capeandcowllogs | better learn about your fate

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better learn about your fate

WHO: Katurian, Gamzee and then DICK GRAYSON TO THE RESCUE. In order of appearance.
WHERE: A few blocks away from the MAC.
WHEN: April 11th, monday, around 11pm.
WARNINGS: Violence.
SUMMARY: Gamzee is still honest to goodness pissed that Katurian told him to be polite.
FORMAT: Quicklog.

[He earns the job the same day as his interview. The bookstore is quiet and perfect and he falls in love with it the second his feet cross the threshold, under the stained glass sun-catchers, the sparkling glass stars. On his first day, he stays long after closing, huddled between the aisles so that no one sees him and asks if it's still open. This is perfection as he knows it. This is the world he never thought he'd see again.

He reads. He murmurs sentences into the bookcases and pretends that he has an audience, grand and sweeping, and then he pretends that he's alone with his brother and that his stories never travel beyond their ears. Never grace the thoughts of strangers. Somehow - in some grief-stricken way he can't even try to understand - it's a comfort. Somehow, it isn't meaningless.

He doesn't think about Doctor Einstürzen. He doesn't think about his first meeting with Nygma, looming on Thursday. He doesn't think about his birthday tomorrow because he has long decided to stop counting the years. He thinks about the musical. The smooth pages between his fingers.

When he gets out, it's late but not so late that he hasn't lost his energy. When he reaches the MAC, he wanders around the block instead and heads down one of the side streets. He kicks pebbles into the curb. The bottom of his shoe makes sandpaper sounds against the concrete.]

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[Gamzee has been following Katurian in the dark for awhile now. When he's got him alone he doesn't bother hiding anymore. Marching straight for him he smiles just the smallest bit before making a honking noise to ensure Katurian will turn his way.

He doesn't say anything right away, but when he does speak he makes sure it's in one of the harshest and most amused tones he's had yet.]

Motherfuckin' been all up at getting good jokes my helpful brother?

[Without even waiting for a reply Gamzee pulls a scythe from his inventory and begins playing with it a little. His eyes are quickly scanning Katurian's form, trying to find the best places to cut. Every cute he makes tonight he wants to be sure is perfect for making this low blooded scum pay for his disrespect.]

[His first instinct is to jerk and whirl around, but once he realizes who it is, once he knows, he turns to face him very, very slowly. He's not unlike a prey animal, desperately hoping that if he stays still enough, he'll to go unnoticed in the shadows. He curses under his breath. Oh fuck.]

Leave me alone.

[He starts softer than he finishes, but he still doesn't sound calm. All the courage he had over the communicator has disappeared.]

[He catches that fear, soaks it in, and lets the corners of his eyes go up ever so slightly in delight from it.

Gamzee starts to move forward again. Tightening his grip around the handle of his scythe he tilts the head up, it almost looks like a snake's head rising up the second it's caught the scent of a mouse. Gamzee's rising it little by little for a strike as he keeps coming toward Katurian.]

_{Motherfucker, that doesn't all sound like a joke to me.} Wouldn't all motherfuckin' want you to motherfuckin' lose your head up about motherfuckin' getting at makin' a motherfuckin' good joke though. _{Pretty easy for a motherfucker to all not get a good joke up in his thinkpan when he's motherfuckin' thinkin' too much at on it.}

[Despite his pleasure in Katurian's pain Gamzee still manages to sound bitter and angry in his words.]

[He shouldn't be surprised. Katurian clung to the walls of the asylum begging for punishment, yes, but also for safety. He believed that no one would harm him there. No one would soak in his fear like they did in the outside world. And now here he is.

His eyes follow the scythe's path, automatic, before darting back to look at Gamzee. He sucks in a breath.]

