so will you please say hello { castor day 7
Apr 9, 2021 0:09:35 GMT -5
Post by tick 12a / calla on Apr 9, 2021 0:09:35 GMT -5
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"I would never do what you did to your family to mine."
And the words leave him there stunned. He stands, face flushed, as Nanette Carter grabs his spine by the middle and tears it in two.
Castor loves his brother, and he loves his mother and his father. He loves his family. He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't even think about hurting them, and it's such a preposterous thought, such an outlandish claim that it makes him rock back on his heels. It feels like a physical blow, and even though Nanette's gun didn't go off, it's still smoking.
Cas doesn't think he volunteered just to die. He wouldn't have gotten this far otherwise.
It wasn't just that he wanted to prove something, but he was frustrated, and the only way he knew how to think was for himself. Being doted on doesn't nature empathy. And he realizes, with a sudden chilling clarity, that he had spilled his guts across a campfire, live on someone's screen, so eager for conversation that he talked about things he'd never talked about before, but he knows barely anything about Nanette. He barely even knows anything about Sin. He barely knows anything about Lore or Syren or that girl from days ago that he's trying not to think about.
He wishes desperately for his radio back, just to fill the uneasy silence.
But the gun still goes off in his hand, and his bullet still flies, and he still doesn't know anything about the girl across from besides a number.
"Nanette?" A cannon sounds in the distance and it makes him jump, head swivelling and grip tightening against the barrel of his gun. Being out in the open like this makes him uneasy. He feels like he's about to get jumped. "Stop ignoring me."
He steps forward tentatively, trying to listen for where the girl is. She must be trying to sneak up on him, to get the jump or something, but he holds his breath and tries to feel furious instead of fearful. "Nanette, where is he?"
And he doesn't quite know what makes him stop. The silence after the cannon makes his ears ring and he grips the spear poking out of bag, setting the tip of it against the ground. He nudges it forward like how one of the doctors in Five showed him, when he was too stubborn to hold Pollux's hand all day so they'd gotten him a walking stick that lasted all of an hour.
He takes another step, shuffling with sweaty palms until the spear catches on something against the ground and all he can hear is the frantic sound of the seelie beside him and the rush of his own blood in his ears but he still tries, he still strains and listens and tries to-
"...Nanette?"
He can't- he-
He stumbles backwards and flinches at the lack of response, hands shaking so hard that his knuckles clatter against the metal of his weapons. The seelie seems louder now, darting back and forth behind him and he turns before he even realizes it, following the sound like a pseudo game of marco polo.
He gets as far away as he can, just moving and stumbling and somehow he only falls once, after a nasty trip, and he's pretty sure he rolls his ankle but he uses the spear to push himself back up and he holds it in front of him and keeps going. And he's like a coward, the way he runs from the sound of the ocean and the angry words of the girl who felt too much like a storm. He needs to find Sin, he needs to, there's nothing else that matters, nothing even comes close.
He collapses eventually, palm pressed against his ankle when it gives out again, and he takes big shuddering breaths. The seelie bobs near his temple and coos soothingly.
The chirp and brief rumble of the phone in his pocket jolts him. He pats his jacket frantically, sudden flashes of when he and Sin had to contact Syren flying through his head. His body is still shaking when he finds the phone, and it slips from his grasp twice before he can get a proper hold on it. There's a cold sweat against his back but he's hoping against all hope, just looking for some kind of miracle.
He doesn't recognize the voice. Not until it says his name. There's just something in him that knows.
Sin says Castor's name and he almost cries from relief.
He cradles the phone like it's something precious, and tries to soak up the words spilling out from its shitty little speaker the way a sunflower tries to soak up light. He doesn't quite remember what pink looks like, but he can imagine something similar. He can imagine that it's the gentle warmth of Sin's cheek under his palm and the weight of his arm around Cas's waist. He lines it up with the sound of a bullfrog croaking in tune to an old radio song and pictures it against the rise and fall of a bullet laden chest.
Pink, he decides, is a familiar feeling that holds him close, and it's the crowd that listens to the story of a little boy who became a king.
The colour breezes through his hair and stains his skin and sticks to his eyelashes when he blinks.
'Oh,' the colour tells him, 'it's you.'
