This has been a bad idea. Even with all of them fighting together, even with Trey’s Unique Magic giving them a chance, Riddle was already a level above them all without being Overblotted. They were all exhausted, but Riddle was still going strong—in a rage and ready to remove them of their heads…this time much more literally than ever.
Ace and Deuce were down. Trey was falling. Grim and the Prefect defenseless. Where had the headmaster gone? Where was backup? The smattering of Heartslabyul students that could still fight were running or hiding or cowering…and Cater didn’t blame them. A part of him wanted to run and hide, too, but even he wasn’t that big of a coward. He couldn’t leave his classmates, not even when he hadn’t wanted to endorse this fight in the first place.
He could still stand.
“Wait!”
From his position as support, Cater steps forward. He holds his hands up, magical pen held in a non-offensive position. And then, with all eyes on him, Cater takes a knee. He puts a fist over his heart in a display of fealty before setting his pen on the ground before him, disarming himself.
“You’ve won more than just the fight,” he says. With a breath, Cater looks up to dare and meet Riddle’s ferocious, glowing gaze. He hopes that he looks convincing enough—infatuated even in spite of fear. “You‘ve conquered my heart, my Queen.”
Everyone around, from the whimpering freshmen to the groaning, battered boys had fallen silent.
Trey, who could barely support himself on all fours, stared at Cater in disbelief.
But the raging giant who had just been laughing maniacally had also quieted. The tension could be cut with a knife.
Finally:
"What?" he booms, layered over with monstrous, echoing voices not his own. If Cater wanted his attention, he'd certainly got it.
"What are you playing at, Cater? You dare mock me?!"
The question starts with a disbelieving growl and ends in a furious, almost agonized roar. He lifts his arm and the phantom behind him mimics him, ready to strike.
Seven help him. This is the stupidest thing he’s ever done and it’s all he can do not to panic, to keep his face even. Cater’s got about five seconds before he’s smashed to smithereens—whatever he says next has to be convincing enough to stay Riddle’s hand.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, making no move to defend himself. Even if he tried to shield himself…what good would it do, really. So he keeps his kneel, stares upward into the enraged face of his Housewarden. “I’m honored to die by your hand.”
Cater holds his breath, hoping that his death is quick, maybe even a touch relieved that he can wash his hands of responsibility. He did his best. Nobody can say he didn't, even if he really failed his last gambit...but when the attack comes down, Riddle's still screaming and Cater's still breathing.
He should be shaking, he should be sick from terror. Maybe he's just completely disassociated and that's why he hasn't blacked out. And there's Riddle, so much closer than he'd thought before.
"I didn't say a thing against you," he says in a calm, steady voice that he can't believe is his own. "I never questioned a single one of your rulings. All that I am is yours...but if you'd only have my head, that's your decision to make."
As if inviting a final, decisive strike, Cater lulls his head back to expose the curve of his neck to the levitating, berserker-mode Riddle.
As Cater speaks, Riddle's lip curls in a sneer. With a snarl, his hand suddenly comes up and makes a fist in front of him.
Effortlessly, the Phantom seizes Cater and picks him up, bringing him close to Riddle. He lifts his other hand, the blot claw dragging over Cater's neck and leaving an inky trail in its wake.
"I should have your head ten times over for your mockery.
"Acting as if you weren't just standing by their side. As if you weren't willingly attacking your queen."
Then the hand comes up and roughly grabs Cater's chin, Riddle's gaze sharp and piercing.
"This is your final warning. Do not insult my intelligence."
Once again, Cater is surprised he's still alive. He expects the phantom to absolutely crush him, and then expects Riddle to slice his throat right open. But neither thing happens, and his heart feels like it could explode inside of his chest when Riddle takes his chin in his hand. Those eyes...wow.
"I'd never do anything to mock you," he promises, unable to look away. Locked in that intense stare as if he could dig into it and pull Riddle back out. "I can see you so much more clearly, now. You're stunning--in every sense of the word, and I know you well enough to know that your strength doesn't just lie in your capabilities but in your character. You're gracious and forgiving. When your soldiers, your subjects, have needed educating you've always been willing to teach them. Your soldiers misjudged you...and I'm not blameless in that, either. I should have defended you and stood by your side, but I was weak and fell in line with everyone else when you were the one who needed me. I let you down. Now, if you'll have me, I'm prepared to pay any price you'd ask to make up for it."
