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Who: Signless and the Disciple
Where: Disciple's house.
When: April 7th ish.
What: Signless shows up at Disciple's house.
Warnings: Some injuries and some suicidal ideation.

He leaves a speckled blood trail when he enters, his wounds still seeping blood through his body suit. The gaps in the bio material haven't yet had the chance to heal, and neither has his body. It doesn't seem urgent, and so he ignores it, the idea that he's bleeding only a passing thought as he searches the house for the Disciple. He can't feel her anywhere.

She must be gone.

It doesn't matter, he thinks. He came and that's all he needs to do, isn't it? This was his destination, and now that he's here...well, he doesn't have any more planned. This is as far as he's gotten.

He eventually curls up on the couch, trying to rest away the exhaustion of electrical injuries. If she shows up, she does. If not...it doesn't really matter. It doesn't.

Its chill without his cloak, having discarded it in the fight, but by the time she returns he's asleep.

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She pursed her lips, looking away and wrapping her arms around herself.

"I told you that I do believe you, what exactly is it that you are trying to answer? I don't want to believe that you now mean to kill Karkat, and to kill me. I don't want to believe that now you're working for that witch, and mean to murder other people regardless of who or what they are. Even if I can see why you would it just. It." She trailed off and then gave a shake off her head, holding back a frustrated noise of her own. How was it that he could be so antithetical to who he once was?

"But how exactly am I supposed to convince the Sufferists of this? I know that you are Signless because I feel like you are? That's not going to convince anyone." And it shouldn't convince her.

She knew she wasn't giving Signless what he was looking for, but she was ever an honest person.

"Look. If you are trying to figure this out for yourself, there is a very obvious solution."

"No there isn't," he snaps, biting his fangs at her, a long trilling growl resonating in his throat. "Don't you matronize me. Don't you dare speak as if you know. You don't understand this. You don't understand anything!"

Why was it that she could never say things right? Di had to be honest. She knew coddling him and only giving half of her answer--that she did believe him--would lead to potential problems for him farther down the road if she did not point out how very legitimate the reservations of others were. When he was forced to confront that fact, what then? Back to square one.

And now this. Was she matronizing him? Maybe she was, but she still stood by what she said. Di got to her feet and turned away. She'd get them, she'd show him, and if nothing came of that?

Well, she didn't know what she could possibly do to help him figure this out.

"I'll be back." She murmured, just barely audible.

He gives her a cautious look as she leaves, like he doesn't really trust her intentions. He decides against just leaving, though. Instead, he grabs something he's been keeping in his boot and holds it tightly between his hands, focusing on it instead of everything else.

When she returns she's got a big box in her arms. She moves past him, and towards the wall opposite the couch where she sets it down without a word. She had been working hard on them, and largely for this very purpose--to show him, to see if it reminded him of a better time, to see if it reminded him at all.

The first painting she pulls out is a simple one that even a non Alternian might recognize. The sky with both its moons and stars, giving off a warm pink and green glow. The rest, however, are ones that only someone who was there would really know. A village they had once visited, when it was just the two of them traveling, a painting of the first highblood that believed in their teachings and helped them contrasted against a lowblood who once tried to turn them in. A glade where the two of them and Psionic had spent the day talking beneath the shade of their tent. Two or three more poignant images.

She hadn't been expecting to run into him so soon, so there aren't that many. Once she has propped them all up against the wall she turns to him.

He regards her with obvious suspicion when she starts taking things out of the box, and then for a moment after he sees that it's paintings, and expressionlike resentment crosses his face. He doesn't understand the point of the Alternian sky, even if he hasn't seen it since he died. And any memory of the village is faint and blurred.

It's the image of the two trolls that first stirs something major, and it's obvious from the expression on his face - the way that his gaze focuses. He glances at her, his brow furrowed and questioning, then back again at some of the others. The object still between his hands, he clenches it more tightly between his fingers.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" he asks quietly.

She's so focused on his expression, that she still does not notice the object he is holding so tightly. The way it changes when he takes in the image of the two trolls is telling and it's the first time she feels like she has something even slightly solid to back up her belief that this truly is Signless.

"To remind you of life before," a life that despite its short end and trials, was better than the one he had now, "and to hopefully make things clearer for the both of us."

It was only then that she lowered her gaze and her eyes fell on the object in his hand. He hadn't been holding on to that before. Her brow furrowed, but she let her question hang in the air.

