his own paper on the table for a moment, moving to find the aforementioned bucket. It's a rickety thing, but it looks like it ought to be good enough to fetch water. "I'm going to come right back, okay? Just - just don't go too far." And with that Wisp is back out the door as quick as he can, water fetching in progress.

Bastard... is satisfied. Wholly and completely satisfied. So full of ... energy that he hardly knows what to do with. The first two rounds. Well, they'd be silly, hadn't they? He'd spent them wondering why they were even there.

Ah, but the third. There was a flavor to it. An exquisite richness in the air, something that filled him almost to breaking, like a symphony that evoked tears. It was magnificent.

So he's in ... a particularly good mood as they walk in, but it's not as those those two have any other expectations for him. He hadn't killed anyone, though. No, but Fawn, oh, Fawn was beyond what he could have hoped. That desperation, the blind willingness to... well. Get his hands dirty when Wisp simply... couldn't.

He lets Wisp slip past him without a protest or a jibe, instead the Bastard drifts towards the table, the paper left behind.

And in the mean time... Fawn... really doesn't hear or see Wisp go, does he? The paper draws him, calls to him, begs to be read from start to finish. The Statement of an Unknown Man extracted directly from subject, recorded ??????, committed to memory by the Blank named Fawn, Day 1 of Cycle ?????, North Block. Regarding...

Edited 2020-04-06 11:51 (UTC)

It's a statement about Jared Hopworth, beginning with Jared's introduction. The Bastard will get to hear Fawn's pleasant voice for the full length of the rest of the statement. His voice is lush in detail, even mimicking his own breathy whines with precision.

When it's over, Fawn sets the statement down like a man in a dream, leaving behind perfect, bloody impressions of his fingers. There's a pleasant ache in his throat, like... like he's just finished a cigarette. He touches his throat and then his hand drifts to his ribcage to press his fingers into the soft, yielding space where his rib isn't.

That's when he notices That Bastard is still here, and jumps half out of his own skin. "- You!"

Edited 2020-04-08 01:48 (UTC)

"Was it?" That Bastard takes a step back out of Fawn's space, not looking the slightest bit put out by Fawn's remarkable surprise. Why WOULDN'T he stay? Really now. "If it was, I think you did quite a horrible impression of me. And really, what would I do with your ribs?"

But no, there are more important bits to extract from this. He turns his own statement over in his hands, unread. "Does it still hurt, Fawn?"

"Ha. Ha." Fawn enunciates each syllable sharply. "I'm sure you'd find a use for them."

"No. Not anymore." His arm stays curled around his rib cage as he gives That bastard a narrow-eyed stare. "You got one too."

So it is them, their memories, their lives that they are claiming back on these sheets.

The Bastard considers his own, then Fawn. And begins to fold it up. "So I did." And starts to put it in his pocket. There would be experimenting with Fawn and Wisp later, but the first? Perhaps the first should be his.

Fawn takes a step forward. "Not going to share, Bastard?"

He has to .. pause at that. Fawn certainly had just killed a man to get his own memories. Would he do the same to hear his teammates? Or read them?

What a delightful thought.

"Do you want this story, Fawn?" The Bastard asks, "You did seem keen to ... trade for them in you other life."

Fawn's chin tilts defiantly. He makes a jerky gesture toward himself, toward all the blood sprayed across his shirt "I already paid for it."

Oh, oh is that how it's going?

"Would you say then, that you're entitled to Wisp's as well?"

Wisp's paper sure is sitting out on the table. And Wisp himself is still absent - though both men can dimly hear him rattling about outside, water sloshing as he fills a couple buckets.

Edited 2020-04-09 21:01 (UTC)

Fawn snorts derisively. "I don't think Wisp is quite as driven to secrecy as you are."

He picks up Wisp's statement between two fingers. "Are you sure? I imagine we all have a few skeletons in our closet." And folds this one as well.

Fawn jerks forward snatching for the paper. "Give that back! He's going to notice if you steal it. "

"Hold-" He hisses. The Bastard takes a step back, shoving it in his pocket, hurriedly. "I'm merely-" Fawn really only has a second to act here.

It's a second in which Fawn doesn't act. He freezes. That Bastard's thought has found it's way to Fawn - what exactly is he going to do?

Kill his team mate?

Without the pressure of the game, the notion that he might physically overpower Elias seems ludicrous. If Wisp doesn't notice his own is missing - it's not Fawn's problem.

And perhaps -

Perhaps That Bastard had a point.

And... the Bastard seems to relax at that. Intimidated? ... Yes, actually. Maybe a little.

It doesn't last long before that smug composure slithers back in.

"Done? Good. I'll give it to him if he asks."

"It would do him some good to be a bit.. more assertive, don't you think?"

Jon grimaces, but his fingers uncurl from their clench. It's annoying to agree with the Bastard on anything. "Magnanimous of you," he mutters as the door opens.

Wisp struggles with a pair of buckets, dragging them back over towards Fawn. And ... stops after a moment? Sensing some tension here.

"Wh - what happened while I was out?" he asks, looking between the two of them.

Edited 2020-04-10 00:01 (UTC)

"Just getting to know each other," the Bastard answers. He steps out of Wisps way, and settles to lean against the far wall, watching.

"Perhaps you should groom our scrappy one outside."

Wisp looks down at the buckets, than back up at Fawn. The terminology is ... terrible, but. Not wholly inaccurate?

"I - I suppose this would be less messy outside," he admits after a moment. "Er, if you want to, Fawn?"

He hasn't noticed that his paper is missing. Yet.

"I can bathe myself, thank you." the Bastard gets most of the glare; Fawn strides over to Wisp to take the buckets. The memory has thoroughly knocked him out of his initial fugue, and he's back to his normal self. He feels... restless, and less concerned about the blood, now, but there isn't anything else to do but bathe.

"Perhaps the two of you can spend some time bonding while I'm out."