Silence falls again after Cater's speech. One could hear a pin drop. No student dare speak lest they break the spell Riddle seems to have found himself under with his right hand.
He searches Cater's gaze desperately, trying to find any kind of deceit.
Something... seems to give way. The hold on Cater's chin is no longer bruisingly rough. The hand squeezing him relaxes a bit. There's a crack in Riddle's enraged expression, revealing a deep anguish as little tears of blot start to form.
"...Cater..." comes Riddle's trembling voice. "Help me."
Riddle chokes as a metal cane collides with the back of his neck, and instantly, he falls forward into Cater as the Phantom disappears, sending them both hurtling to the ground...
And caught by a grinning eel.
"Oya, oya. I do hope we weren't interrupting anything."
It worked? It worked! It actually, miraculously fucking worked! Not that Cater is celebrating, exactly, so much as he's just relieved. Riddle's in there, really in there, hearing him, and he's going to be okay. They're all going to be okay. Just a little bit more. His heart breaks to see that crack in the anger. The powerlessness, the fear...
And then it all comes crashing down, literally. Instinctively, Cater reaches out and pulls Riddle close as they fall, knowing he doesn't have his pen and can't break their fall--and caught by Jade Leech of all people! Great Seven. Of all the rescuers, why Octavinelle?!
"You were, actually! I totally had that covered," Cater protests. "Augh, whatever. Put me down, would ya?"
Trey, looking exhausted as he is, appears to take Riddle from where he's squished in Cater's arms in Jade's arms, and once that transfer is complete the ginger is free (after a bit more teasing) to be set back on his own two feet. He takes a breath.
"That was waaaay too close," he says. And then the adrenaline crash hits so cataclysmically fast that without warning the color drains from his face and everything goes dark.
So many emotions came crashing down on Riddle after everything was said and done.
Shame. Relief. Regret. Grief. Anguish.
Fear...
Longing.
It takes about a couple days for him to pull himself together enough to face much of anyone besides Trey. And, of course... to be treated by the nurses.
It takes a bit longer for him to gather up the courage to see one person in particular...
Cater, of course, woke up much sooner than Riddle. He was quickly chased from the infirmary to treat others with injuries--after all, plenty of students were exhausted from the battle with Riddle. He'd taken a moment to sit with Riddle's unconscious body...but of course, Trey was there. The place was crowded.
And Cater couldn't stop thinking about the things he'd said. You've conquered my heart. Ugh! So cringe! No way, he couldn't face it! He needed some time to find his chill.
That is to say, he holes up in his room and tries to distract himself with Magicam. To try and stop Riddle's face from popping into his head. The feeling of his hand gripping his jaw...the look on his face when he pleaded so desperately for help. And what help was he, in the end? Guess he'd never really know.
All of what he said...it was just for the sake of distraction, anyway, and that was exactly what he'd accomplished. So, it's fine.
So why does he feel such a spike of sudden anxiety when he hears Riddle's voice at the door? Leaping out from bed, Cater takes a deep breath, puts his smile on his face, and opens the door.
Without hesitation, he steps aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm to allow Riddle entry.
"Make yourself comfortable--oh, shoot, sorry. My bed isn't made. Let me just..."
He hurries over to fix it up while his dorm leader comes in, presumably closing the door behind him. Everything's usually up to code in here, but since he's just been lounging he hadn't bothered.
Cater gives a lighthearted laugh as he finishes tucking in his comforter and fluffing his pillows. "So much praise! Really, I only did my duty as one of your many soldiers. It's more my style to let everyone else do all the hard work, but even I know how to get serious when the situation calls for it."
He hums, giving himself the chance to make sure his expression is appropriately cheerful when he lifts up to face Riddle properly. Is there...something off, in Riddle's expression? Is he imagining it?
Played to my desires, he says. He's gotta mean...to be held in such high esteem, right? Cater starts twirling a finger through his hair.
"When you say it like that, I sound like, totes scary...! But, anyway, all that really matters is that you're back on your feet again, and nobody got hurt too badly."
"Yet you were the only one who was able to stall me. You were the only one who took the chance to try."
A chance to try something so outlandish. Of course. Why would Riddle ever entertain the thought that any of that had been anything more than words to placate a monster?
His gaze goes distant for a moment, and then he gives a slight start, straightening up and trying to play it off.