"I remember my past," he says, staring at the floor, his expression somber. "I never said I didn't. You've never asked me."

Di hadn't meant it quite like that. That is to say, it was true that she wanted to verify his memories for her own sake, but for him she wanted to remind him of how he had felt back then. He had given a hint that he still knew of his past life when he admitted to recalling when they first. Life had been far from perfect, but she had to believe he'd been happier then. If she could just show him that maybe then it would at least get him to leave the Empress. Even if it wouldn't change his new views, even if it wouldn't bring him to her, at least it would get him away from Her.

"You do," she turned away eyes falling on the picture of the glade, perhaps one of the best days of her life, "do you regret everything?"

His indecision over his answer is obvious. His gaze drops to the side, his expression distant and almost pained. Part of him just wants to scream, being asked things like this. His own thoughts over the matter are never particularly clear.

"None of it matters anymore," he says.

To this, Di steps forward. She's always been around the bush with him, trying to be delicate but that is doing nothing.

"Yes, it does, Signless. It does matter, because I want to know what you want. You need to know what you want. Are you happy with the life you have now? Were you back then? You need to figure this stuff out so you can determine what it is that you want to do in the now."

While she didn't raise her voice it had taken on a slightly more assertive tone.

As she asserts that, he lunges forward too - but unlike her, his movements are violent, or at least threatening. His eyes smoulder in the dim lighting, and he bears his fangs as he growls in his throat.

"Happy? Happy has nothing to do with it! I'm not happy, and I never will be! It was foolish, thinking that I could! You think this is about me, but it never has been."

"It's about this whole damn species. The universe would be better without any of us."

"And who are you to condemn an entire species?" She snaps right back, "there are trolls out there who are still pouring everything they have into trying to make Alternia a better place! Are you saying their efforts are in vain? Their efforts are proof that it is possible, because the very fact that they exist is proof of what trolls are capable of."

Her pupils have narrowed, but otherwise she remains the same "If you truly believe that then why are you so confused and lost? If you truly believe that why are you here talking to me, instead of doing what you said you would?"

He glares at her, visibly shaking with anger and something even deeper than that. There is a sort of desperation in his eyes that doesn't line up with everything else. Something raw and imploring.

Voices itch in the back of his mind, his own train of thought furious and circular and betrayed. He just wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"Why don't you answer your own damn questions!?" he snarls, his fists tightening hard enough to draw blood. He only manages to stare at her for a few more moments before he loses it.

"Fuck!"

He turns from her and storms off to try to close himself into the ablution chamber.

And she's trying so hard to look in him, to try and figure out just what is going on through his head, to try and understand.

Yet the sight of blood again reminds her he is injured and her stance sloughs, fixed expression melting into one of concern. She's opening her mouth to implore him to take care of himself when he flees.

"Signless?" Then more alarmed as she starts to follow him "Signless!" She grabs at the door knob, trying to open it up.

He's already locked the door by the time she gets there, and is sinking down the other side as everything starts to take its toll. He had been praying that this would help, but it isn't, and he doesn't know what to do. He knows what's waiting for him when he leaves. He's not going to be able to keep running away.

They're just going to take him back again, and they're going to know that something's wrong. They're going to...to...

He makes pained clicking sounds in his throat. He knows what happens, but he can't put words to it. Like when he tries to really think about it, his focus bleeds away. He puts his hands to his face and when he pulls them away, his palms are faintly stained with red tears.

He starts pulling off the top of his body suit, stripping down to the torn flesh beneath. The rest of his skin is pale and sick.

Maybe he should just let them get him, he thinks. At least then maybe they will make this stop.

Damnit. She jiggles the lock usefully for a moment before curling her hand in a fist. She could break the door down if she really wanted to but that aggression would just make things worse. With a sigh she turns her back and similarly slides down the door.

Why did she have to be such a fuck up? This was so important, so incredibly, unbelievably import and every single thing she seemed to do, every single thing she said, every angle she tried to come at this situation from just blew up in her face.

"I'm sorry, Signless. I'm so sorry," Her eyelids are stinging, and before she knows it the tears are falling, "I am. I really am. I don't know what you need, I don't know what to do, I don't know anything."

She shakes her head and presses her back against the door hard, as if she almost hopes she'll fall through to the other side.

"The only thing that feels real half the time is you. I. I want you here. I want you safe. So please just let me tend to you at least. I promise. No more questions. I won't even say a single word, if that's what you want."

