(no subject)

[scribes]

Who: The Signless (sufferist) & The Disciple (scribes)
Where: In Di's apartment / Wherever the fuck Signless is
When: MUSICAL TIME
What: Signless and Disciple sing about their woes
Warnings: Eh.

The Disciple entered to a quiet home. Pudding was sleeping on a pile of books, which brought her some measure of comfort. Purchasing him from the shelter had been a great idea, even just knowing he was around made her feel a little less alone.

Still, these days were becoming harder and harder. Being stuck in such a crowded, noisy, and bustling city just wasn't for a woman accustomed to the quiet and wilderness. She may have only spent 3 years in the uncharted forests of Alternia, but it was the only physical place that had ever felt like home, the only place that had felt right.

There were forests outside the city but Di couldn't really do work for the Sufferist movement there, at least not as efficiently, and more importantly she couldn't help Signless from there.






It was still so hard to believe what had become of him. Every inch, every fiber of her being wished that she could still deny it, find something to prove that she was wrong but Disciple knew in her heart that the troll she loved was now a pawn of the Empire.

The mere thought made her head and chest hurt and she rubbed at her temple as she dragged her feet over to the bedroom. The former scribe couldn't imagine what he must be going through right now. A part of her, once more, had to wonder if he was even still alive. Not a single hair of him had been seen since the battle between the Autobot and Decepticon factions, and she now knew for a fact that despite her efforts Starscream had gotten to him.

Shit.

What if he was dead? She had been wrong the last time she thought that, but the Empire has a use for him. Starscream seemed to care more about getting to Signless, than getting to the Forge.

Dead again, and she wouldn't even know it. Her hands trail over the mountains of books in her room, more than even in the living room. She did more studying here than sleeping, even more so since sleep had begun to completely elude her. On a desk were several books propped open--decidedly not historical or scientific.

She had bought these out of desperation. Spellbooks, most of which were obvious cheap knock offs or childish emulation but that was just how far her desperation ran. Some, however, had been bought in lonely stores and antique shops. Di still didn't know if they were particularly valid and it was over one of these that she hovered now.

Parts were in English, parts were in a language she didn't even recognize. It had been a mistake to waste money on this. Even if it did work, she was no mage. Yet even as she thought this her eyes caught sight of a spell that supposedly freed one of pain.

"Eleka nahmen nahmen
Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen
Eleka nahmen nahmen
Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen"

She read the words, not even noticing when she took on a lilting tone. Of course she felt nothing and she scoffed at herself. What the hell was she expecting to happen? It was probably a poor decision on her part to even attempt something like this. Who knew what could happen if even a smidgen of it was real

Yet if there was even the faintest possibility that it might have the intended effect, she would gladly look a fool. As it so often did, images of the Signless' final moments plagued the Disciple and she shut her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out those images that had been seared into her brain.

The hot brands and pokers, the burning cuffs that melted skin to the bone "Let his flesh not be torn."

Blood, crimson red, his blood that fell to the ground, down his skin. There had been so much. The troll body had so much more blood than one could ever imagine. "Let his blood leave no stain"

Di could feel the walls closing in on her. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot, too humid and try as she might her heart could not be calmed making it difficult to breath.

"Though they beat him
Let him feel no pain
Let his bones never break"

How long had it gone on for? It seemed like days, though it had only been one. They'd drawn it out for as long as they could making a show of it, making an example to teach others what would become of them if they followed his path. All because he dared to teach love instead of hate. Yet even after all that they saw fit to bring him once more, and put him through something unimaginably worse.

"And however they try
To destroy him
Let him never die...
Let him never die..."

The Empire, Starscream, anyone. Who knew how many enemies he must have because of what the Condesce was forcing him to do. Please keep him safe.

"Eleka nahmen nahmen
Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen
Eleka nahmen nahmen
Ah tum ah tum eleka: eleka--"

Disciple roughly shoved the book off the table, clearing it of papers, notes, and a lamp which had provided the only light in the room.

"What good is this chanting?
I don't even know what I'm reading!
I don't even know what trick I ought to try"

What the hell had she been hoping to accomplish with this? What the hell was she still doing? Her words didn't feel like her own, and these images played over and over again not giving her a moments respite. The book was a hoax. It had to be. Someone, somewhere was probably laughing at the profit they had just made at her expense.

