Karkat Vantas ♋ carcinoGeneticist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crabmunicator) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-04 09:33 am
crabmunicator) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-04 09:33 am
(OPEN)
Who| Karkat and whoever runs into him
What| Dealing with aftermath of the arena and adjusting back to Capitol life.
Where| Out in the Capitol, on the training floor, in district 6, or bugging specific people.
When| During the first week post-arena.
Warnings/Notes| Possible description of gore and death, but not likely to come up in most threads. Otherwise just Karkat's foul mouth.
A. The Capitol
The thing about fighting in a real arena is that now Karkat has fans. Sure, some people still held their interest after whatever antics his past self had gotten up to, but it's now that he's had a real turn of his own - not the short, lackluster experience of the mini-arena - that he's proved his own worth an object of entertainment. And he hates it. After enough of getting stopped in the street or gossiped over by chatty Capitolites, Karkat has decided enough is enough and fetched himself a hooded coat. It's one of the rare few times in his life he's ever been glad to have small horns; he can yank the hood up over them no problem, hiding the flash of orange that's drawn too many eyes.
The trouble is, small horns doesn't mean no horns, and trudging around with two lumps poking his hood tends to draw attention regardless. Besides, he can't exactly hide his grey skin. But still he tries, skulking around to cafes or a particular bakery he's grown fond of, or just along the streets for fresh air and the chance to stretch his admittedly short legs. It's better to be out and about than cooped up inside, and one might find him wandering night or day now that the curfew's been lifted.
B. The Training Center
When he is in the tower, however, Karkat often finds himself down in the actual training center the place gets its name from. Much of his time in the arena was spent making the best of the pocket knife he got from the arena, and while his skills were inept and amateurish, he adapted well enough that he figures it best not to lose what little he learned. For all he knows, he might end up stuck with only a knife to his name in the future.
To that end, he takes a blade and goes at the training dumbies, testing moves and trying to remember the flow of fights he had before. It's weird when the target isn't moving (or trying to kill him), but it's the best he has available.
Other times, not wanting to lose his old skills either, he trades the knife out for the more familiar shape of a sickle. With this he is methodical and practiced, tracing over old moves - none professional or trained, but speaking of experience nonetheless.
C. District Six
But when the Capitol at large or training calls him, Karkat eventually wends his way back to his district. With the curfew gone sometime between entering and exiting the arena, the place feels less stifling to stay in. There's a TV and games, and much as he did on the nights stuck here, he pulls up something inane to take out frustrations and take up his time. RPG, FPS, fighting game, whatever--so long as a target is offered for him to mash the right buttons at, he's content to give it a shot.
D. Around the Tower/Wherever (closed to certain CR)
Lastly, Karkat has loose ends to tie up: people to check up on, friends to talk to, or even a stranger to learn more about. If he knew what floor he could find them on, he might go and knock at a door with an "Are you there?" called through. Other times, he'd be just as apt to stop someone in a hall or on the street if he ran into them. Regardless, he's intent on talking to them sooner or later.
(OOC: Karkat would want to talk to Nill, Terezi, Dave, the Initiate, the Signless, and Shepard post arena. Feel free to have him run into your character wherever, or feel free to contact me if you want to arrange something specific.)
What| Dealing with aftermath of the arena and adjusting back to Capitol life.
Where| Out in the Capitol, on the training floor, in district 6, or bugging specific people.
When| During the first week post-arena.
Warnings/Notes| Possible description of gore and death, but not likely to come up in most threads. Otherwise just Karkat's foul mouth.
A. The Capitol
The thing about fighting in a real arena is that now Karkat has fans. Sure, some people still held their interest after whatever antics his past self had gotten up to, but it's now that he's had a real turn of his own - not the short, lackluster experience of the mini-arena - that he's proved his own worth an object of entertainment. And he hates it. After enough of getting stopped in the street or gossiped over by chatty Capitolites, Karkat has decided enough is enough and fetched himself a hooded coat. It's one of the rare few times in his life he's ever been glad to have small horns; he can yank the hood up over them no problem, hiding the flash of orange that's drawn too many eyes.