He scratches his claws across the flesh of his wrists, where the red tattoo markings encircle his arm. He wants to severe them sometimes, but can never get that far. The marking have been there since he was brought back and though he doesn't know where they came from, he has the instinctive sense that they were important.

He hears her talking, his ear flicking back to listen as he words become more pained. His own breath quickens, as if in panic, but the sensation doesn't quiet reach his head. He doesn't care about the wounds, really. Some part of him just wants to hurt badly enough that he can die again.

He crawls across the floor so he's no longer in front of the door. He stares at the blank plain of wood for some time before he finally flicks the lock open with a small psionic trick.

He averts his eyes immediately. He's pushes his suit down to his waist, and he's been crying, even if his expression has once again become hazy.

When she hear the lock, she tentatively reaches a hand up to turn the knob, as if she half expects him to put it back on. When the knob turns easily, she lets it go, not opening the door just yet. Instead she forces herself back onto shaky feet to retrieve the first aid kit and glass of water she left behind. It's only then that she slowly pulls the door open, looking at him.

It's hard to see him like that, but she doesn't avert her eyes, and as promised she doesn't say a single word. Merely makes her way over to him and sits by his side. She opens the first aid kit, taking out everything that she needs. Gingerly she reaches out for his hand to take care of the cuts there first.

The only wounds there are the ones that he's given himself with his claws, over the tattoo'd lines around his wrists. They aren't very deep, but they do leak trace amounts of blood in places. He can feel her emotions more powerfully when she's close like that. Right now, it's almost too much to bear.

She goes about dressing those wounds quietly. The marks on his wrists make the memories of that awful day flash through her head--the burning cuffs almost as bright as his blood. It nearly makes her shudder and she has to squeeze her eyes tight and take a deep breath before she can continue.

She uses the sink and some towelettes to help with the clean, wiping up the small traces of blood. When done she carefully wraps them up in a bandage. With the minor wounds completed she picks up the glass of water and holds it out to Signless, hoping he'll take a drink before she tends to the more serious injuries.

When she looks up from her work, he's staring at her, his deep red eyes pleading her for something he can't say out loud. The sorrow in them is clear enough that they nearly have empathic resonance.

He doesn't take the glass, like he's too distracted to even consider it. There's a pronounced emptiness in his thoughts, with her this close. Some kind of balance he's achieved where he doesn't feel the need to fight her.

There are still wounds on his shoulder, and side. The shoulder is a long abrasion, as if from hitting concrete at speed, that spreads down his back. The side looks like a seeping electrical burn.

It's more than she can handle, seeing such an expression on his face. The glass is set down and Disciple doe something she's wanted to since his death.

She leans over and wordlessly hugs him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. How she wishes she knew what she could do, how she wishes there was something that could wash away the pain and anguish in his eyes, to give him the direction he needs.

She loves him so. She loves him so damn much. It hasn't lessened in the slightest over these years, and it hasn't lessened in the slightest despite what he has said and done.

And it's killing her by inches to see him like this, but Disciple will do what she does best: listen, and stay by his side.

He can't fully manage to hug her back properly, even if some part of him instinctively wants to. The rest's reaction is to feel like he should be lashing out at her if he's this close - the idea that she shouldn't be allowed to live is ever present.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets himself rest against her body, his skin strangely hot to the touch, as it always has been.

When her skin comes in contract with his blood, though, it comes with an empathic snap of his own emotions. A still image of the conflict in his head, and of his feelings of being trapped. It's not as clear of a reading as he could take from someone else, but it's more than one would have expected.

It may not be clear compared to what he can receive from others, but it's more than clear enough for Disciple. It's a little startling to receive information in such a manner and while she comes to the conclusion that it's from Signless it's a little difficult to parse through those emotions and thoughts.

But she does, holding onto him all the while, partly to comfort him, partly to comfort herself, and partly in hopes of maybe receiving more information.

When she finally pulls back it's with more understanding in her eyes, and acknowledgment that she hadn't been taking Signless' words literally enough. She holds his gaze for a moment before dropping to the gash on his shoulder. It's a nasty wound, but she has seen and tended to much worse and begins to do just that, unflinchingly.

"When I said you could stay here," she begins, voice quiet as a mouse, "I meant it. If you wa--if you. Can. I'd..." She shakes her head uncertain of how to phrase her words.

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cw: some suicidal ideation

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