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071st metal . voice & zero spam . possible cw for self-harm
[ voice ]
[ Zane's voice is soft, and hoarse. ]
When will someone let me out.
[ action ]
[ He wakes up in Zero in agony. Too many kinds to sort out and identify: raging thirst, the world swimming in front of his eyes, the stabbing pain of every heartbeat, the full-body torture of the death toll, but it's all mixed, all together, and he's moving before he knows it. He grasps for metals, but he's empty, there's nothing, there's no feeling of Allomancy at all.
He falls to the cold ground and goes to the sink, drinking thirstily, and then, with no memory of what happened between, he finds himself at the bars. ] Charles. [ He's calling for help, the cry of an angry and hurt child, and he hits the bars and shakes them, and it's too long before he remembers that he doesn't have a warden anymore. He is a warden.
His mind feels torn to shreds. He wants to hurt things again. The voice grips him.
He curls up, shaking. ]
[ Zane's voice is soft, and hoarse. ]
When will someone let me out.
[ action ]
[ He wakes up in Zero in agony. Too many kinds to sort out and identify: raging thirst, the world swimming in front of his eyes, the stabbing pain of every heartbeat, the full-body torture of the death toll, but it's all mixed, all together, and he's moving before he knows it. He grasps for metals, but he's empty, there's nothing, there's no feeling of Allomancy at all.
He falls to the cold ground and goes to the sink, drinking thirstily, and then, with no memory of what happened between, he finds himself at the bars. ] Charles. [ He's calling for help, the cry of an angry and hurt child, and he hits the bars and shakes them, and it's too long before he remembers that he doesn't have a warden anymore. He is a warden.
His mind feels torn to shreds. He wants to hurt things again. The voice grips him.
He curls up, shaking. ]
audio 4ever
FINE THEN AUDIO
no subject
no subject
[He's starting to realize that this was a mistake, talking to Zane, letting Zane talk to him. He cuts off and switches to private anyway.]
So it was all just some poltergeist, huh? Sure seemed to know a lot of personal shit for some random space invader.
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I wanted to. I didn't want to.
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[But he didn't sound solid the last time they spoke and he doesn't now, either.]
I must have told Mira fifty fucking times-- no way it could be him, no way.
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So all that creeper-ass I can smell your fear, blah blah blah, fucking jerking off all over the network, that was all the demon thing.
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There's a part of me that likes hurting people. Maybe there always will be.
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[Easier, he thinks. He can't say there's not a part of him that doesn't like it, too. It's easier, more satisfying, more real than anything else, sometimes.
It's what we know, he thinks, but doesn't say.]
And lying to me about it? Which part was that?
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The worst hurts aren't physical.
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Say that again when I crack your fucking skull, how about that?
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Fuck you, asshole.
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[That's the real problem. It's not that he doesn't want to. It's that he can't. Not physically, and even if he knew how to throw an emotional gut-punch the way he knows how to throw one for real, he doesn't think he could do that, either. He doubts Zane even gives enough of a shit about him for that.
It dawns on him, suddenly, something he'd told Mira back before he'd known the truth: that whoever the killer was, they were trying to be the new Jerry. Whether or not it's true, it feels the same -- that same feeling of rage crashing up against the wall, useless in a dumb little baseline like him; that same feeling like he's just being toyed with like a mouse to a cat. Worse, maybe, because Zane's reeled him in more than once now. He sucks in a breath.]
Don't play me again, fuckhead. It's not gonna work next time.
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God-- what the fuck am I even still talking to you for?
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