the deep, the dark, {the unknown} // talon + jesse
May 12, 2022 2:25:51 GMT -5
Post by lance on May 12, 2022 2:25:51 GMT -5
J E S S E
It's hard to describe the way he's feeling right now in any semblance of known and written language.
All he knows is that when it comes to Talon, it's unlike anything he's ever felt before. The feeling's like nerves, spiking his heart into beating irregularly and setting his whole rhythm out of whack, but it's not. Not really. Jesse's all too familiar with nerves when it comes to Talon - nerves from their childhood, a prelude to excitement, nerves from their lowest, when he wasn't sure what level of inebriated Talon would be, nerves from more recently, a healthy dose of anticipation as he lay between the bedsheets during one of their last good moments together. Nerves come in all sorts of shapes and flavors, and Jesse's felt them all.
This? No, this isn't nerves.
This is something new. Something unfamiliar. And thus far, he's been unable to determine if that's a good thing or not.
Breathe, Brightwater.
Easier said than done. By now, he's paced the circumference of the living room probably twenty times over, contemplated smashing the old grandfather clock in the corner to pieces with the sole goal of ceasing its endless tik, tok, tik on at least seven of those circles, and any semblance of healthy nail growth he'd somehow managed in the days between when Talon struck the boy from Twelve down and now had been freshly obliterated in the last ten minutes alone.
But what else was he supposed to do? When he'd seen Talon off all those weeks ago, he'd been far from optimistic. Optimism hadn't been in the cards for him - for either of them - in years. The Games were notorious for taking kids far better suited for life than Talon Grey, chewing them up, and spitting them back out in pieces. And those were the ones that died.
And for every Nixie Summers or Teddy Ursa who takes to the post-Games life like a seal on a warm sandbank, there's a Shy Aubergine or a Lysander Mae who takes the route of a poached clam instead - dashed to pieces well before reentry.
And Jesse? Well, for the first time ever since he met Talon Grey in his entire godforsaken life, he has no damn idea what to expect.
Sure, he's known them for half his life, since they were carefree little kids splashing in the waves. But ever since then, they'd never been separated for longer than a few days, let alone a few weeks. Talon has never had to go through any trial - losing their brother, trying to get sober, navigating the puzzle of his bleeding heart - without Jesse there to support them.
Until now.
And maybe that's what it is, he realizes, the lightbulb moment bringing him to a halt halfway through lap number twenty one. No matter what happened, no matter what they'd been through, no matter what they'd had to face-
Talon had never been alone. Jesse had never not been able to help.
Until now.
A few weeks is a surprisingly long time for major character change to take place. He'd gone from ordinary kid to broken orphan in a matter of days, went from combatting depression to addiction in a manner of weeks. And Talon started from a low point - right smack dab in the middle of yet another bout of addiction the very same day they were selected to die in Idris fucking Barebone's place - and had done things that no sane human could ever hope to escape from unscathed.
Going cold turkey without the familiarity of home or their greatest support network on hand.
Making new friends and losing them the exact same way they'd lost Turner.
Killing, ending the lives of five other kids to get back here in the first place.
They'd done all of that on their own. All of that without Jesse's help.
No wonder he's nervous. No, no wonder he's afraid.
How will Talon Grey be when they meet face to face yet again? Will they be the same? Different? A peculiar fusion of the two? Will they be stronger, having overcome the trials and received the best health-care known to Panem? Weaker, their psyche fractured even further from the trials ahead?
Fuck, will they even need him any longer? What if he's been outgrown? Supplanted? Deemed a memory of worse times and cast away to foster better growth? He'd be happy, sure, that Talon has found such a way to better themself, but the selfish part in him-
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Well, the selfish part of him never gets a chance to make its case, as his heart leaps up to his throat and starts dancing a jig. Fuck, now he's all sweaty from overexertion, and is he underdressed? How the fuck is one supposed to greet a Victor - will Talon even be the same, or will there forever be this new and terrifying power imbalance because of them that-
Fuck, okay, breathe, Brightwater, he manages to catch himself before the runaway train of thought spirals endlessly into the void. It's just Talon. The same Talon you know better than anyone else in the entire fucking world. What is there to fear?
Yet there's still a certain hesitance slowing him down as he approaches the door, all of the previous thoughts and more trying to pull him back. But imposter syndrome or not, worrywort or not, most terrifying moment of his entire fucking life (for the second time in a month, as if once wasn't enough) or not, the fact remains.
