Who: Donovan Brightly What: Violence is Nova's job, after all. When: Trial Night Where: 7th Circle: Violence Status: Narrative, complete Warnings: SERIOUS WARNING HERE for self-harm, intentional and reckless self-endangerment, and suicide. Please take care of yourself and do not read if you are at all hesitant or about this. Also warnings for probably inaccurate gun descriptions, gun violence, choking, nausea, vomiting, dehydration, falling from a great height, abusive relationships, general violence, mentions of murder, foul language, aaaaand blood. ...I think that's everything?
Donovan had made a point, after the last trial, of paying a visit to each of the circles he had access to. He didn't spend a lot of time there, just enough to get a feel for the environment. He didn't want any surprises when the trials rolled around. Not that he had that much control over such a thing, but he could at least familiarize himself with the terrain. That was better than nothing.
He’d found that the Anger circle was beautiful, the river crushing and powerful, so different from the mucky, slow-flowing river back home, clogged with traffic and trash. He’d actually come back to this one a few times, following the river one way and then the other. The air there felt different - shocking cold like winter weather, simple and clear and honest.
In the Fraud circle, he'd kept an eye out, but he hadn't seen Mallory again. Just his own reflection flashing back at him from the puddles, distorted from the off and on drizzle. He had wandered around in the strange mirrored image of the City for a good few hours. It was disorienting, in spite of how familiar it was, everything reversed to slightly dizzying effect, the only way out was the way he'd come in. If it weren't for how empty of people it was in Fraud, it would have been easy to lose track of which was the City and which was the Circle. He didn't find Mallory there, but he wondered if he might show up again when the next trial rolled around. Maybe Nova would hear him out this time, just to see what he had to say.
But this wasn't Fraud.
This was Violence.
For miles in every direction, he could see nothing but rocks and dirt and sand and dust. Fucking Gods the dust permeated every fucking orifice in his body in minutes. He squinted as much from the dust as from the glare. It coated his throat, soaking up any spare fluids until no matter how much he hacked he came up with nothing but blackened gobs of crumbling dirt. There wasn't enough moisture left in his body for spit.
That was okay. He had a job to do. He didn't know how serious the others were about testing the limits of the Trials, but no matter. It wasn't like he had much better to do in this place than indulge his own curiosity. There was no boss here, no job to be done except the odd shady backalley gigs and mediocre jobs to put food on the table. Nothing of any consequence, nothing he couldn’t replace as soon as he lost it. Besides, since they apparently would just wake back up in their rooms if they did die, what did he really have to lose?
That just left the matter of how to go about it. In theory, killing oneself as soon as a trial started should be fairly simple. If he'd ended up in Fraud, there were plenty of buildings he could take a short walk off of. If he'd ended up in Anger, there was the river. But here, there was nothing but dirt and rocks, most of which were too small to be of any use. Turning out his pockets found none of his usual concealable weapons; he was totally unarmed.
Hmm. This might take a little more creativity.
"How the fuck is it that the fucking circle for Violence doesn't have anything you can pop a guy with?" he snarled out loud to himself. He could, of course, simply wait for the sun to dry him out. Kill himself with heatstroke and dehydration. But that was a long, slow death, and he'd rather get this over with. For a few minutes he debated if he might be able to speed up the process by eating sand. Or perhaps he could try choking on a rock.
There was a flicker of movement to his left. He whipped to follow it, but there was nothing but dirt. Donovan turned slowly, looking all around him and half expecting to see Mallory. This was, after all, still a trial. From what he'd gathered from other residents of the city, trials often were far more dramatic than the one that he'd gone through to date. Did they usually sneak up on you within the realm like this?
He turned his attention back to the ground, where he was looking for a rock to try and fail to swallow. He'd come in here before. Hadn't stayed very long. After all, there was only so much desert a guy could handle. He'd come in, climbed up on the biggest boulder he could find within a ten minute walk, and looked around at the distant horizon in every direction, the heat making wavering images of distant mountains and boulders. Then he'd gotten off the rock and went right back out the gate again. He'd seen enough.
But it was different this time. He could see large boulders like the one he'd clambered up on top of, but they were far off in the distance. If it came to it he could head over to one of those and try to drop himself off the rocks headfirst. But it would take hours to reach it, and he'd really rather skip whatever was in store for him for this trial. The area that he found himself in was mostly dirt and gritty sand. Most of the rocks weren't even very big.
Hm. Maybe he didn’t need a rock, he considered, fingering the hem of his shirt. Yanking off his jacket, he started unbuttoning his shirt, stripping down to the sleeveless undershirt. Taking the button down, he turned it slightly inside out and picked at the seams on the shoulder. He bit at it, tearing enough of the threads to get it started, then ripped the seam all the way around until the sleeve was separate from the body. Perfect. There’d be plenty enough fabric there to choke him out.