"Ah, yes. Agreed." He flourishes with a hand. "It was no small achievement."
Yeah, something's definitely up, here, and considering everything that happened, Cater is pretty sure he can make an educated guess. The question is...does he really want to bring it up? Wouldn't it be better for the both of them to just pretend like nothing happened? Riddle seems pretty willing to write it all off. Cater could easily take that offering and run with it.
"Eh? In my honor? Hey, Cay-Cay's totally up for a party and all, but..."
He doesn't want to be celebrated. Not for something like that, in particular.
"Maybe we could honor more than just a person. How about..."
Humming thoughtfully, Cater sits on the edge of his bed, folding one leg casually over the other.
Cater's smile falls as the sentiment sends a shock through him. Never, not since the moment that they met, when he was still Housewarden and Riddle was the freshman upstart with a heart painted on his face, had Cater ever heard him speak in such a way.
He stands, approaching and putting his hands on Riddle's shoulders, squeezing firmly. There isn't a trace of humor in his expression.
"You don't mean that."
Riddle couldn't mean that. It wasn't him. It was the phantom--the blot inside of him--traces that still clung to his back and whispered terrible things into his ear. Cater recognized the sound...but Riddle was stronger than him. Riddle could cut the heads off of his demons. Cater wouldn't let him lay down and let himself be swallowed.
"You're twice the Housewarden I ever was--ever could have been. Your Overblot doesn't change that."
"Hey. Look at me," Cater urges. His tone is firm but not unkind. "That wasn't you. You weren't you."
This is...it prickles under his skin in a way he doesn't understand. So what does he care if Riddle doubts himself? It's only fair to feel that way after what happened. He'll figure it out on his own, probably, and if not, he has Trey to pick him back up again. So, why? Why does he feel so...responsible?
"You screwed up, yeah. Really, royally made a huge mess of things. But you know what else you've done? The hardest part: admitting it."
"But you know that now, don't you? You can admit you were wrong."
And once again, Riddle's looking down. He thinks about the angry fire in his Overblotted eyes, and then the sorrowful pits they'd become. They were still so sad. Maybe they'd always been, and just like Cater, he'd learned to cover up that pain. Acting on instinct, feeling some kind of impulse to see those eyes again, Cater's hands move from Riddle's shoulders to cup his face, instead.
"Nobody can be right all the time--that's just being human. What makes a leader isn't the ability to avoid mistakes, but how to move past them and learn to do better in the future." His voice getting even softer, Cater adds, "having weaknesses doesn't make you weak. You're the strongest person I've ever met. I still believe that."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
KNEEL
Ace and Deuce were down. Trey was falling. Grim and the Prefect defenseless. Where had the headmaster gone? Where was backup? The smattering of Heartslabyul students that could still fight were running or hiding or cowering…and Cater didn’t blame them. A part of him wanted to run and hide, too, but even he wasn’t that big of a coward. He couldn’t leave his classmates, not even when he hadn’t wanted to endorse this fight in the first place.
He could still stand.
“Wait!”
From his position as support, Cater steps forward. He holds his hands up, magical pen held in a non-offensive position. And then, with all eyes on him, Cater takes a knee. He puts a fist over his heart in a display of fealty before setting his pen on the ground before him, disarming himself.
“You’ve won more than just the fight,” he says. With a breath, Cater looks up to dare and meet Riddle’s ferocious, glowing gaze. He hopes that he looks convincing enough—infatuated even in spite of fear. “You‘ve conquered my heart, my Queen.”
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Everyone around, from the whimpering freshmen to the groaning, battered boys had fallen silent.
Trey, who could barely support himself on all fours, stared at Cater in disbelief.
But the raging giant who had just been laughing maniacally had also quieted. The tension could be cut with a knife.
Finally:
"What?" he booms, layered over with monstrous, echoing voices not his own. If Cater wanted his attention, he'd certainly got it.
"What are you playing at, Cater? You dare mock me?!"
The question starts with a disbelieving growl and ends in a furious, almost agonized roar. He lifts his arm and the phantom behind him mimics him, ready to strike.
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“You’re so beautiful,” he says, making no move to defend himself. Even if he tried to shield himself…what good would it do, really. So he keeps his kneel, stares upward into the enraged face of his Housewarden. “I’m honored to die by your hand.”
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—inches in front of Cater, creating a brief, impressive gust of wind and a tremor that makes Trey collapse to the ground.
