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Tribes folk don't get trials. It has always been like that. Tribes folk are also more harshly punished than the city folk. Any major infractions will get you sent down to the Pit. If you do too many minor ones and sometimes you'll get sent down there as well.
That's how Regto got here. Too many complaints about how he was stinking up the city. His clothes weren't clean enough, he was leaving messy footprints where he walked or he dirtied up a coin on the sidewalk. Guess there's a limit on hospitality.
Normally, Regto wouldn't mind. He's lived a good life, even if it wasn't full of abundance and riches and everyday was a struggle getting food on the table. Sure, getting sent down to the pits wasn't ideal, but he's not worried about the fall. But they had to involve Rudo.
Tribes folk don't get trials; and that includes the children. Regto has seen a two year old get sent to the pit, just for accidentally getting mud on an Apostle. The poor thing didn't know what was happening, and it was the only time Regto had seen the crowd silent instead of the uproar that it usually was. He hasn't seen a kid up there since.
Sometimes people are collateral when it comes to crimes. When they storm into your house to arrest you, they just take everyone inside. Doesn't matter if you are an accomplice or not. Doesn't matter if they even got the right house. Everyone knows that if your shack gets stormed by the Apostles then there's now a house free for the taking. Entire families have been dropped down together. Friend groups have been dropped down together. An unlucky person just passing by has sometimes been dropped down with a drug trafficker. They don't drop anyone under twelve anymore, but nobody knows where those kids end up. Regto wouldn't be surprised if they still got dropped, just with the mercy of not being alive when it happens.
Confessing doesn't even absolve other people. So most don't.
On very rare occasions can someone get out. It's not often, and it's something that Regto doesn't wish on anyone. Those people come back haunted. Although Regto wishes he can get Rudo out, he's not even going to think about doing that. Instead, he rests as close to the bars separating them as possible, holding Rudo's glove-covered hands.
Rudo is only fifteen. Sure he likes to act like he's big and grown and doesn't need Regto anymore, but what fifteen year old isn't the same way. He still needs someone in his ring, fighting for him. Someone willing to guide him, even if he's a little shit sometimes.
He's still a scared little boy. A scared little boy who Regto can't hold properly. The holding cells keep them separated from one another and Regto is lucky that they aren't electrified. Otherwise he couldn't offer comfort Rudo desperately needs.
Rudo did nothing. The Apostles don't care. They don't even care enough to make sure that there wasn't anything Regto and Rudo were carrying that could break the bars. Why would they? Their entire house is going to get gutted and thrown down into the pit right after them. Regto's entire collection of books, the toys he gave his son growing up, all the little knickknacks and trinkets he taught Rudo how to fix.
Regto still has his most important treasures. Rudo and his book. Those are the most important things he has.
Rudo sniffles. Regto weaves a hand through the grey hair and lightly presses it against his shoulder the best he can with the bars in the way. “It's okay,” Regto lies, soothing.
They are waiting for dawn when the Head Apostle, the one who reads them their ‘rights’, wakes up to drop them. The Apostles stormed their shock in the middle of the night, surprising them out of sleep. They do that sometimes. Filth to drop into the pit to start the day off right. A cleanse for a good day.
“You did nothing wrong,” Regto whispers into Rudo's hair, “it's okay. We're going to be okay.” It breaks his heart to lie to Rudo. He feels like his chest is getting stabbed straight through, twisting into his lungs until he struggles to breathe. Rudo knows he's lying, but with the way the boy is trying to meld himself with Regto, he seeks comfort anyways. Once again, he curses the bars separating them.
“I didn't do it,” Rudo whispers, as if trying to convince himself that his actions didn't put them in here. Even if he tries to hide it, Regto knows all about Rudo's trash runs. Going to the inner sanctum to pilfer items that are basically new but have maybe lost a screw or two. Stuff easily fixed, easy to sell off as slightly used and not fixed. Rudo definitely thinks that his luck on his trash runs have run out.
“You didn't,” Regto agrees, “Listen, you didn't do this. I did.”
Rudo tilts his face up to look at Regto, “What?”
He repeats himself, “I did this Rudo. I'm so sorry. I went to the bookstore too many times and I guess people complained too much. I'm so sorry. Both your dads turned out to be shitbags.”
There's only one bookstore on this entire floating island and it's in the Inner city. Him and his damn love of books.
“No!” Rudo pulls away. As much as Regto wants to keep him close, wants to cover his son to protect him, he lets him go. Rudo is looking up at Regto, anger sparkling in his eyes like an inferno, “No that's bullshit! You didn't do it! You don't know that!”
Rudo isn't making much sense, his anger clouding his words. Regto doesn't know how he's trying to convince himself, but he doesn't think Rudo knows either.
