driftfleet | This is the reason why no one on the Red Fish should have hobbies outside of punching people...

[between knowing Zhas' habits nearly as well as his own, and running through simple process of elimination, it doesn't take Coil long to track him down. it takes him a significant amount of time to begin looking for him, but it's a short search once he finally makes the decision to try.

he has some errands to run and calming down to do, first. so, it's only after he spins his wheels for a while that he finally seeks him out.

and once he hoists himself up onto the roof, he knocks on the hull to announce his presence, as is the custom.]

[he can hear him coming, but the knocking says that he means to be seen.

Zhas acknowledges with a glance and a slight nod, finishing up his last drag of smoke before flicking the rest of his cigarette away without a second thought. hopefully there's nothing flammable down there.

smoke seethes out of his mouth like he's some kind of an unholy specter--but not for long. the way he holds his jaw about it is just a hint that he's still unhappy. irritable. Coil has his full attention.]

[despite some automatic, instinctual hesitation over it, Coil is glad he has Zhas' attention. the fact that he is there for exactly that reason is all over his face, in the way that he doesn't shy from eye contact.

there was a time when he'd forbidden himself from thinking this way--but today, he is here to talk.

and he starts by pointing down at the ship, drawing a little circle with his finger to make it clear that he's talking about everything inside of it and not the ship itself, and forms the sign for 'broken.']

[this isn't a good start. Coil's defiance was frustrating at a base level for him--as it harks back to their earlier days on the Fleet. he doesn't want them going back to those frustrating arguments and failed lessons.

but still, he nods at this first sign. he agrees. the ship does not function in a way that will aid them. he responds, 'Humans do not understand our purpose.']

Edited 2015-06-30 03:31 (UTC)

[the fact that Zhas seems to share his view thus far, and makes sure to put that little division between themselves and the Others with his words, is promising. Coil clings onto it, even if it ends up being just a little bit of buoyancy that will make an imminent fall that much harder.

he nods, emphatic about the point, and follows it up with pointing downwards again and signing 'doesn't work.']

[he holds back his initial, "I got it the first time" response. with a moment more thought, Coil's meaning changes from 'the crew is broken' to 'the crew needs to be fixed'.

but Zhas can't fix this problem. not without a lot of time and patience--and even then, Cassandra may be a lost cause. it's not worth it. he shakes his head.

'Cassandra', signed with the swipe across the side of his face, 'not cooperate.']

[and his response is an incredulous, demanding shrug.

so what, it implies. how is that reason a problem at all?]

[and here's where things start to cross. he frowns, but remains sitting.

'We don't fight humans.' the basic rule. the only rule. has Coil forgotten?]

[he nods, whether or not he truly agrees. it's more to move past the point instead of wholeheartedly ascribe to it.

he forms the sign for 'fix,' and kind of gestures it out in Zhas' direction. he pins the concept on him, and then opens the gesture outward, leaving it expectant. waiting for Zhas to take up the crusade.]

[Zhas tilts his head.

this is not a gesture he used at home, really. this is something he picked up during his time here. most people use it to indicate confusion or curiosity, but with Zhas it comes off more as a resounding, "are you kidding me?"

what does Coil want him to do about it? this isn't a castle full of half-mad vampires. this is a small ship housing two humans and whatever Syeira counts as.]

[that's Coil's whole point, really. and it's funny how one little gesture speaks volumes, immediately adding up to being totally infuriating. Coil practically throws the same motion back at him--though with an added lift of his arms in disbelief.

he can't believe that Zhas isn't all over this already. in Coil's mind, this is what Zhas does. so, he finally signs out real words instead of only vague, incredulous gestures.

'you make things work.']

[he's not used to getting this kind of human frustration from Coil. he leans back, just a little, chin up... some might interpret that as hesitation, but it's really a judgement call. he's getting distance from the situation, looking at the whole thing.

it's a good thing Zhas stopped expecting better of him a long time ago--otherwise he'd have already been in a rage.

his signs still come off terse. 'I do not force my world on humans. Neither should you. We will find another way.']

[comparatively, it's not the worst thing he could have said. but it leaves Coil feeling lost, and that helplessness comes out in another emotive shrug--all tallying up to be much more emotion than he usually shows.

'they're stopping us,' he signs, with insistence in the important word there. he follows it with the disembodied sign for 'problem.' ...and then, after a pause where he really should have probably just stopped, he continues to press his point.

'what other way?' he asks. because he doesn't see an answer here.]

[he suddenly knocks his hand against the hull of the ship. drops it like a rock, knuckles-down. not a punch yet, but it makes the noise he wants. bang.

his face barely changes as he starts signing a string of words.

'I know you are angry. I am angry too, but this "game" needs a group of people. Crew is not our enemies. Crew are resources. Crew is strong. Cassandra is wrong and Syeira is scared, but I will not break this because they do not like our task. We do not hurt humans.'

the "we" that he uses is not the usual form; it's one he uses to refer to the castle, their allies, their purpose.

