2nd Metal / open spam covering the next few days

[godsays]

[ He never had thought of Mistborn powers as being an addiction, but this may force him to admit he was wrong. He craves the metals, craves the sensations that come with them. He feels as though his body has been wrapped in cotton; no longer can he distinguish the grains of wood through his fingertips, or hear the whisper of a heartbeat from a room away. He can't use lines of metal to sense movement and to chart his surroundings. Can't fall and fly. Can't lean on the emotions of those he meets. He's trapped in his skull, a prisoner of locked doors and gravity.

This is what drives him to some desperation.

There are many risks that come with seeking out metals not metallurgist-crafted. Alloys can be impure; they can be of an incorrect mixture. It's hard to flake off bits of metal. Chewing on them will only result in certain trace metals in the system, and those could be burned off easily and quickly without much benefit.

So: find him anywhere in a public area, focused on some sort of metal. Perhaps determinedly working at the tines of a fork or attempting to chew on a pipe. Licking, in an attempt to taste the composition of an alloy. (This is unsurprisingly ineffective.)

And then, at some point, he may succeed in flaking/bending off/acquiring some metal that can be swallowed. Unfortunately, alloys of incorrect percentage give him a blinding headache and leave him nauseated and down for the count. So feel free to also find him curled into a ball really wishing he hadn't just tried to do that. ]

Comments

[wedonot]

[That catches his interest, and he wants to ask more, but he has a feeling this man won't give him more information or appreciate his curiosity about his abilities without giving him more information about how this actually worked.

It's always difficult, explaining to people why the Admiral might have brought them here, because it's so easy to sound pretentious or judgmental, or otherwise unfair, so he settles for something that's hopefully more like middle ground.]

What did you do, before coming here? [It's free for Zane to interpret as he wants, but he's hoping it'll give him a little more to work off of in actually telling him why he might be here.]

[godsays]

[ He is silent, in response to that. There wouldn't have to be an explanation, if Charles were of Zane's world. Mistborn carries with it its own connotations.

Lets out a breath of air. ]

My father held siege of the capitol city. I... was his Mistborn.

[ It doesn't explain the half of it. Switches topics: ] Allomancy doesn't manifest naturally. It comes from Snapping. It's said a man has to face death before he can wield its power.

It's so important to them that they beat their children. [ He's not conscious of the shift to referring to the nobles as 'they'. ] There are professionals that do this. They often lose children to beatings just in order to find a Misting's single ability.

What do you think I did before I came here?

{ Everything. Assassination, espionage, war. Everything. ]

[wedonot]

[That's... uncomfortably familiar to hear, in many ways. Obviously, he didn't have incontrovertible proof of this, but so many of the mutants he'd met had had their powers manifest under periods of stress, where tensions had been high and fear the dominant emotion, that the idea of being able to force someone to manifest their abilities by hurting them isn't exactly an impossible one. It was, after all, what Shaw tried to do so often to Erik, while he'd been in his custody.

But the idea that a society would treat their children that way is just wrong, and he tries not to let it show in his expression, even if lately, the borrowed memories of what Shaw had done are almost always too close to the surface for comfort.]

I don't know. I don't know enough about you or your world to tell you specifically what it is you did to wind up here. [He slides his hands into his pockets, posture neutral and nonthreatening.] For some people, it's fairly obvious. We've had people on board who were serial killers while they were alive, or scientists who used their creations to hurt other people. Others are brought here because something about their ideology is warped, from the perspective of the Admiral, which usually means their plans might be justifiable, but their ways of executing them are somehow flawed. [Like, say, wanting to blow up thousands of relatively innocent people because they'd fired on him first. Not to name names.]

My most recent inmate was actually considered a hero and philanthropist back in his own world, and was generally a perfectly decent if slightly infuriating man. He just had a few problems he had to come to terms with before returning to his world.

[godsays]

So it's arbitrary.

[ Based on intangible factors. It sounds to him like the people who are inmates might just have to find something wrong with themselves. Something they can fix. Or even something they can't, just to trap them here. ]

And did you talk in his head?

[ Turning the conversation to the exact point that had made him run, earlier. He can't stop his curiosity. He can't stop the hope and the disgust, the tiny thoughts that murmur maybe he wasn't crazy after all, the crushing ones that say it doesn't matter. ]

[wedonot]

Yes. But only because he gave me permission to.

[And Tony had never seemed to really mind, that Charles or Erik or whoever were different. Admittedly, it would be a little hypocritical, considering some of his closest friends were a super soldier and a demigod, but it has still been good to know, that some people didn't care or weren't afraid of what they could do.]

[godsays]

You didn't tell him to do things. That way.

[ Like kill, which is what the voice always said to Zane. Kill her. Kill them. Kill. ]

[wedonot]

No. [Which isn't to say that he's not capable of doing that if he wants to, or if the situation called for it, but. That definitely wasn't something he played around with lightly.] It's just a useful way to communicate, especially if there's distance involved.

