week 6, post trial

[robitussin]

[Their numbers keep falling. Three people have died already this week, with two more on the way tomorrow. With the outburst the townspeople gave them once the results came through... If anyone were feeling downhearted, it's to be expected at this point. Things continuing at their current pace is a frightening thought, after all. Like last week, the offer to spend time together or meet in a central location doesn't come.

Hawks and Dabi wait for the morning in their cells, but the rest of the tourists are free to wander about the town as they please; free to rest, to talk with each other, and to try to gather strength wherever they can. So, where does the evening find you, Cartesio?]

Comments

[icariot]

[His throat, the threat, they seem almost business as usual. The laughing and mood swings and easy to categorize as stress responses a distant clinical part of his brain whispers.

It’s the All Might reference that throws Hawks that last iota off balance. One too many primaries lost to keep himself stable. He swallows against the pressure on his throat, eyes glassy but focused, pupils narrowed in on Dabi’s face.

His “old man.” The ages fit, the quirks fit (no input from the mother’s? Different mothers?), the eyes he loves looking at— but no. Stop. Another swallow harder than the first, and Hawks considers every other part of the statement. Implications and omissions are just as important as outright statements.


A good hero doesn’t make a good person.


The kiss is returned on reflex, and Hawks morbidly wonders if the iron tang is from his throat or Dabi’s.]

[amburere]

[ Eventually he stops, catches his breath, and lets the silence of the jailhouse wash over them. Actual water would be better, an ocean would be ideal, but even that might just get boiled away by his fire. That was a mistake he knows, but all of it really is so funny, the first soul he tells his identity to is a pro hero and one who's destined for death in a few hours, just like he is. ]

That all it takes to shut you up? Shit, could've saved myself a lot of headaches if I'd have known. [ If only he liked silence, and if only the glint in his eyes wasn't the sharpest its ever been. ]

[icariot]

[The rolling heat has Hawks feel like he's baking on a cement roof, one part of him wants to go boneless and soak it in, the other has his wings start fluttering the barest bit to disperse the air.

He licks his lips before speaking, not really sure if he's managed to process even half of this properly, but diving in full tilt has always been (for better or worse) his modus operandi.]

...As if, Hotshot. I've been told my very presence is too loud. [His voice still comes out creakier than he would have liked. He winces internally, before swallowing again and making his new attempt in better form.] My parents used to say so, anyway. Dunno if they ever said it after the Commission took me in, or if they just enjoyed being able to do whatever again. I never confirmed it or anything, but I always figured that they were checked in on. Keep their names out of records, keep my name cleaner if it ever came out. Maybe spin me a sad but not too tragic backstory to inspire more kids into heroes if necessary.

[His words choice seems lackadaisical--careless and lazy and inconsequential. It's been his life for so long, part of him finds it normal to have been left alone as he had. It's not like he really wanted for anything after that either. If it takes actual effort to reel back the weight of those words, to make them insignificant and flimsy, no one has to know. He's had enough practice that he can almost convince himself they mean nothing to him too.

Still, his voice creaks.]

[amburere]

[ In some way the creaks in the usual timbre are music to his ears. He's not a good enough person, not even remotely, to feel worry or concern at this point (particularly given his flashfire mood), but they do make him feel something. They remind him of something.

He's not alone. Misery loves company and fire seeks kindling.

There will be no words of comfort given, but there is a shifting of his legs to wrap arounds Hawks own, even with his current positioning affording little movement. It means that they're more hopelessly tangled that they've ever been, and that's saying something. ]

I feel 'nother headline being written. "Two boys thrust into tragedy and abandoned at a young age, one destined to be a Hero and the other a Villain, and destined to fall in love!?" [ He can't say that word seriously, and he snickers, his ribcage rattling its own discordant melody. ]

And what shall I call my prince, my hero, to whom my arrow has pierced his heart?

[ As much as he hates his own name, like everything else he's found a use for it, satirical romantic soliloquies and all. ]