It's just Talon.
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door.
All he knows is that when it comes to Talon, it's unlike anything he's ever felt before. The feeling's like nerves, spiking his heart into beating irregularly and setting his whole rhythm out of whack, but it's not. Not really. Jesse's all too familiar with nerves when it comes to Talon - nerves from their childhood, a prelude to excitement, nerves from their lowest, when he wasn't sure what level of inebriated Talon would be, nerves from more recently, a healthy dose of anticipation as he lay between the bedsheets during one of their last good moments together. Nerves come in all sorts of shapes and flavors, and Jesse's felt them all.
This? No, this isn't nerves.
This is something new. Something unfamiliar. And thus far, he's been unable to determine if that's a good thing or not.
Breathe, Brightwater.
Easier said than done. By now, he's paced the circumference of the living room probably twenty times over, contemplated smashing the old grandfather clock in the corner to pieces with the sole goal of ceasing its endless tik, tok, tik on at least seven of those circles, and any semblance of healthy nail growth he'd somehow managed in the days between when Talon struck the boy from Twelve down and now had been freshly obliterated in the last ten minutes alone.
But what else was he supposed to do? When he'd seen Talon off all those weeks ago, he'd been far from optimistic. Optimism hadn't been in the cards for him - for either of them - in years. The Games were notorious for taking kids far better suited for life than Talon Grey, chewing them up, and spitting them back out in pieces. And those were the ones that died.
And for every Nixie Summers or Teddy Ursa who takes to the post-Games life like a seal on a warm sandbank, there's a Shy Aubergine or a Lysander Mae who takes the route of a poached clam instead - dashed to pieces well before reentry.
And Jesse? Well, for the first time ever since he met Talon Grey in his entire godforsaken life, he has no damn idea what to expect.
Sure, he's known them for half his life, since they were carefree little kids splashing in the waves. But ever since then, they'd never been separated for longer than a few days, let alone a few weeks. Talon has never had to go through any trial - losing their brother, trying to get sober, navigating the puzzle of his bleeding heart - without Jesse there to support them.
Until now.
And maybe that's what it is, he realizes, the lightbulb moment bringing him to a halt halfway through lap number twenty one. No matter what happened, no matter what they'd been through, no matter what they'd had to face-
Talon had never been alone. Jesse had never not been able to help.
Until now.
A few weeks is a surprisingly long time for major character change to take place. He'd gone from ordinary kid to broken orphan in a matter of days, went from combatting depression to addiction in a manner of weeks. And Talon started from a low point - right smack dab in the middle of yet another bout of addiction the very same day they were selected to die in Idris fucking Barebone's place - and had done things that no sane human could ever hope to escape from unscathed.
Going cold turkey without the familiarity of home or their greatest support network on hand.
Making new friends and losing them the exact same way they'd lost Turner.
Killing, ending the lives of five other kids to get back here in the first place.
They'd done all of that on their own. All of that without Jesse's help.
No wonder he's nervous. No, no wonder he's afraid.
How will Talon Grey be when they meet face to face yet again? Will they be the same? Different? A peculiar fusion of the two? Will they be stronger, having overcome the trials and received the best health-care known to Panem? Weaker, their psyche fractured even further from the trials ahead?
Fuck, will they even need him any longer? What if he's been outgrown? Supplanted? Deemed a memory of worse times and cast away to foster better growth? He'd be happy, sure, that Talon has found such a way to better themself, but the selfish part in him-
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Well, the selfish part of him never gets a chance to make its case, as his heart leaps up to his throat and starts dancing a jig. Fuck, now he's all sweaty from overexertion, and is he underdressed? How the fuck is one supposed to greet a Victor - will Talon even be the same, or will there forever be this new and terrifying power imbalance because of them that-
Fuck, okay, breathe, Brightwater, he manages to catch himself before the runaway train of thought spirals endlessly into the void. It's just Talon. The same Talon you know better than anyone else in the entire fucking world. What is there to fear?
Yet there's still a certain hesitance slowing him down as he approaches the door, all of the previous thoughts and more trying to pull him back. But imposter syndrome or not, worrywort or not, most terrifying moment of his entire fucking life (for the second time in a month, as if once wasn't enough) or not, the fact remains.
It's just Talon.
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door.