'Do you want me to punish them?' He repeats the sign for a question, exasperated. His signs are clear and fast and his jaw is set. 'This place is small, cramped, they have friends. If we want to work, we cannot have eyes watching. That is clear. Drop this argument.']

[he doesn't hit anything to make his point, vent a little bit of what he has no voice for, but he does lean up straighter in his vehemence. up from his curled crouch as he answers, up onto his knees because he needs the room to be angry. if he'd been standing, he might have even stomped his foot on the metal hull instead.

Zhas says a few things that Coil really needs to hear, and he gives him a direct instruction, but it isn't enough.

'Look at what happened,' he throws out here with motions that are just as sharp, just as furious. 'They watch now. Always. We can't work.'

he uses that shared word too, that word that means only them. but in the midst of his desperation, he rages on, and it changes.

'I need to work.' --with emphasis on himself, and even more on the word need.]

[he throws his hands up--surprisingly aggressive between his tense movement and a frustrated growl that breaks the silence. they might as well be an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

'Did your away world make you stupid? Use your brain. You have been through much worse than this.' he shouldn't, but he's already making the motions--prodding his own torso where he knows Coil's puncture scars are. 'Do you think I do not care? Do you think I am not trying? Do not lose your mind! I will not lose my brother because of blind rage.'

"blind" and "rage" feel ugly to him. he hadn't cared before he met Coil. now, it seems disgusting to gouge the air in front of his eyes, gesture as if tearing ribs apart.]

[between Zhas jabbing at the memory behind those scars, and the brutality of those final gestures, Coil goes quiet. it all hits him. it knocks the wind right out of his anger, presses it all out of his lungs, until something else wells up in its place.

'I don't know what to do.' the signs are short and harsh, deliberate, because it's an impossible thing for him to admit. he prides himself on his ability to calculate and accomplish, but he's feeling too clouded to even attempt it now. for roughly two years, he's been feeling his way through the dark without a guide, and he's so far into alien territory now that he has all but entirely lost the path. he's drifting.

'Can't hide. Can't work. Can't pray.' it's a pointed list, getting more emphatic as he goes. a breath hisses through his teeth when he guts himself to sum it all up-- 'I am getting weak.'

and then he turns the accusation at his friend again, with a stabbing, accusatory motion--either because he needs to lash out and simply spread the pain of it, or because he can't keep himself from noticing the growing distance, and he's desperately trying to provoke Zhas into proving him wrong.

'--And you are forgetting.']

[his animosity felt bottomless, until now. he could have kept fighting until his fingers bruised. he would have, if the air between them hadn't sunk.

he knows it's changed, suddenly. he watches Coil admit to things that the Coil he knows would have never put a single thought towards. he loses steam, his righteous indignation dying in his chest. it hurts him to hear things like this and feel... useless. he can't make these things right. he can't help his friend, his partner, his brother.

Coil's stabbing gesture might as well be a knife. the final twist. Zhas breathes in heavy, the air dragging through a sudden pang of fear--but he doesn't sign back. he doesn't do anything. he just... stares at him.

because he's right.

he doesn't want to feel like this anymore. he doesn't to be having this fight. he doesn't want them both miserable. he's got holes in his memories and the path that was once so clear to him is almost unrecognizable. nothing is the same here, and it's been slowly ruining him for a long time.

instead of speaking, he raises his hands to Coil's face. he holds both sides of it and pushes their faces together. he rests his forehead against the other's. he closes his eyes, tight, in a moment of--something. his fingers are tense. the wound has been opened. it's all he can do not to bleed.

when he pulls away, he looks troubled--in the little ways that he does, in his shoulders and his brow and the subtle way he hunches forward. his gaze stays low, as he begins, but his hollowbright eyes find their way back towards the moon, and the way it glows back.

'Watch.' their alternative to "listen". his fingers are steady, but the venom has been drained from his words. 'I do not want to lose you or her or us. Her words are in my bones, my blood. I could never forget them. But here, things are not right. You should not have been taken. I could not remember her face until the forest of illusions. I could not keep her voice in my mind.'

he would have taken this guilt to the grave, had Coil not unearthed his own ghosts. another deep breath, sick with how he desperately does not want the answer.

'Saoirse was getting much worse.' He turns it into a question, but it feels like dragging his finger against a heavy current.]

Edited (yeah I rewrote this whole tag, what of it) 2015-07-02 17:19 (UTC)

[he braces for the storm. he waits for Zhas to rise up and strike him down, punish him for even thinking this way, let alone dare to accuse his superior of anything. it's frightening every time, but he needs it.

what he's waiting for never comes, however. Zhas does nothing but agree, and that is the scariest thing he could have done.

he feels small, suddenly, but Zhas' shadow isn't looming over him like it should. Zhas doesn't hit him with anything that will make him stronger. he doesn't correct him, doesn't correct anything that he's saying. Coil is left with his problems and only pulled closer. He doesn't want to be here, looking his problems in the eye, smelling the greasepaint and smoke.

it's terrifying. he pays attention and absorbs Zhas' words as instructed, but something in his head feels too upset and uprooted to process it like he should. he can feel it getting stuck in his throat, choking him, and he only nods.

yes, she's been getting bad. of course she has. he shouldn't have to tell him.]

