thegalley_tlv | [002.b. - spam/network]

Entry tags:

cho gonou

[002.b. - spam/network]

cw: eye & hand injury, likely some self-destructive thought processes in tags

[open/spam, the infirmary]

Gonou does not fight back when his punishment is given, nor when it is carried out. The Infirmary is busy, the cries of pain from the beds around him disorienting; he gets up, after a few minutes of rest have cleared his head enough that he doesn't think he'll fall, and tries to find his way to a seat away from the beds. He's slow and clumsy, his one good hand held out in front of him to avoid running into anything important. Eventually, he finds a wall, and turns to plant his back against it and sit down there.

He hopes he's out of the way. He'll just -- take a little time to rest, here, and hope that at some point someone will arrive who's able and willing to take him back to his room.

[open/spam, afterwards]

He's been assigned to hard labor at the oars, but even though he heals a little faster in this body than he had in a human one, the stump of a hand takes more than a few days to heal over enough for a prosthetic to be fitted on it. He's spending a fair amount of time in his room, practicing mapping the space, practicing listening. He's trying to keep his fresher socket cleaned and bandaged; he knows the routine, even if it's harder one-handed, and harder still blind.

He goes to meals. His ears flick with paranoid speed when he's in a crowded room, trying to track the multiplicity of sounds around him, trying to feel out the echoes of the space; sometimes he walks into something, and sometimes this means he drops the tray he has to balance in one hand. When he does, grimly determined, he'll drop to his knees and do his best to clean it up.

Once or twice, he's allowed into the yard, but he finds that space even more overwhelming than the mess hall, and lingers very close to the door, keeping his head down.

After the first week, he adds rotations on the oars. Wherever he's seated, quietly, he'll ask the name of the person beside him.

Network, audio, a few days after the mutiny

[Gonou's voice is soft, a little hoarse. He just has one thing to ask:]

Who's still alive?

... Please don't reply in text.

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Daniel did what Daniel does best. He hid. He squeezed his small frame into an exceptionally tiny space and stayed there, hands over his ears while chaos erupted around him. Because of that, he was spared any and all involvement in what happened. No one found him, no one approached, and he stayed out of the way.

But he isn't unaware of the consequences. Jon dead. Gonou maimed. Countless others with the same fate. He doesn't quite know what to feel.

"Let me help," he tells Gonou as the tray chatters to the ground. "It's me. It's - Daniel."

"...Daniel?" That's-- also a relief. Gonou is collecting the things he can reach: plate, there, spoon, there. But he's going to have to trace the edges of the spilled food with his hands to find them. He turns his head in Daniel's direction, offering the slightest nod.

"Yes," he says, and drops the cardboard carton with the drink (he doesn't know what drink) back onto his tray too. That, at least, isn't ruined. "...Thank you. Ah - if you have a napkin..."

Daniel does what he can before setting his own tray onto the table and gathering up a towel to clean it up.

"Go and sit down," he insists gently. "I will make this right and join you."

"...Are you sure?" But the work of trying to clean up a spill he can't see is frustrating enough that Gonou doesn't fight too hard; he takes his tray with the soiled dishes, reaching out first with his leg in a light sweep until his shin touches the bench, and then settles himself down on the bench. He finds the tabletop with the elbow of his handless arm, turns in a neat semicircle, and sets down the tray.

(He is learning, at least in some ways, to handle himself.

It makes everything so much harder, but it's not impossible. Just... difficult.)

It pains him to see Gonou this way, bit he doesn't dare try and bring it up. He does clean up the mess and sits down, his eyes trained on his own prisoner, who seems subdued in the corner.

Gonou gets his bowl of stew, as well, though he's quick to try and push it his way, touching his arm, without being noticed.

"What - happened?" he mutters. "What was - your - part?"

"Mr. Flint broke into the Courtroom to try to destroy the Judge's gavel," Gonou says softly in reply. He reaches over to trace the edge of the bowl that bumped his arm; it's hot, still full, not his own.

"... You don't need to give me your lunch, Daniel," he adds, with the faintest touch of wryness. "Ah -- in any case. I was fighting to keep the other Advocates from getting to him. As you can see, I killed more than one."

"That's your lunch," he says evenly. "Mine was mostly dumped on the floor." And he reaches over to take the mostly-empty bowl from Gonou's tray before settling down. "Besides, I think this might simply be what happens when we sit together." Daniel giving him food because he has nothing else to give.

