patheticvillain | thirty-eight ➢ private video & spam

spam } horatio

[When Cassel picks the lock on Horatio's door and slides inside, silent as a cat in the dark, he finds the man asleep in a hammock hanging gently above creaky floorboards. For a moment he regards him in the dim light coming from the hallway, considering all of his options. He could easily turn Horatio into something unspeakably vile as punishment. It might even be right.]

[Instead, he pulls a black silk cloth out of his pocket and, leaning up on his tiptoes, ties it around Horatio's eyes and behind his head. Then he sits in the corner of the room, legs crossed and eyes half-open, waiting for the man with his naked hands to wake up.]

private } daneca

I need your help with something. Or someone, I guess.

What do you do for blowback? I have some techniques that I used on my mom, but - you probably have better ones. She never really tried to control it.

private } needy

[In between all of this, he's almost surprised by the arrival of Needy's file. He's still a warden here. Even though Czeslaw's gone, he gets another chance.]

[As he reads it, a smile grows on his face. Nothing he's reading is good, but it's not - foreign, either, even when it technically is. He doesn't feel lost. He feels - intrigued.]

[He's still half-smiling when he opens the feed, cocking his head at her through the connection.]

So. You pissed?

open spam } gardens

[He sits under a tree, making statues.]

[Maybe this will frighten people, now that they have some context: he's got his gloves off, folded carefully at his side. There is scrap metal - soda cans and piles of paper clips - by his knee. This he uses to build his statues, long, thin, somewhat overwrought looking things, melded and twisted by his transformation into something vaguely human.]

[Occasionally he pauses and takes a sip of the open mug of steaming coffee at his other knee. Then he goes back to building ugliness.]

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[It's like being struck. Actually, for Cassel, it's almost worse. He'd take pain over this assumption, this insult, any day.]

[There are people back home who still believe this about him, he knows. That he's nothing but a villain. And he's built that assumption up in their minds by being self-destructive, by being a bastard, by being an ugly soul. He's hurt people to make them hurt him back. He's stripped his own soul away to make a point.]

[But that's not who he is anymore - not who he wants to be. He doesn't need revenge. That isn't why he's here.]

[The fact that Horatio thinks it is is enough to make tears start at the corner of his eyes, though they don't fall - enough to make him want to leave the room and never look back.]

You bastard. I'm not gonna do that. I'm not like that anymore.

[The realization is crushing. His own stupidity, more infuriating than he can even begin to express. Just because he is awful, doesn't mean that Cassel is awful. Of course it's an insult to have even suggested it.

Horatio flinches, then drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers up to fist into his hair. He feels guilty and stupid and unspeakably angry with himself. With both of them.]

I'm sorry.

[He forces out. He doesn't specify for what. There are a dozen things he should be apologizing for. Cassel can take his pick.]

Go away.

[He wants to tear out his hair. Wants to beat his head against the wall until it's bloody. Wants to beat Cassel until he's bloody, and more pressingly, more urgently, wants Cassel to leave and take with him the possibility that Horatio will perform the latter of those options.]

[Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. A dozen things are absolutely hilarious in this situation, but the funniest one of all is that Horatio thinks Cassel can leave. That that is the one thing Cassel is absolutely unable to do. It goes against his conscience. It goes against his conditioning. It hurts his heart.]

[In this moment Horatio reminds him so much of Zane that he thinks he might split in two, starting yelling or crying or curl up in a ball.]

[He does none of these things. Instead, he crosses the floor and rests his hand lightly on Horatio's shoulder. He knows what could happen - what Horatio could do to him. Is likely to do to him.]

[Maybe Slevin's right. Maybe he wants it.]

No.

Let it out.

[It's awful. The touch of Cassel's fingers on his shoulder is like someone jamming a wire directly into his nerves. Horatio spins on his heel, and it is only the very last trace of his self control that forces him to soften his hand before he slaps Cassel's arm away, before jerking back as if he's the injured party.

As if he's just been burned.]