[godsays]

[ It seems to be the truth. Not that he believes it, but he acts on a provisional kind of belief. ]

I didn't know it was possible. I just thought...

[ A little shake of his head. ]

I could still have been insane. Does this place cure insanity when you get here?

[wedonot]

I don't think so. [If anything, it probably made it worse for some people before it got better, really.

He's not really sure he's actually going to get an answer - it's perfectly understandable if it's not something he wants to discuss with a relative stranger, after all - but he still cautiously asks the question, because he's curious.]

What makes you ask?

[godsays]

[ His fingernails dig into his palm. It's an edge of pain; he clenches his fist so they slice subtly into the skin. ]

I haven't heard the voice since I got here.

[ There it is, baldly stated. He has never spoken of it aloud before, and there is a glint of madness in his eyes when he does finally speak. Manic tension. ]

[wedonot]

[Charles frowns, brow furrowing slightly, wondering if he was actually schizophrenic or just unknowingly being manipulated by a telepath. It was certainly possible either way, especially if said telepath was trying to convince him he was crazy, but.]

What voice?

[godsays]

God's voice.

[ The response is reflexive, and also incorrect; Zane always knew it wasn't God. ]

Told me to kill. Everyone I met, it told me to kill. Except one.

[ Except Vin. ]

Then at the end, when I was dying, I heard it say - that I'd never been crazy, after all. Like it was a joke. I didn't believe it, but...

You really can. You're not lying?

[wedonot]

I swear I'm not.

[He hesitates, nearly giving in to the impulse to bite his lip as he continues to wonder what to say next and how to phrase it.]

I could show you? If you're at all uncomfortable, I won't. I just want to help.

[godsays]

[ He doesn't believe it could do any harm. His mind is a mess, bold-colored sharp-edged tatters shivering and splintering.

He gives a single nod. Go ahead. ]

[wedonot]

[He slowly brings his hand up to his temple, making sure he can see what he's doing, and gently reaches out to touch the other man's mind. It's gentle, barely brushing the surface, because he doesn't want to startle him, but he still projects very clearly:]

Can you hear me?

[godsays]

[ He flinches.

Not a proud moment. Zane could stand unflinching in a hail of arrows. He faces battlefields with hardly a qualm. In this, he flinches; it's the volume, the unexpected familiarity of it. Like thinking an everyday, ordinary thought, the kind with a set path, like a furrow carved into the mind.

His hand flies to his temple.

Softly: ] Yes. I hear you.

[wedonot]

[He drops his hand and closes off the connection, not wanting to spook him or overstep this sign of quasi trust.]

Are you alright?

[godsays]

[ No. He's completely lost.

He finds that he would rather believe he was insane. He doesn't want to think that some person was in his mind, nudging him, playing with him. He stands at a hinge point; he can see both beliefs, outlined in front of him. They both pull at him.

He can't pick.

There is a bleak look in his eyes. ]

Someone changed me.

[ Like he's testing the idea out by saying it. Testing out the horror that comes with that thought. ]

[wedonot]

[It's definitely scary, uncharted territory, and it's important to tread lightly through it, because he wants to help, but there are still a lot of unknowns, and it's not a topic you wanted to blunder into without knowing all the information.]

While making you think you were insane?

[godsays]

Made me insane.

[ No use in mincing words. He's crazy now, no matter whose fault it was in the first place. ]

[wedonot]

I'm sorry. That's a... disgusting abuse of their ability.

[He doesn't really know what else to say, or how to fix it, but.]

[godsays]

[ He doesn't know what to say. His world has been rocked, fractured, is held together by fragile strings that seem easily cut. He looks up to Charles, and his eyes are open, frightened, shaken to the core. He is here, and he is powerless, and someone has wounded him, so deeply he cannot understand the fullness of it from within his own skin.

He leans back against the wall, slides down it. Feels the point of that spike drag against the metal - and then that thought dissolves from his mind as quickly as it came. He stays curled against the wall, on the ground. ]

[wedonot]

[Charles hesitates for only a moment before crouching down next to him, concerned, and not sure if he wanted to reach out to him or not. His time on the Barge has made him more wary than he'd ever been before - being caught off guard and near fatally stabbed leaves an impression on you - but at the same time, he doesn't want to do nothing, especially considering this is in some way his fault.

So it's sort of against his better judgment that he does end up reaching out to Zane, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder, already on alert for any sign of hostility or violence, but trying to just be gentle with him, like he's a stray cat you were trying to coax to come in from the rain.]

I promise you, you will be able to get help here. I know this must be difficult, but you're not alone, and there are people here who want to help.

[godsays]

[ He is shaking. Subtle tremors, like how the earth would sometimes shudder under his feet, after the Lord Ruler died. His muscles are locked and tense. ]

Please. [ How low has he fallen, already, to beg for metals? He disgusts himself. ] I can't do harm with some of them. Tin. Copper. You can tell that's the truth.

[ He wants some power back. Some control. Anything. ]