>be the iron-blooded revolutionary
TW: Self-hatred,Vague Descriptions of Gore,General Bad Times
You have failed at every point in your life, completely flunked every attempt to live up to your own tenure except for maybe a few lucky times. You have failed to be smart about what you say-You let your preaching get so out of hand it caught the attention of the high-bloods. You have failed to pick out good people to befriend-Befriending the Neophyte Legislator gave her a perfect way to track you. You have failed to be a good son-You disobeyed your mother's orders to keep your head low and stay safe time and time again. You have failed to be a good leader-Your followers are dying. You have failed to be a good friend-Your *friends* are dying because you decided to listen to some crazy visions that would've made you cullbait even if your filthy blood didn't already. And perhaps most obviously you've failed to be a good person. Blaming your stupid actions on the fact that you followed a daydream rather than the fact that you're selfish and utterly stupid. No-one held you at gunpoint saying."Follow your inane visions or else!" You did that and let thousands straight to their deaths.
>Look into the crowd
There are some faces you recognize by bond, your moirail, Mituna, your love, Bastet, your mother. And some whose reputations proceed themselves. Neophyte Legislator Eadala (Traitor!), GHB himself-Man you really pissed him off. Damn-even THE Mindfang showed up along with the Orphaner and the Condensce herself. All those singers and actors can eat their blood-pushers out, you've reached true celebrity status! All these important highbloods came out to watch little old you croak. You'd almost blush if it weren't from the bloodloss. Speaking of blood loss, you're currently suffering the double whammy of fashionably painful red-hot irons and a fancy accessory of an indigo arrow to the chest. Jegus fuck, you'd scream if you weren't so tired.
>>Hours pass
The irons have cooled a bit. You can tell because you're able to slump just a bit despite your legs starting to give out without much further damage to your wrists. The crowd has dispersed a bit, probably bored at how slow your death's been so far. Eh, you won't give them the satisfaction of making it more interesting.
>>More hours pass
The arrow in your chest didn't hit anything vital, but the fact that it's stuck in your chest is still a giant pain in the ass.
>The night ends, the sun will be up soon
The crowd is gone. Your friend, your lover, your mother. Dragged away by their captors to who knows where. The one indigoblood, the one who had enough mercy to spare Baset, and also the one who's name you can't remember, so you'll call him Darkleer for now-Grabs your chains and unlocks them, letting you fall to the ground. As much as you'd love to give him another kick to the knee, you both know you can't fight-Too small, too weak, too untrained, too tired to do anything but slump to the ground and try to steady your blood-pusher's beat to keep yourself alive. Then he just picks you up over his shoulders and starts walking. Your vision blurs at the edges, not gifting you with the lecherous grafting of knowledge your second sight has given you, just going dark as you listen to the sounds of footsteps. Soft, heavy sounds this time, not like the nigh-constant sharp screams of the sweeps past.