Please. Please.

[Horatio's voice is tight and strained with anxiety. Like every muscle in him is wound tighter than a drum, hemmed in and clamped down as much as he's able.]

Please just go away. I can't-- I can't trust myself. I can't let myself--

[His teeth are gritted now, rage and restraint clawing against each other inside of him, and he brings his hands back up to dig his fingernails into his cheeks. He needs to keep them occupied. He needs to keep them away from Cassel.]

I will not hurt you again. Go away.

No.

[And here's the other thing: maybe it's punishment. Maybe this is his way of showing Horatio how horrible he is, how much worse he could be. A way of burning him one more time before all of this goes away.]

[A way, too, to get revenge on the people he can't get revenge on anymore. A way to hurt his mother, his brothers, every worker who would have hurt him if they'd gotten the chance. Himself.]

I'm the only one who'll understand. You might as well take advantage. Because I'm not going anywhere. I won't, and you can't make me.

[Horatio's fists tighten. His nails dig into his cheeks almost hard enough to break the skin, and then, slowly, he unfurls. He feels light headed, almost despairing, surrendering, finally and entirely to the fact that Cassel is here.

Cassel won't leave.

And it's more than he deserves. Cassel has so many people here already. So many friends, so many admirers - for perfectly obvious reasons, of course - but he's choosing to stay. Choosing to give Horatio his time.

Even through the wildfire of his guilt (the only emotion that Horatio can be certain is entirely authentic right now) Horatio feels grateful.]

I really don't want to hurt you. Thank you, truly, for being here with me, but I only want you to be well.

[And, strangely, it's becoming true. The urge to hurt Cassel is fading, replaced with relief, and a kind of overwhelming happiness that the other warden is here.

He stares at Cassel now, his expression slipping across from being attentive to being enchanted. He swallows, whets his lips, then offers:]

I feel quite a bit better now, actually.

[It's obvious what's happening, of course, to a connoisseur like Cassel. The tide of emotion's turning, ostensibly positive now rather than negative, although he wouldn't term it as such. Adoration's just as dangerous as abhorrence.]

[The urge comes over him before he recognizes it: use this. He could make a fast ally this way, if he was clever enough. If he was kind in the right way.]

[Cassel swallows.]

I bet you do. But you'll feel worse again within the hour.

It cycles, see. It'll keep cycling until you get all the way out of it.

You know so much about this.

[Horatio comes a little closer to Cassel, then feels a sudden anxiety. Will Cassel want him to come too close? Probably not. He wraps his hands around his shoulders and crouches low, still gazing admiringly up at the other warden.]

It makes me feel very stupid, to be honest, having inflicted such a state on myself while knowing so little of it.

[When he is better, he'll be mortified by his own honesty here, but right now, this is Cassel... How could he not trust him with his every thought?]

[No; Cassel doesn't want him to come too close. In fact, he backs away slightly when Horatio approaches, still frightened of his touch.]

I can tell you about it. But you have to stay over there.

[Horatio's stomach dives into his shoes as Cassel backs away from him, and a profound misery seeps into him in response to the mild rejection.]

Of course. I'll not try to approach again.

[He folds his hands quietly, almost fussily, waiting for Horatio to be still.]

I'm sorry. It's just.

This is how people hurt you. Me. It's how people have - hurt me. So I'm afraid.

[He admits this baldly, without any apparent shame. It's just the truth. He supposes if anyone's got a right to it, it's Horatio.]

[Horatio doesn't move. His expression creases into an expression of unhappy understanding.]

Emotion working.

[He straightens up, and takes a step back, distancing himself from Cassel, even though doing so makes his heart ache.]

I won't touch you. I couldn't do anything even if I did, but-- I'm sorry. I won't come close, and I won't touch you.

I know.

[He regards Horatio carefully for a moment, then nods.]

But thank you. It's not about - logic. Fear's never about logic.

It's all going to be okay, you know. Soon.

thirty-eight ➢ private video & spam

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