It gathers him up into a phantom embrace and kisses his forehead.
'Goodnight,' it says, and Castor cries so hard that it makes him dry heave against the mud.
He plays the voicemail again, finger hovering over the button almost like if he thinks hard enough he can reach out and touch Sin, wherever he is. He holds his thumb there until he's memorized all the words, curling up on his side with the phone against his chest.
He can tell that its gotten dark when the seelie's glow gets the slightest shade brighter. It's like a fog light, strengthened by the shadow, and Castor's fingers slide slowly over the buttons of his little phone. He doesn't know how to send anything back. He remembers his stylist trying to explain it, but the function was made for the tributes who could see the list of all the names and could read out all the letters. It wasn't made for blind little boys who cried over the thought of a colour.
But he can't just do nothing. He misses Sin so badly that his bones scream with it. It feels wrong to be lying on his own and his limbs feel strange when they're not forced to accommodate for another body. His arms feel empty and his head feels hollow and his stomach feels bottomless.
He pushes the buttons a few times and tries to differentiate the chimes and dings that the phone makes in response.
'Leave a message at the tone.' It eventually warbles in an automated voice, and that must be it.
"Okay, uh," He takes a shaky breath and rubs at his eyes, "I can't even tell if this is working."
"Sin? I- I got your message. I don't know where I am but, I ran into Nanette and-"
He stops then, stuttering out her name because he's suddenly reminded of the night they were sitting around the fire, when Nanette had said Sin's name like they were on friendly terms, when it had made something low in Castor's gut sink even lower.. Castor digs his nails into his palm, remembering every little interaction and then remembering the sound of a cannon and the feeling of his spear stopping against something on the ground and he's remembering what she said to him and what he said to her and if Sin knew then he probably wouldn't even come back, he'd probably hate -
"Just let me know you're okay. We can meet up again, alright? It'll be fine. We'll be fine. I can hear the frogs here - you remember them? I'll stay put, just, wait for me, okay? Don't go without me."
He rolls onto his back and tries to picture the stars against the back of his eyelids. He squeezes the empty air against his palm and tries not to let his voice hitch.
"I'll see you in the morning." He says to the speaker, and he lets the dial tone ring out.
And the words leave him there stunned. He stands, face flushed, as Nanette Carter grabs his spine by the middle and tears it in two.
Castor loves his brother, and he loves his mother and his father. He loves his family. He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't even think about hurting them, and it's such a preposterous thought, such an outlandish claim that it makes him rock back on his heels. It feels like a physical blow, and even though Nanette's gun didn't go off, it's still smoking.
Cas doesn't think he volunteered just to die. He wouldn't have gotten this far otherwise.
It wasn't just that he wanted to prove something, but he was frustrated, and the only way he knew how to think was for himself. Being doted on doesn't nature empathy. And he realizes, with a sudden chilling clarity, that he had spilled his guts across a campfire, live on someone's screen, so eager for conversation that he talked about things he'd never talked about before, but he knows barely anything about Nanette. He barely even knows anything about Sin. He barely knows anything about Lore or Syren or that girl from days ago that he's trying not to think about.
He wishes desperately for his radio back, just to fill the uneasy silence.
But the gun still goes off in his hand, and his bullet still flies, and he still doesn't know anything about the girl across from besides a number.
"Nanette?" A cannon sounds in the distance and it makes him jump, head swivelling and grip tightening against the barrel of his gun. Being out in the open like this makes him uneasy. He feels like he's about to get jumped. "Stop ignoring me."
He steps forward tentatively, trying to listen for where the girl is. She must be trying to sneak up on him, to get the jump or something, but he holds his breath and tries to feel furious instead of fearful. "Nanette, where is he?"
And he doesn't quite know what makes him stop. The silence after the cannon makes his ears ring and he grips the spear poking out of bag, setting the tip of it against the ground. He nudges it forward like how one of the doctors in Five showed him, when he was too stubborn to hold Pollux's hand all day so they'd gotten him a walking stick that lasted all of an hour.
He takes another step, shuffling with sweaty palms until the spear catches on something against the ground and all he can hear is the frantic sound of the seelie beside him and the rush of his own blood in his ears but he still tries, he still strains and listens and tries to-
"...Nanette?"