Donovan hesitated for a moment, arranging the cotton fabric this way and that as he ran over the plan in his head. Once the gag reflex kicked in he’d have to focus on restraining the body’s survival instincts, to keep going and just… let it happen. With a little self restraint and some luck, he should be waking up in his bed back in the City.
He fed the sleeve into his own mouth, pushing the wadded cotton as far back as he could. Almost immediately he started to cough, his stomach trying to roil and heave and expel the intruder. He swallowed. He coughed. He pushed the fabric in as far as he could with his fingers. His vision sort of blanked out and his stomach heaved again. He doubled over, dropping to his knees. Stubbornly, he pushed more of the fabric in, fighting to try and swallow. Wet cotton and dust filled his senses. His face was burning and he realized he was clutching at his throat. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, there was only the thing, in his throat, blocking his breath, couldn’t, needed to get it out-
There was a tearing at his throat, as the cloth was ripped back out of his mouth. He hacked and coughed and drooled all over himself, trying to inhale and setting him coughing all over again. He hocked and spat, reaching in with his fingers to catch the end of a loose thread. His stomach heaved again and he spat up fluid that landed in the dirt under him and was instantly swallowed up by the desert.
What… dammit… he could’ve done it, it was working. Swallowing tenderly, he could feel burning in the back of his throat. "Fuck me," he croaked, followed by a giggle that was several shades into manic.
“Now why would you go and do a thing like that?”
Figures.
“What-” his voice cracked horribly and he stopped to cough again. “The fuck’djou do that for?
He leveled a glare up at Phineas, who stood over him holding the mangled shirtsleeve. He looked amused. “Can’t have you calling it in so soon, can we? Besides, this is the wrong circle for suicide attempts.”
“Fuck you.” Donovan slumped sideways, landing on his hip, and twisted his legs around to a more comfortable seat. His chest was still heaving, his throat still screaming and tickling.
Phineas crouched next to him. “So contrary!” He smiled, propping his chin on his hand, elbow resting on his knee. “You know, if you didn’t want to work for me anymore, you could’ve just said so when I came calling. You didn’t have to come back.”
Nova quieted some, still breathing hard. He had to stare out at the barren landscape around them to avoid Phineas’ too sharp gaze. “I know.”
“You could have walked away, like before.”
“I know.”
“So, I can only assume,” Phineas continued, “that you came back because you wanted to.”
Donovan took in a deep painful breath and let it out slow. “Is this my trial? Listening to you talk? I could’ve done that back home.”
Phineas laughed. “Then maybe you should’ve tried a little harder to kill them before they killed you. I mean really, it was a simple job, Nova. I was expecting you to be back within an hour with the money in hand. Honestly, if anyone should be upset it's me. This isn't going to be an easy situation to repair.”
He bared his teeth at Phineas. “Yeah, clearly I punched my own ticket just to fucking spite you.” He rolled over and pushed himself up, stumbling slightly. He really hadn't meant for that night to go the way it had. He should have been more careful, and he knew that. Even without Mallory at his side, it should have been a simple, in-and-out task. Clearly he'd lost his touch while he was away from the business for so many years. Smacking the dust off his trousers, he cast a glare over at Phineas. Looks like he'd be heading for a boulder after all. He snatched his torn shirt and jacket off the ground and started walking.
“No need to be so rude," Phineas called after him as he jogged to keep up. "I was concerned, is all. You didn't come back.”
Donovan gritted his teeth and didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t even the real Phineas, probably.
It was hot, but he pulled his shirt back on anyways, keeping it open in the front. He knew he'd want the shield against the intense sun. He slung his jacket over his head, trying to shade his face even a little, and his other arm. He could have let himself roast, but that sounded like a really nasty way to go, whereas if he reached the boulder, he could knock himself out and make it quick.
He walked silently for a long time, just listening to the crunch of the dirt under his feet, and under Phineas's behind him. He wasn't going to be the first one to break the silence. Phineas liked the sound of his own voice enough; he'd fill it himself eventually. And sure enough...
"Hey now. Nova, come on. Don't be mad."
Nova twitched but didn't respond. He was trying to gauge how long it would take him to reach the nearest boulder. It was hard to tell how much time was passing; the sun was positioned directly overhead, bright enough to bleach the sky white. His eyes were starting to hurt. Nova sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. Was it really this hot here? He was already worn out and he'd not walked nearly long enough for that yet. Or maybe it was just Phineas's presence.
The crunch of dirt behind him stopped, leaving only his own footsteps. He kept walking for a few more steps before stopping. He just... couldn't not. He turned around. Phineas was staring back at him, cool and neutral, but his mouth was turned down in displeasure that he couldn't hide. "...What?" Nova said, already feeling the stroke of guilt. He bit it back with aggression.
