04 . Spam for pre-arranged threads

[godsays]

[ He settles into his own mind with a jarring sense of wrongness, from thoughts that fell in orderly lines to a jumble, mismatched and unsettling. With the ebb of the flood, he has changed, from sanity to the lack of same, and he feels the difference all the more starkly now that he knows for certain what both of them mean.

Heel of his hand rubs at the lump over his breastbone.

He would be sane, if not for the voice. Is that what this meant? Or was it the weakness in his heart that stopped him from being as dangerous as he otherwise would have been? Was the Admiral's goal to take away his teeth, to make him meek? Or was this truly a lesson he should take to heart?

He tries to herd his thoughts, settles into stillness in the corner. Utter stillness, not moving a muscle for hours.

In the meantime: his door is closed. ]

Comments

[godsays]

Why not?

[ He wants to hear Cassel's reasons and find out if any of them apply to him. If any of them explain the mess inside his mind. ]

[patheticvillain]

Because - I don't know. I think there's something else I'm supposed to do.

[He wouldn't say any of this, usually. But he feels like he's talking to himself. It doesn't count as trust, somehow, or that's how he excuses it.]

There's a girl. But it's not just that anymore. [His mouth twists. He feels like he's betraying her. But it's out there, now.]

[godsays]

[ He doesn't feel like he's supposed to do anything. He'd thought, when he was told what this place was for, that he'd been supposed to get better. Subsequent events have left that somewhat shaky.

He recognizes and accepts the impulse to confess. By his silence, Zane has often drawn confessions from others. Even distrustful others, provided they thought they had someone who understood in Zane.

He did understand, with Vin. He understands now. ]

The girl was the one who killed me. I don't think she'd appreciate it if I wanted to live for her.

[patheticvillain]

[That makes him laugh.]

Well. She's tried to kill me enough times, she's probably mad she missed her chance.

But you don't want to live.

[godsays]

[ A twitch, at the corner of his mouth. ]

I don't know.

[patheticvillain]

I guess you better find out.

[godsays]

If I say I will, does that mean you'll leave?

[patheticvillain]

Hm . . .

[Just gonna pretend to think about this for a minute.]

Probably not, no.

[godsays]

[ So Zane tries the next best thing: manipulating him into going. ]

You've started to trust me. It's not a good idea.

[patheticvillain]

It's not a good idea to trust anyone, [Cassel counters, almost haughtily, to cover up the fact that he knows it's true and it makes him uneasy.] I'm pretty sure I never said I was smart.

[godsays]

[ Cassel had better not turn this back on Zane, who, he himself admits, has probably said far too much. ]

Then why do it? Only because it's not a good idea?

[patheticvillain]

No. Because I felt like it. And because I figured there was something interesting in here.

[His eyes traverse the decor, any little things that he could pick up and slip in his pocket. He does this very deliberately. It's also a lie. Sure he'd take something if he could, but that's not why.]

Why haven't you kicked me out yet?

[godsays]

[ There just isn't much. Inkwell and quill, a few blank papers. Chest of clothes. What should have been metal - belt buckles, cuff links and the like - are more often painted wood.

He lives a spartan life. ]

Maybe I don't want to move.

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel would steal the inkwell just to be obnoxious.]

Maybe you enjoy my company.

[godsays]

Maybe I don't want to hurt anyone inside the walls of a prison.

[ He's supposed to be getting better, after all. ]

[patheticvillain]

Maybe you're confused enough that even shitty answers are better than none.

[godsays]

[ And now he moves to his feet, a smooth, surprisingly graceful motion. Zane moves with the ease of a dancer. It's a quality common to Mistborn. ]

Do you want me to hurt you? [ His focus is tight on Cassel. ]

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel doesn't move. Not an inch.]

You know what? I don't really care either way.

[godsays]

And would your warden have something to say?

[patheticvillain]

[He considers this. The answer's probably yes. Kon's protective, he supposes. Because he's supposed to be.]

Maybe. Does it matter?

[godsays]

[ So Cassel has a warden, then.

(Zane feels frustrated, impotent. All he needs is a little bit more provocation, and he will move into violence.) ]

It matters enough.

[ There is a snarl in his voice, that of a caged animal. Now that he has moved once, he cannot stop moving; he is restless. ]

[patheticvillain]

[That's weird. Cassel can't tell if he's jealous or just pissed enough about everything that he can be angry at Cassel because he's right here.]

[He tilts his chin up, watching him pace.]

Do I matter enough for you to hurt me? Be honest.

[godsays]

[ Zane doesn't know what he's feeling himself. He knows that it is intensifying, that he has a buildup of pressure and nowhere for it to go. No one to kill to relieve it. Usually, the voice was what aggravated it, what made him think he was about to burst with murderous intention. But here...

His response to Cassel's words is quick. He steps over and fists a hand in Cassel's shirt. Lifts him, and throws him at the nearest empty space of wall.

Zane is strong. He doesn't have any pewter, so it isn't supernaturally strong - not strong enough to break spines, crack skulls. But hard enough to hurt.

Does that answer your question, Cassel? ]

[patheticvillain]

[He was half-expecting it, maybe more than half. And it doesn't bother him. This is how he's used to talking, in a way. So when Zane grabs him, he has a brief second to smirk before he's thrown at the wall.]

[His back hits the wall, muscles twist painfully, and he bites his lip on impact hard enough that it splits. It keeps him from yelling, though, so he doesn't care. He spits blood as he slides to the floor again and grins up at Zane.]

Thanks. Feel better?

[godsays]

[ A tight shake of his head. Not enough. But he has himself back under control again, though his whole body is tight, his hands in fists.

One of his sleeves has scrunched back a couple of inches, leaving the beginnings of trailed scars visible by the inside of his wrist. ]