He can't- he-
He stumbles backwards and flinches at the lack of response, hands shaking so hard that his knuckles clatter against the metal of his weapons. The seelie seems louder now, darting back and forth behind him and he turns before he even realizes it, following the sound like a pseudo game of marco polo.
He gets as far away as he can, just moving and stumbling and somehow he only falls once, after a nasty trip, and he's pretty sure he rolls his ankle but he uses the spear to push himself back up and he holds it in front of him and keeps going. And he's like a coward, the way he runs from the sound of the ocean and the angry words of the girl who felt too much like a storm. He needs to find Sin, he needs to, there's nothing else that matters, nothing even comes close.
He collapses eventually, palm pressed against his ankle when it gives out again, and he takes big shuddering breaths. The seelie bobs near his temple and coos soothingly.
The chirp and brief rumble of the phone in his pocket jolts him. He pats his jacket frantically, sudden flashes of when he and Sin had to contact Syren flying through his head. His body is still shaking when he finds the phone, and it slips from his grasp twice before he can get a proper hold on it. There's a cold sweat against his back but he's hoping against all hope, just looking for some kind of miracle.
He doesn't recognize the voice. Not until it says his name. There's just something in him that knows.
Sin says Castor's name and he almost cries from relief.
He cradles the phone like it's something precious, and tries to soak up the words spilling out from its shitty little speaker the way a sunflower tries to soak up light. He doesn't quite remember what pink looks like, but he can imagine something similar. He can imagine that it's the gentle warmth of Sin's cheek under his palm and the weight of his arm around Cas's waist. He lines it up with the sound of a bullfrog croaking in tune to an old radio song and pictures it against the rise and fall of a bullet laden chest.
Pink, he decides, is a familiar feeling that holds him close, and it's the crowd that listens to the story of a little boy who became a king.
The colour breezes through his hair and stains his skin and sticks to his eyelashes when he blinks.
'Oh,' the colour tells him, 'it's you.'
It gathers him up into a phantom embrace and kisses his forehead.
'Goodnight,' it says, and Castor cries so hard that it makes him dry heave against the mud.
He plays the voicemail again, finger hovering over the button almost like if he thinks hard enough he can reach out and touch Sin, wherever he is. He holds his thumb there until he's memorized all the words, curling up on his side with the phone against his chest.
He can tell that its gotten dark when the seelie's glow gets the slightest shade brighter. It's like a fog light, strengthened by the shadow, and Castor's fingers slide slowly over the buttons of his little phone. He doesn't know how to send anything back. He remembers his stylist trying to explain it, but the function was made for the tributes who could see the list of all the names and could read out all the letters. It wasn't made for blind little boys who cried over the thought of a colour.
But he can't just do nothing. He misses Sin so badly that his bones scream with it. It feels wrong to be lying on his own and his limbs feel strange when they're not forced to accommodate for another body. His arms feel empty and his head feels hollow and his stomach feels bottomless.
He pushes the buttons a few times and tries to differentiate the chimes and dings that the phone makes in response.
'Leave a message at the tone.' It eventually warbles in an automated voice, and that must be it.
"Okay, uh," He takes a shaky breath and rubs at his eyes, "I can't even tell if this is working."
"Sin? I- I got your message. I don't know where I am but, I ran into Nanette and-"
He stops then, stuttering out her name because he's suddenly reminded of the night they were sitting around the fire, when Nanette had said Sin's name like they were on friendly terms, when it had made something low in Castor's gut sink even lower.. Castor digs his nails into his palm, remembering every little interaction and then remembering the sound of a cannon and the feeling of his spear stopping against something on the ground and he's remembering what she said to him and what he said to her and if Sin knew then he probably wouldn't even come back, he'd probably hate -
"Just let me know you're okay. We can meet up again, alright? It'll be fine. We'll be fine. I can hear the frogs here - you remember them? I'll stay put, just, wait for me, okay? Don't go without me."
He rolls onto his back and tries to picture the stars against the back of his eyelids. He squeezes the empty air against his palm and tries not to let his voice hitch.
"I'll see you in the morning." He says to the speaker, and he lets the dial tone ring out.