The trouble is, small horns doesn't mean no horns, and trudging around with two lumps poking his hood tends to draw attention regardless. Besides, he can't exactly hide his grey skin. But still he tries, skulking around to cafes or a particular bakery he's grown fond of, or just along the streets for fresh air and the chance to stretch his admittedly short legs. It's better to be out and about than cooped up inside, and one might find him wandering night or day now that the curfew's been lifted.
B. The Training Center
When he is in the tower, however, Karkat often finds himself down in the actual training center the place gets its name from. Much of his time in the arena was spent making the best of the pocket knife he got from the arena, and while his skills were inept and amateurish, he adapted well enough that he figures it best not to lose what little he learned. For all he knows, he might end up stuck with only a knife to his name in the future.
To that end, he takes a blade and goes at the training dumbies, testing moves and trying to remember the flow of fights he had before. It's weird when the target isn't moving (or trying to kill him), but it's the best he has available.
Other times, not wanting to lose his old skills either, he trades the knife out for the more familiar shape of a sickle. With this he is methodical and practiced, tracing over old moves - none professional or trained, but speaking of experience nonetheless.
C. District Six
But when the Capitol at large or training calls him, Karkat eventually wends his way back to his district. With the curfew gone sometime between entering and exiting the arena, the place feels less stifling to stay in. There's a TV and games, and much as he did on the nights stuck here, he pulls up something inane to take out frustrations and take up his time. RPG, FPS, fighting game, whatever--so long as a target is offered for him to mash the right buttons at, he's content to give it a shot.
D. Around the Tower/Wherever (closed to certain CR)
Lastly, Karkat has loose ends to tie up: people to check up on, friends to talk to, or even a stranger to learn more about. If he knew what floor he could find them on, he might go and knock at a door with an "Are you there?" called through. Other times, he'd be just as apt to stop someone in a hall or on the street if he ran into them. Regardless, he's intent on talking to them sooner or later.
(OOC: Karkat would want to talk to Nill, Terezi, Dave, the Initiate, the Signless, and Shepard post arena. Feel free to have him run into your character wherever, or feel free to contact me if you want to arrange something specific.)
d
But with that was the end of the Arena, with the Signless being named Victor. There was some time between Karkat being revived and the ending - she didn't know how much, really, had no idea how much time passed between her own death and revival - and it was enough time for the exhaustion to really set in. Probably somewhat comically, Karkat actually showed up when she was asleep.
While usually quick to wake, she registers the fact that there's noise and a voice more than she does the actual words, and Nill stumbles out of her bed a little clumsily, going to pull the door open before she really thinks about it.
She looks sleepy and a little fuzzy for all of two seconds before it registers that the person in front of her is Karkat, and like that she's a awake properly. Her wings flutter, and after a moment of being at a loss she makes a gesture for him to wait a second before reaching to grab a notepad nearby. Cue the usual writing, her expression already gently worried.
are you ok?
no subject
But after her, he didn't interact with other tributes much. After her, Terezi, and Shepard, he didn't want to risk anyone else dying around him, even if there was nothing about him making it happen. It was bad luck as best, but even that felt too much to drag other people into. It hurt too much to even think of someone dying on his account. So he stuck to himself, and hid from monsters, and fought when he couldn't hide, until the life was crushed out of him.
Since then, it's taken him a little to figure out how to approach everything. Being alive again and uninjured is a lot better than the alternative, but there's something inescapably bizarre about all that damage just vanishing. He's been able to eat and bathe regularly, though sleep is still set aside as something he just doesn't do. Too many daymares, and no way to stave them off.
But Nill--Nill is important, and like many people, he knows he needs to talk to her. He's hauled himself up to district 9's floor, and it's as he's wondering uncomfortably if he's timed his visit wrong, she opens the door to reveal herself sleepy and disheveled. Karkat gawks, really, even as she wakes up suddenly to see who it is. Of course he lets her fetch her notepad; he's too caught in seeing her to even think of interrupting.
The question isn't what he expected, but that doesn't mean it isn't apt.