"ENOUGH!" he yells. "All my soldiers have turned against me. All of them! Including you!
"I won't be tricked by your mind games!"
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He should be shaking, he should be sick from terror. Maybe he's just completely disassociated and that's why he hasn't blacked out. And there's Riddle, so much closer than he'd thought before.
"I didn't say a thing against you," he says in a calm, steady voice that he can't believe is his own. "I never questioned a single one of your rulings. All that I am is yours...but if you'd only have my head, that's your decision to make."
As if inviting a final, decisive strike, Cater lulls his head back to expose the curve of his neck to the levitating, berserker-mode Riddle.
"And you are always right."
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Effortlessly, the Phantom seizes Cater and picks him up, bringing him close to Riddle. He lifts his other hand, the blot claw dragging over Cater's neck and leaving an inky trail in its wake.
"I should have your head ten times over for your mockery.
"Acting as if you weren't just standing by their side. As if you weren't willingly attacking your queen."
Then the hand comes up and roughly grabs Cater's chin, Riddle's gaze sharp and piercing.
"This is your final warning. Do not insult my intelligence."
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"I'd never do anything to mock you," he promises, unable to look away. Locked in that intense stare as if he could dig into it and pull Riddle back out. "I can see you so much more clearly, now. You're stunning--in every sense of the word, and I know you well enough to know that your strength doesn't just lie in your capabilities but in your character. You're gracious and forgiving. When your soldiers, your subjects, have needed educating you've always been willing to teach them. Your soldiers misjudged you...and I'm not blameless in that, either. I should have defended you and stood by your side, but I was weak and fell in line with everyone else when you were the one who needed me. I let you down. Now, if you'll have me, I'm prepared to pay any price you'd ask to make up for it."
1/2
He searches Cater's gaze desperately, trying to find any kind of deceit.
Something... seems to give way. The hold on Cater's chin is no longer bruisingly rough. The hand squeezing him relaxes a bit. There's a crack in Riddle's enraged expression, revealing a deep anguish as little tears of blot start to form.
"...Cater..." comes Riddle's trembling voice. "Help me."
2/2
Riddle chokes as a metal cane collides with the back of his neck, and instantly, he falls forward into Cater as the Phantom disappears, sending them both hurtling to the ground...
And caught by a grinning eel.
"Oya, oya. I do hope we weren't interrupting anything."
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And then it all comes crashing down, literally. Instinctively, Cater reaches out and pulls Riddle close as they fall, knowing he doesn't have his pen and can't break their fall--and caught by Jade Leech of all people! Great Seven. Of all the rescuers, why Octavinelle?!
"You were, actually! I totally had that covered," Cater protests. "Augh, whatever. Put me down, would ya?"
Trey, looking exhausted as he is, appears to take Riddle from where he's squished in Cater's arms in Jade's arms, and once that transfer is complete the ginger is free (after a bit more teasing) to be set back on his own two feet. He takes a breath.
"That was waaaay too close," he says. And then the adrenaline crash hits so cataclysmically fast that without warning the color drains from his face and everything goes dark.
LONGING
Shame. Relief. Regret. Grief. Anguish.
Fear...
Longing.
It takes about a couple days for him to pull himself together enough to face much of anyone besides Trey. And, of course... to be treated by the nurses.
It takes a bit longer for him to gather up the courage to see one person in particular...
Two knocks come at the door.
"Cater. It's me."
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And Cater couldn't stop thinking about the things he'd said. You've conquered my heart. Ugh! So cringe! No way, he couldn't face it! He needed some time to find his chill.
That is to say, he holes up in his room and tries to distract himself with Magicam. To try and stop Riddle's face from popping into his head. The feeling of his hand gripping his jaw...the look on his face when he pleaded so desperately for help. And what help was he, in the end? Guess he'd never really know.
All of what he said...it was just for the sake of distraction, anyway, and that was exactly what he'd accomplished. So, it's fine.
So why does he feel such a spike of sudden anxiety when he hears Riddle's voice at the door? Leaping out from bed, Cater takes a deep breath, puts his smile on his face, and opens the door.
"Hey, Queen! You're finally awake! Welcome home!"
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His heart very nearly does gymnastics just at the sight of Cater. How foolish... And how naive.
He manages a small smile.
"May I come in?"
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Without hesitation, he steps aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm to allow Riddle entry.