"Signless, where are you?
Already dead, or bleeding?
One more disaster I can add to my
Generous supply?"

It had been yet another fuck up on her part. She should have distracted Starscream longer. Or she should have been able to get through to Signless, or at the very least stayed with him to make sure he turned out ok. Wherever he was, whatever doubtlessly terrible condition he was in was her fault.

What the fuck kind of Disciple was she, that couldn't even help the person she cared for the most?

Comments

[sufferist]

It's like he can almost hear her sing her part, like a ghost in the back of his head. He doesn't make sense of the words, but as he huddles in his most recent hide out, he begins to feel as if he is a part of something, like there are a particular set of words in his heart that speak with unexpected clarity.

He's remembered the words the Disciple said to him last, even long after their encounter on top of city hall. Words that suggested there had been something more between them, in a way that had been pushed far from his mind. He found a few drops of her blood, even after she had fled – blood held the purest form of the emotional energy he drew his strength from, and he could hold a empathic imprint of someone's emotions in even a small bead of blood.

Her resonance forms cracks in the walls between his memories, and he spent days after the battle with the Forge contemplating it, as he hides away with his slowly worsening wounds. He doesn't feel like he has anything left in him now, besides to think and to wait. He could get treatment by going back to the Empress's allies, but he can't bring himself to any more than he can brave the idea of going to anyone else.

He is so very tired.

He holds that same bead of green blood in his hands again as he feels the music in his thoughts, bringing a clarity to the mess of emotions and deceptions that dominate his mind. If just for that moment, he feels like he can reach it. He feels the sting of everything he's truly lost, and why.

He all but placed himself in the Condesce's hands, and this was his punishment.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” he sings softly, to the small and darkened room. He clutches his hand against the swollen gashes in his side, beneath a hasty wrapping of bandages. “No act of charity goes unresented.”

It was all he'd wanted to do. It was all he'd wanted, and now look at what he'd become. What he was doomed to do. He stares at the blood on his hands.

“No good deed goes unpunished, that's my new creed...”

He forces himself to stand, shuddering with ache. Splinters of light through his shuttered window cut across his features.

“My road of good intentions led where such roads always lead,” he sings, his voice growing stronger – and angrier. “No good deed goes unpunished!”

[sufferist]

He slams open the window and crawls outside, onto the fire escape he broke into this place with. He looks up at the stars, and suddenly the weight of his loss bears down on him unbearably.

“Dolorosa,” he whispers to himself, staring out at the alien stars of this planet. He feels tears in his eyes just at the mention of her name, like he's remembering for the first time. “The Psiionic...” And the melody picks up against, carrying him to the next name, and suddenly he remembers. “Disciple.”

He clutches his hands to the sides of his head, feeling the weight of that realization.

“My Disciple!”

He moves to the stairs, heading up onto the roof. He takes on a more energetic pace now, these thoughts causing his mind to race.

“One question haunts and hurts, too much, too much to mention: was I really seeking good? Or just seeking attention?” He pushes himself to the railing of the fire escape, singing into the night. “Is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye?” He tears himself away, and races up to the top.

“If that's all good deeds are, maybe that's the reason why...”

He leaps onto the roof top, his cloak shifting in the cool night air.

[sufferist]

“No good deed goes unpunished! All helpful urges should be circumvented. No good deed goes unpunished.” He scoffs hollowly into the darkness. “Sure, I meant well - well, look at what well-meant did!”

He lashes an arm out at the city that stretches out in front of him, and the species it contains. And the few members of his own that he knows cannot forgive him.

“All right, enough - so be it! So be it, then.”

He gasps on his words now, pained and resigned. He doesn't know how to do anything else. If, maybe, he does this one last task...they will let him pass away as he should have long ago.

“Let all Earth be agreed,” he breathes. “I'm wicked through and through. Since I did not succeed, my people, saving you - I promise no good deed, will I attempt to do again...ever again!”

“No good deed,” he cries. “Will I do...again!”

He drops down to the concrete of the building's roof, wrapping his arms around himself as the tears begin to fall. Just one more task.

Just one more.