"What did you hope to accomplish with it?" he wonders, voice no louder than a mutter.

Gonou tilts his head, considering the stubborn offer, and then ducks his chin in an acquiescing bow. His ears dip low, hinting at his pained exhaustion, as he stops holding himself too-rigid and feels for his spoon.

"We hoped to hurt the Judge," he says, bluntly. Flint had had grand plans -- to slay her and take her place at the helm -- but Gonou's had been smaller in scope. He shakes his head slowly. "If we could injure her, force her to negotiate, stop some of the crueler Advocates--"

He takes a spoonful of Daniel's stew.

"I told you my sentence is long enough that I won't survive here," he adds, quiet and contemplative. "If it comes to that... I'm willing to fight for any other ending than to be crushed slowly."

Daniel nods once. It's a good goal. A lofty goal. But one that he understands. He didn't want to help and didn't want to take part in it, not wanting to risk his position or his standing (or his limbs or his life or his eyes) for what he considered a fool's errand. Still, he can support the idea behind it.

"I hope it doesn't come to that," he mumbles. "I wanted to stay. To help. But - Jon's - dead," he says softly. "I don't - it was horrible."

Gonou's head turns away at that, for a moment, his lips pressing hard together. Another loss.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "No, no. He was - miserable here. I don't think he wanted to die, especially when, towards the end he seemed so happy but - "

He taps his spoon against the bottom of the bowl. "Well. He isn't the only one who died for it."

"It's not a happy place," Gonou murmurs. "But I'm still sorry to hear it. I liked him, too."

And he'd been so worried about Daniel's safety.

"I wonder," he adds. "If it's this boat that won't let people come back, or if it's the Judge."

"I don't know. She is harsh. But I have to think that if the Admiral can do it, she can do it, too. If she really wanted it."

He dips his bread in the rest of the soup. "But with the number of people with sentences in the hundreds of years, perhaps it...isn't feasible."

"I'd imagine," Gonou murmurs, "that it's more that she believes in an eye for an eye, and when you allow someone to come back from the dead, questions of punishment are more challenging."

His spoon knocks clumsily against the bowl as he takes another mouthful of stew.

"To punish us, she has to let us die. If someone took over the ship from her-- perhaps those deaths wouldn't need to be permanent."

Daniel tightens his grip on his spoon. "I - know what you're asking me," he says softly, staring at the table.

"I wouldn't ask you to put yourself directly at risk," Gonou says softly. "Unless you wanted to."

He had already been asked to step out, but refused. Refused because Jon was here and he didn't want to leave him.

But he's no longer worried about that. He sits closer to Gonou and slips his taser into his pocket. Gonou can find the right use for it.

"I can't," he says firmly. "I can't take the risk."

Gonou -- is blind: he can't know when someone else is watching him, and he can't aim reliably at any distance greater than the reach of his arm. A certain stillness steals over him as he feels the weight of whatever Daniel's slipped into his pocket, but he knows better than to bring it up aloud. He'll check it later. He might need to pass it on to someone else.

"All right," he says quietly, and begins to move again, bringing another spoonful of stew to his mouth. "Jon wouldn't have wanted you to risk yourself, either. He was worried."

Daniel doesn't know anyone else. He doesn't want to be involved in this rebellion. He doesn't want to get hurt. But Gonou is already in it, and he'll know what to do. Even though he can't use it himself, he has a better chance of getting it somewhere useful.

Daniel has to trust that.

"He would want me to be brave."

"I... think, here, he more desperately wanted you to be safe. He did care for you very much," Gonou says gently, between spoonfuls of stew.

"But perhaps we won't be here forever."

Daniel isn't going to argue on the wants of a dead man. Not now. Not when it's so fresh.

"We can't be here forever. This is - a miserable existence."

"It is. But that fact isn't enough to make it stop, you know."

Miserable existences can last a whole life long, if one doesn't do anything about them.

"I know that," he says, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone. But he does take a breath out, scraping the bread along the bottom of the bowl to get the dredges. "I'm sorry," he eventually mutters.

Gonou huffs softly, amused, and applies himself to his stew for a moment.

"You don't have to be sorry," he says, lightly, at last. "I don't think we will be here forever."

Not with the amount of damage they've done in less than a week.

"No, of course not," he agrees, smiling at the lightening of his mood. "Do you think the Judge is regretting bringing us on?"

Re: Mess Hall

reformedsinner - 2022-08-21 01:28 (UTC) - Expand

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