Stop it. [Louder:] Stop it! [He backs up, bit by bit. He thinks about running.] This is fucking mad, do you hear me?! I never did-- I c-can't-- I never did anything to you. You bastard. [There's the anger, finally, a sharp contrast to his earlier plea, though his voice still wavers. Another step back.] Threatening an unarmed man with a weapon. You degenerate. You fucking coward.

[He almost starts to grin, but then Katurian insults him. He's being disrespected, again.

At coward he sneers and bares his long sharp teeth.]

You motherfuckin' think you're all unarmed? _{Got one more arm to up and use than my ownself does.} I can motherfuckin' fix that for you though bro!

[And Gamzee lunges forward. The scythe comes hissing down, aiming to slice into Katurian's arm. He can easily miss here, he's not used to balancing with a broken arm.]

[Katurian, meanwhile, isn't exactly used to dodging scythes, though he does manage, albeit barely. The blade cuts but doesn't sever, and with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he barely even registers the quick flash of pain that accompanies it. It's a subtle shift in lighting. A new tone in his ear.

He really needs to start carrying a gun again.]

Help! POLICE!

[He's off balance and scared out of his wits, but he sure as hell isn't curling up and dying this time. He kicks gravel at Gamzee, hoping that it'll distract him long enough to escape. He doesn't even wait for his response before trying to turn and run.]

[As Gamzee pulls back the bloodied scythe his mirth returns. The shout for help is like a wonderful tune to his ears.

He can't help but grin.]

_{Should have up and thought at some good jokes.}

[He doesn't even feel the gravel as it hits him, he just keeps moving. Gamzee may have a messed up arm, but his legs are working just fine. They'll carry him far and fast, but he wants to make sure Katurian's legs won't be able to do the same for much longer.

When he's close enough he aims to take out a piece of Katurian's thigh, hoping to paint the pavement below red.]

[This is the worst. This is bad. There's too much blood, and as Katurian crumples, he thinks about all the arteries and veins he's memorized in the library medical textbooks and prays, oh prays that none of those have been hit. He catches himself with his arms but still manages to bash his forehead against the concrete before skidding to a stop.]

[That head bash against the pavement is one of the funniest things Gamzee's seen in awhile.]

Heh _{motherfuckin'} heh.

[For a second Gamzee stops to touch a little bit of the blood he's spilled.

Red is such a lovely color, Gamzee's been finding that the more he sees of it the more he likes it. Of course, he thinks he can definitely come to like the color a little more. With that in mind Gamzee comes over to Katurian's side and aims to slice down part of his back.

As he begins his work he speaks. He's managing to make some honking noises the whole time]

Motherfuckin' all sure you motherfuckin' don't have a motherfuckin joke my brother? _{Last chance before I all get my wicked subjugglatin' on.}

[His breathing picks up when the blade enters his back, fast and hysterical. Practically a scream in itself. Go back in time, his thoughts hiss. Go back. But he can't get the ground to stay steady underneath him.]

I d-don't have--

[Something something pressure. He's in the hospital with Stein. Has he fallen on a book? Is a book in his spine? 1984. White walls. How could you make appeal to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically survive? He knew what was done to him, he should have known better. He must have scratched himself, he was biting his back, not his hand, he was biting a hole in his back--

He covers his head with his hands, whimpering. His thoughts. His thoughts.]

Once upon a time in a small cobbled-streeted town on the banks of a fast-flowing river there lived a little boy-- !

[The words all come out a rushed, frantic string.]

[He's been easing back into patrol for the past week or so; going out early and staying out late, taking the extra time to feel out the city's moods before he picks up Nightwing’s old habits. There’s times when being cautious is a drawback, and times when it’s just by chance that his belt line picks up on nearby commotion would be one of them. God damnit.

First things first. Batman lunges and kicks, aiming past the man on the ground for the far edge of the scythe.]

Motherfucker!

[His scythe flies out of reach and slides for a few feet on the ground. There's no way Gamzee's getting that back easily and the snarl on Gamzee's face shows he knows that.