"Why are you so angry?" Phineas said reproachfully. "You don't... blame me for this?"
"What?" Nova said again, caught off-guard this time. Was Phineas... feeling guilty about what happened to him? "No, of course not."
"Perhaps you think I deserve it," Phineas said, looking away and rubbing his chin. "I did send you into a very dangerous situation after all. If you needed more time to ease into things you could have told me."
"I can fucking take care of myself," Donovan said forcefully. The memory of that night flashed through his head again. The deafening gunfire, the spray of the blood... and the slippery little shadow of Mallory, sweeping through the warehouse like a tornado. "It just wasn't enough this time."
"Hmm. So you're saying you were careless."
Nova stopped to glare at him. "I wasn't fucking careless. There's only so much a guy can do to dodge a fucking bullet."
Phineas held his hands up as though in surrender. "Easy, I was joking." Then he grinned. "Or maybe you just need more practice."
There was an ear-shattering burst of gunfire, and Nova instinctively dropped to a crouch trying to shield his head. Dirt kicked up all around him as the bullets hit and ricocheted. He jumped away and ran sideways around the shooter, waiting for the moment when the gunfire paused. He leaped forward, throwing a punch at his opponent.
Phineas dodged him neatly, and all fell quiet.
"See there?" Phineas called, pointing the tommy gun up at the sky with a sly grin. "Doing better already."
His vision went red. "You FUCK!" Nova shouted. "The fuck did you do that for?"
"And here I thought you were trying to kill yourself?" Phineas asked mildly.
That's right. His current mission. He'd forgotten, taken over by gut responses. He eyed the gun, slowly falling out of his aggressive stance. "Phin. Can I see that a moment?"
"Why? So you can shoot yourself?" Phineas didn't move. He smiled wide and empty. "Or so you can shoot me? Turnabout's fair play, I suppose."
Nova was very still. "I'm not gonna shoot you."
"Why not?" Phineas said. Nova blinked. Maybe it was the light or the heat, but he swore he could see blood blossoming out on the chest of his shirt. "What's the difference, at this point?"
Nova stared at the blood wetting down Phineas's shirt. A trial, he reminded himself. This was still a trial, and he had a job. Walk away now and ignore this mirage, he told himself. "...The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"What's the difference? That's what you've been thinking isn't it? For years and years. That's why you left." Phineas stepped a little closer. Nova could smell the blood on his skin. "You couldn't tell the difference anymore between hurting someone else and hurting yourself. So what does it matter? That's what you're thinking. And you blame me for it."
"That's not it at all," Nova lied.
"You do, though. You blame me for getting you involved, and that's why you left. You left me because you just didn't like that you were getting your hands dirty."
Nova scoffed, but it was a bitter, uncertain thing. "That's rich, coming from you."
“That’s not very fair to me, you know. I just offered you a place. You were the one that took it.” Phineas' empty smile grew wider, like he had too many teeth for a normal smile. "If you don't like yourself, maybe that's something you should take up with yourself. But you're don't. You blame me, and you take it out on others. That's why we're here," he said, spreading his hands out and giving a little twirl that kicked up dust, "instead of in Sacrifice."
"...Phineas, give me the gun."
Phineas held out the submachine gun to him, handle first. "It's your choice, pal. Remember that."
Nova took the gun. It was an awkward size. Heavy. He held it by both grips, but loosely, the end pointing up. He checked the magazine. One bullet left, for only one of them.
"Come on, Nova," Phineas coaxed. "Aim straight."
He took aim, and fired.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time he reached the boulder he was out of sweat to drip. The funny thing was, he was so thirsty he almost didn't even care about the fucking job to try and kill himself anymore. He could die or live or finish the fucking trial or what the fuck ever. As long as this horrible thirst went away. Dying didn't bother him none. Drying out like this was hell.
He was barely able to see straight, but when a blessed shadow landed on his toes and he dropped to his knees, falling forward into the icy cold shade of the boulder. The sand and the edges of his shirt stung his exposed skin, which was approaching somewhere near the color of a fire hydrant. For a while he just laid there in the sand. He drifted. Maybe he wouldn't have to bash his own head in after all. Maybe the desert had been enough to kill him on its own.
But the world kept swimming in and out of focus, and he didn't die. He waited. Maybe he should have just stayed put. Maybe he should have just sat down and spread himself out next to Phineas' body and let the sun take him back there. It didn't really matter, in the end, did it? Whenever that end was meant to come.
He waited.
After a while, he started to get bored. And annoyed. This was taking too long.
Well, the boulder was still there. He'd reached it. It couldn't take much now. A quick fall in the right direction, with the rock to cushion his head, and he'd be down for the count. He just had to get up first.
First one hand, pressing against the rough, sliding sand. Then the other. It took all his strength to push himself up. But somehow, he found himself on his feet, swaying with the exertion. There was the boulder in front of him. He staggered towards it, ready for this to be over with.