[his heart sinks. it's a real, physical thing--a sudden cold splash in the pit of his stomach. it knocks the wind out of him to see the truth, even if he's known it for months. things are still missing. Saoirse is dying. his presence here may kill her.

he lowers his gaze, hands tensing and easing uselessly at his sides. a slow fidget. he wishes that he could call up the rage to strike him down, deny all of this--but he can't. he is hollow. he is tired. he hasn't felt this bad in a long time.

he can almost feel his thoughts being smothered, as the knowledge starts slipping away. holding onto it is like trying to keep his hands full of water, when he's not even sure if he wants to or not. after a heavy, consumed silence... he slowly shakes his head.

his face is hard to read. it's almost a smirk, but his expression is nothing short of derisive. he doesn't know whether to laugh or to loathe, and doesn't manage either.

through a silent sigh, he signs, 'She'd call us both pathetic, if she was here.']

[Coil just feels sick--insides all empty and throat still knotted up. having thoughts of Saoirse dragged in front of him and stuck in his mind, now imagining what she would say if she could see them now, isn't helping.

'Stupid,' he adds onto Zhas' assessment. whether or not she would use that exact word, the sentiment would be there. only stupid boys go after each others' throats, after all.

her knights fighting amongst themselves, completely undone by nothing at all. unacceptable.

'She would hate this.' Coil draws up his knees as he imagines, hunching up against the sting of it.

after berating them, however, she would set them right and tell them where to go, and they would pick up and set out without another thought--out into the dark to set things right. and afterward, they would come back with whatever prize or triumph she'd wanted from them, they would make her proud, and then take care of her in return.

in the years that he's been away from home, Coil hasn't allowed himself to think about the details for very long. but, now that he has half of that image back and the rest seems farther away than ever, he can't get it out of his head.

the signed words are small then, as if they're more for himself than anything-- 'I want to go home.']

[she could always set them right. even at her worst, she would have something that would drive them forward--a look, a word, her very presence. he's spent so much time pretending it was temporary, even after he'd been away from home for longer than he's ever left before...

but this is real. this absurd place is actual and consequential and slowly ruining them. Coil's pitiful confession might as well have been his own--he can only nod in somber agreement. the two of them have never been tasked with anything so impossible in their lives.

...but, something small in him quietly disagrees. no, no, that's... wrong. not impossible.

reversing her condition? that's impossible. taking care of his sick, delirious master is impossible. leading their cause is impossible, finding a Pure is impossible, surviving the West Court is impossible, living through the arena is impossible, a human threat to vampires is impossible, monsters are impossible, magic is impossible

that little boy has been living an impossible life ever since he ran to hide behind a closet door. he gets mad, thinking about it--what does this place think it can do? he finds a bite again, thinks of their so-called "hosts" and their so-called "program" and how absolutely laughable it is.

this is a very deep anger. it's a wound, a hatred. not a writhing monster, but a deep, deep ocean.

Coil can watch it grow on his face. all of the worry, the uncertainty, it just... gets eaten by this new, quiet rage that burns cold behind his eyes. he reaches out, clasps his shoulder, looks him in the eye again--and shakes his head. they shouldn't be like this. they are stronger than this. their master did not raise them to fear anything, including each other.

'We will not fail her,' he starts, one-handed--but soon takes his other hand back to explain faster, fervently. 'She calls us brothers because we are strong together. You are weak, I am lost, but I can make you strong and you can help me remember. That is our way. Family.'

don't give up on him, now. he needs Coil just as much as Coil needs him.

'She believes in fate. Our fate--' He points between their glowing eyes, 'To destroy evil, to keep her safe, to avenge what others cannot see. This place has things we do not know at home. Maybe fate is here. There is new power here, new ability, new chances. Where else will we find what will make us right?'

all of them. Zhas and Coil and Saoirse.]

[and he watches it click together, all at once. shards of something broken all line up to focus a beam, breaking through the darkness and confusion, lighting the way. Zhas' anger burns, glows, and catches quickly.

it's a contagious, cleansing thing, and Coil dives into it. this is what he has been waiting for. he's had pieces of it--fragments of direction that he could only hope with blindness was actually moving him forward--and now it's all being validated. fed and encouraged. all of his fumbling and scrambling for useless clues and bits of power hasn't been for nothing.

he'd just been missing something. he'd been missing his other half. and for the first time since leaving home, he can hope to have it again.

the nod he replies with is small, but decisive. all of his black-and-white reasoning is behind this. he is absolutely sure.]

This is the reason why no one on the Red Fish should have hobbies outside of punching people...

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