Backing up just the slightest bit he pulls out another weapon, a whip this time. Immediately he lashes out at Dick, hoping to tear into whatever he can get of him. It may not be smart, but Gamzee's not about to back off until he knows his enemy is more powerful than he can handle.

Besides he's just gotten Katurian to start saying something that doesn't sound like an insult or a cry for help, he doesn't want to lose this.]

[Breathing into the pavement, Katurian feels for the wound on his leg in clumsy, broad grasps. He's aware of a reprieve, a distraction, but he hasn't yet ruled out his own slow, agonizing death. It's a pessimism not even his therapy could beat out of him, and how can he blame himself? He earns strength and the City crushes it. Again. And again.

He feels the warm, sticky blood long before the actual cut. Run. Run. But his muscles scream and collapse every time he tries to gain his footing. His thoughts run in panicking, dizzying circles. It's only when he considers that maybe he'll need to start dragging himself that he glances behind him to try to figure out what's going on.]

[So much for smashing that four-second record. He twists far enough to miss the bulk of the snap, but he can't quite move fast enough to avoid catching the end of of it on his gauntlet. The sting is sharp even through the Kevlar, but it's not like he hasn't had practice. He dives up and over, and aims another hard kick towards his mid-section.]

Give it up.

[Now instead of a weapon it's Gamzee who's flying back a few feet. After he hits the ground and rolls he begins to realize that's there's just simply no good way to fight someone like this while he's already injured.

It's a bit difficult for him to get up again, but he manages it all the same and he doesn't even seem to be in pain. Still though, he knows he needs to give up this fight and once he's up Gamzee's moving to run off. He's not turn his back on either of them, but he's still making a lot of distance and he'll be gone in seconds.

Of course he can't leave in those seconds silently.]

_{Motherfucker, I'll make a wicked punch line up out of you later.}

[Katurian lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and the breath becomes laugh, exhausted and somewhat hysterical. Oh, he's been saved. Oh, he didn't think that was possible anymore. He rests his forehead against the ground and breathes.]

[Saving a bleeding victim always shakes out over chasing down the bad guy. Still, it needles a bit to watch this one disappear. But it's not as if he'll forget a face that distinctive.

He slides his batarang back into place and kneels down next the man instead. He'll check for vitals and then call an ambulance if it's necessary.]

Hey. Can you tell me your name?

[From his cool, clammy skin and shallow breeding, there's a pretty good chance that an ambulance will need to be called after all. He tries to push himself up on his hands but fails, wincing as another surge of pain claws up his leg.]

K-Katurian Katurian. First name same as the last. My parents were--

[He gives another laugh, weak and breathless.]

Kind of psychotic.

We get that a lot. You'd be surprised.

[He tries a smile, hoping Katurian will pick up on the mood and start to relax. He definitely in need of something more than a quick pressure bandage on a sidewalk. He opens the med kit and takes one out anyway, looking for the most visible, fast-bleeding injury.]

I'm gonna call an ambulance, okay? You're gonna be fine.

[His leg has it the worst. He's felt the wound, the blood but he hasn't been able to look at it yet. The way his stomach is turning, he thinks it's better if he doesn't. At Dick's words, he nods. Swallows. He isn't surprised.]

Y-Yours?

[Are your parents psychotic? It's unthinking and rude and something he'd never ask if his thoughts weren't spinning with blood less. But he returns it as easily as a 'how are you?']

[It's not a malicious question. Just the kind people everywhere tend to ask when they're high on blood loss and adrenaline. But all at once his hands freeze up where they are, pressing on the bandage. For one, two, three critical seconds.]

...No. They, uh. [He moves again, then reaches underneath to rewrap and put on the pressure. God, what is he saying.]

They were good. They took care of me.

Yeah? [He laughs thinly, letting his head sag to the side. Every so often, the pain is more immediate, more pressing, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't notice Dick's hesitation. Not like this.] That's good. That's how it's supposed to be.

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