Coming closer, he realized he wasn't the only one here.
A familiar silhouette was sitting on top of the rock. He couldn't make out his features with the light glaring behind him, but it was definitely Phineas.
Nova came closer to the rock. A hand was thrust under his nose, and he didn't hesitate to take it. Phineas hauled him up onto the boulder. Nova didn't even think to question his presence. Either this Phineas was a mirage, or the one he'd shot was. Or they both were. It was all a trial anyways, wasn't it? Didn't really matter either way. Not right now. Gods he just wanted to be done now.
Phin held out a canteen. Nova stared for half a beat before seizing it and gulping it down greedily. Fuck the job, fuck trying to die. He gulped it down, his stomach clenching and roiling painfully at the desperately needed moisture. He stopped, almost spilling the rest of the water as he choked and retched. There wasn't much in his stomach to puke back up except for the two gulps of water and a snippet of thread. Nova coughed and sputtered, and when his stomach settled he took another sip.
Phineas just watched him the whole time with a little smirk playing about the corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything while Nova sipped at the water, trying to take it slower this time. When the canteen was empty, Nova threw it out into the desert mutinously. It wasn't enough. But it was better than nothing.
"Thanks," he rasped, as he settled wearily next to Phin.
"What are friends for?" Phineas said. "Aside from shooting each other in the desert, I mean."
Nova sighed and slumped against Phineas' shoulder. "You want an apology?"
Phineas just laughed.
From the top of the boulder, for the first time, he could see the huge fissure running through the desert before him. The rock they sat on overlooked an unfathomably deep canyon. There we go, he smiled wearily. Now we're fucking talking.
The canyon was deep, but not terribly wide. Perhaps twenty feet across. On the other side was more of that endless barren landscape of the desert, just like the expanse he'd crossed to reach here. Nova couldn't tell how long it had taken him to reach here, how long of a distance he'd walked. It had to have been hours and hours. The sun hadn't changed position at all from when he'd started though.
"You're not really here, are you, Phin?" he managed to ask. His throat still felt raw from the sleeve earlier.
"You're a stubborn one," Phineas said. "Thought it best to take a shape you'd be comfortable with."
He didn't move. Even knowing this wasn't really Phineas he was leaning against, even though Nova had shot him hours before, it was familiar enough to give him some small level of comfort. "Like with Mallory?"
"No no," Not-Phineas said, "That was last time's Trial. This is something new."
"What? Try so hard to stop me killing myself you make me wish I was really dead?"
Not-Phineas tilted his head so his cheek was resting on the crown of Nova's head. "I thought we covered this. You really are in the wrong circle if you're trying to kill yourself, dear."
"We just come back," he sighed.
"How do you know?" Not-Phineas said.
Nova stilled. "You sayin' I could really die here?"
Not-Phineas laughed. "You're an odd one. But you're not really trying to hurt yourself. Not really. Why are you testing us?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Don't you want to be better?"
Nova laughed, but his dry, ragged throat quickly turned it into a horrific, dusty cough. "Bit late for that, ain't it, pal?"
He could feel Phineas' familiar jungle cat smile on this stranger's face. "I'm afraid you can't escape from these trials, Nova. You can kill yourself to try and get out of it. You can lie to yourself that they don't have any effect. But you'll just keep coming back here until it... sinks in, shall we say.”
Nova said nothing, staring out at the desert.
Not-Phineas bumped his shoulder. "The silent act is included in that too, you know."
"Fuck off."
"There we go."
Nova reeled back from Not-Phineas, casting a glare at him. "You think you've got one over on us all, don't you?"
Not-Phineas met his gaze steadily.
"You think you can just peek in our heads and pull out a bunch of shit we've got stowed there and just keep picking at it. You think that's helping?" He pushed himself to his feet, fighting the wave of lightheadedness. "You keep picking at scars or infected wounds, you don't heal them. You just make it fucking worse." He glared down at the fake, the mask that the trial wore to try and fuck with his head. "The people here, they're not getting better. They're getting fucking wrecked."
Not-Phineas even had Phin's perfect icy calm down. "An illness will get worse before it gets better."
"Bullshit," Donovan snapped. His hands were shaking. He'd never wanted so badly to punch Phineas's face before. "Don't give me that night is darkest before dawn crap. You get better or you don't. You be better or you don't. That's a fucking choice you made. A choice I made. A choice I fucking make every time I fucking pick up a fucking job that Phineas hands me."
"Yeah?" Nova said, stepping backwards away from Not-Phineas. "Get this, you fucking cocksucker." He took another deliberate step back, and his foot hit air.
The rush of wind against his sunburnt skin stung and stung, but gods, the swoop of vertigo in his gut, that felt like heaven.