That's the thing with teenagers. They still got all the heighten emotions of a toddler with the mood swings of a woman going through menopause. The emotional regulation that Regto has been teaching him sometimes takes a back seat when Rudo is angry. Rudo doesn't tend to think about consequences when he's angry, but he'll feel guilty when he comes down from the high. Regto just has to delicately bring him back down. One wrong movement will set him off again.
“No, listen. Listen Rudo,” Regto grasps Rudo's hands squeezing them tightly through the thick gloves. He can't help but notice that Rudo still has plenty of room to grow into them. Rudo's eyes have met Regto's. Regto moves to kneel in front of his son, mirroring him. “Rudo, it's my fault. Not yours.”
“But you didn't do anything!” Rudo cries. Tears are forming at the corner of his eyes, making him appear younger than he acutally is. “I'm the one messing up. I'm the one-”
“Rudo,” Regto interrupts. It's not something he likes to do, but he needs to keep Rudo from spiraling. “Rudo, my boy. Don't take the blame for me, you selfless asshole.” Insulting Rudo seems to have snapped him out of it. He's insulted him in jest, calling him a brat and other words meant as insults to turn them into words of endearment. But he's never sworn at him and meant it. “I know what I did. Let me shoulder it.”
Rudo definitely looks like he's about to cry. It breaks Regto's heart. But he doesn't try to talk again.
“I went into the inner city,” Regto says, as he moves his hands up Rudo's arms to his shoulders. Rudo doesn't try to fight his body when Regto pulls him close again. “They complained about me too many times. I should've worn cleaner clothes. Taken a bath more often. But I love my books, damn the consequences.” Regto really looked at Rudo, tears now freely streaming down his cheeks.
“My only regret is that you were home when they took me.”
“No!” Rudo denies, “No, no, no. Regto.” Regto stays silent as Rudo burries his head in Regto's shoulder. His chest is heaving with sobs, although he is scarily silent. Regto doesn't regret what he said, and is a little glad that Rudo reacts with sadness instead of anger this time. He lets him ruminate on his emotions, rocking the child back and forth as best as he can.
“Don't leave me too.”
Regto finally tears up. This is what finally makes him cry. Not the feeling of impending doom, the fact he's dragged his son along to also be punished for his crimes. No, it's the fact the Rudo doesn't want to be abandoned again. Regto presses his face into his son's head. His hair smells of sweat and dirt and gross teenage body odour, but to Regto its the sweetest smell in the entire world.
He will memorize it. When he gets thrown out with the trash, this is the smell that will over power the rotten stench of decomposing food. He will cherish this smell forever, even in death.
“I won't.” Regto croaks out, his voice sounding like a old stereo. “I promise, I won't leave you. Okay? I won't.”
There's no manual on this. When he first brought Rudo into his house, he read so many parenting books. Majority of them were how to deal with babies, but Rudo was a toddler already started on solids. Regto felt so out of his depth back then, made so many mistakes. But he thought he figured things out now.
How do you comfort your kid, knowing that you are going to die and leave him alone. How do you comfort your kid, knowing that he's about to die?
There's not much speaking happening between the two of them now, as the first light of the sun starts to cast beams into the holding cells. The sands on their hour glass are fast approaching the end.
“Hey Rudo,” Regto finally says, hearing the sound of boots in the distance.
“Yeah?” His voice is soft, scared.
“I'll catch you.” Regto rubs his hand along Rudo's shoulder, pressing him into his side, “I'll go first. So I'll catch you so you don't hit the bottom.”
Rudo is silent for a second, “Promise?”
The door to the area opens. The Apostles are about to start barking orders at them. Put chains on their wrists, before carting them away to haul them above the pit. Look down at them past their noses, sneering at the hand-me downs they wear.
They will laugh, jeer as they form a protective ring around the platform. They won't be facing Regto and Rudo, but the crowd. To make sure that no one comes to save them from their unjust fate.
They will be harsh on Rudo, as the boy fights the Apostles when they put on his shackles. He'll swing in the wind from the force of his struggles. Regto will get slammed in the side of his head, as he tries to get to his son when they knock Rudo out. His skinny form slumping in the cold hands of the guards. Rudo will only wake up again when he's already in the air. Regto's head aches, blood streaming over his face.
Regto looks over the crowd, his face hazy. The crowd is cheering. They seem happy that a murder’s son is going to finally be off their hands. And someone even worst; the guy that took him in.
Regto isn't one for revenge, but with all his weight in his shoulders he will vow one thing. The book in his inner pocket is heavy with anticipation.
“I promise.”
He's going to make that gleaming white city drown in filth.