"Make yourself comfortable--oh, shoot, sorry. My bed isn't made. Let me just..."
He hurries over to fix it up while his dorm leader comes in, presumably closing the door behind him. Everything's usually up to code in here, but since he's just been lounging he hadn't bothered.
"How are you feeling, btw? Tippy tops?"
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Tippy tops?
"... I assume you mean in top shape? In that case, no. It will still take me awhile to recover."
Both physically and emotionally.
He draws a breath in, and lets it out. Time for the moment of truth.
Giving a smile, he gestures with his hand.
"I have to commend you, Cater. You truly outdid yourself when I Overblotted.
"You kept a level head, stayed strong in your perseverance, and..."
His smile falters slightly.
"... played to my desires, allowing enough time for back-up to arrive and remedy the situation.
"Well done, soldier."
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He hums, giving himself the chance to make sure his expression is appropriately cheerful when he lifts up to face Riddle properly. Is there...something off, in Riddle's expression? Is he imagining it?
Played to my desires, he says. He's gotta mean...to be held in such high esteem, right? Cater starts twirling a finger through his hair.
"When you say it like that, I sound like, totes scary...! But, anyway, all that really matters is that you're back on your feet again, and nobody got hurt too badly."
1/2
A chance to try something so outlandish. Of course. Why would Riddle ever entertain the thought that any of that had been anything more than words to placate a monster?
His gaze goes distant for a moment, and then he gives a slight start, straightening up and trying to play it off.
"Ah, yes. Agreed." He flourishes with a hand. "It was no small achievement."
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"Eh? In my honor? Hey, Cay-Cay's totally up for a party and all, but..."
He doesn't want to be celebrated. Not for something like that, in particular.
"Maybe we could honor more than just a person. How about..."
Humming thoughtfully, Cater sits on the edge of his bed, folding one leg casually over the other.
"To the card soldiers?"
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After a moment, he gives a wry smile.
"Yes, of course... an answer befitting of one who once held the title of Housewarden."
...
"Perhaps... I never should have taken that title from you."
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He stands, approaching and putting his hands on Riddle's shoulders, squeezing firmly. There isn't a trace of humor in his expression.
"You don't mean that."
Riddle couldn't mean that. It wasn't him. It was the phantom--the blot inside of him--traces that still clung to his back and whispered terrible things into his ear. Cater recognized the sound...but Riddle was stronger than him. Riddle could cut the heads off of his demons. Cater wouldn't let him lay down and let himself be swallowed.
"You're twice the Housewarden I ever was--ever could have been. Your Overblot doesn't change that."
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And then his head falls, a soft, humorless "heh" escaping.
His voice is quiet and solemn.
"I doubt you ever tried to kill all the people you were tasked with leading and protecting."
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This is...it prickles under his skin in a way he doesn't understand. So what does he care if Riddle doubts himself? It's only fair to feel that way after what happened. He'll figure it out on his own, probably, and if not, he has Trey to pick him back up again. So, why? Why does he feel so...responsible?
"You screwed up, yeah. Really, royally made a huge mess of things. But you know what else you've done? The hardest part: admitting it."
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"But it was, Cater! Of course I was being influenced, but..."
He closes his eyes tightly.
"...but it was still my weaknesses. My insecurities that were simmering, waiting to be brought to the surface."
A shiver runs through his body.
"All the fury and upset and... ...pain..."
He opens his eyes again, glaring down at the ground, and he gives a small, wry laugh.
"I was as far from being right as anyone could get."
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And once again, Riddle's looking down. He thinks about the angry fire in his Overblotted eyes, and then the sorrowful pits they'd become. They were still so sad. Maybe they'd always been, and just like Cater, he'd learned to cover up that pain. Acting on instinct, feeling some kind of impulse to see those eyes again, Cater's hands move from Riddle's shoulders to cup his face, instead.
"Nobody can be right all the time--that's just being human. What makes a leader isn't the ability to avoid mistakes, but how to move past them and learn to do better in the future." His voice getting even softer, Cater adds, "having weaknesses doesn't make you weak. You're the strongest person I've ever met. I still believe that."
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Just like they were during his Overblot.
His breath shakes a bit at Cater's words. He blinks a couple of times, two tears sliding from his eyes.
"Cater..."
... if his voice sounds a bit like it did toward the end of their interaction the last time, surely it's all in Cater's head.