The last he saw of her was her corpse, the body he'd killed, her bloody and blurred through his tears. He remembers how a simple stab in the side from a beast's tail was too much for her, and how drastically unfair it all was that she had to be that fragile, that he had to be the one to finish her off, that they'd had no better answer. But as responsible as he might have felt for Shepard and Terezi, neither of them died by the pointed intent there had been with her. He had to kill her, and he'd never once killed anyone for anything. It doesn't matter that he'd wanted to be a threshecutioner when he was a kid, or what he might do if it was to protect someone; it was still something life never forced him into, a responsibility he never had to shoulder, and the weight hits him all over again.
"... No," he admits with sudden certainty. He can feel his eyes stinging, and god damnit he is not going to cry again, not when she's here alive and well again, and he has to blink hard to keep the tears back. "No, I'm not."
no subject
She'd tried for a long time in the Arena to overcome the wound, but even with her best attempts at keeping the bleeding at bay the blood was nearly dark enough to be black, and every moment brought more pain with it, until it was no longer something she could hide, and then. And then.
The twisted thing of it all was that it had probably been the most pleasant death she's had so far.
But Karkat's not okay, and Nill never expected him to be. Her expression goes soft and worried, and she steps aside, holding the door open with one hand while she extends the other towards him, easy to take if he wants it.
Come inside, Karkat. They don't need to have this conversation in the hallway. It might not keep them from the eyes of the Capitol, but at least he could have relative privacy.
no subject
"Fuck. This is stupid," he mutters, giving up on rubbing to instead cup his hand over his eyes. "I'm not even the one who died."
Not until the end, that is, and the way it happened carried no such emotional weight.
no subject
Her expression goes a little somber, worried and sad, and after she gives his hand a squeeze she lifts the other to touch her fingertips to his shoulder, and then if it doesn't seem like he's reacting poorly to touch, she pulls them away to touch his cheek the same way.
It's not stupid. She could never kill someone that she cared about, not really - she had tried, once, and failed miserably. It was before she had ever killed anyone, but even now that wouldn't have changed. It was all the worse because Karkat had never killed anyone, and didn't really have the desire to either. The only blood he had on his hands were of someone he cared about.
If she can get him to look at her then her expression will try to convey that it's not stupid, he's not being dumb, this is okay, she understands. But if not then she'll just try to stay close and offer him what she can.
no subject
(As much as ever, it boils down to self blame. He didn't do enough: he didn't notice until it was too late, he didn't help her better, he didn't fight hard enough, he didn't pay enough attention.)
He lets her touch his shoulder without a thought. It's when that hand rises to his cheek, however, that his attention jerks back up. It's singular and static, not a repeated patting, but the combination of it and her expression strikes him even so. It's visible in his eyes as his hand drops from them, and his cheek heats against her touch.
"What?"
He asks it on reflex, because her face isn't that hard to understand. Calm and comfort: that's what it's trying to express. But he's too surprised not to ask something, even if he doesn't know what he should be saying.
no subject
The fact that he's blushing makes it even more confusing, and after a second of being unable to figure out what she did she pulls her hand away and holds it up, tilting her head a little, still confused and a little on the questioning side, making up for lack of her telepathy and not using paper. Should she not have...?
The only thing that comes to mind that she might have done wrong is the fact that sometimes people kiss when they touch someone's cheek, but that's only in movies, and it's so far from her intent that she really hopes he didn't take it that way.
no subject
He feels stupid for it, because of course she'd be confused, and it's his own fault for reading something into an action she likely knows no better about. It doesn't do a thing for his blush, though; if anything, it deepens as he sinks his face into his own palm.
"It's nothing," he says. "Just troll stuff. Ignore it."
He immediately hates his past self of half a minute ago. What the hell is he doing, going and making things awkward at a time like this?
no subject
Not until he says "troll stuff", anyway, and then she starts thinking about exactly what troll stuff he's told her so far, in the hopes that it might help clear the situation up a bit, and it kind of does.
She remembers the bit about patting someone's face, and it being a thing that Moirails did for each other. She also remembers that Moirails were more than just best friends. That it was platonic but no less romantic in nature.
That's about where she gets before her cheeks go pink. Thankfully the realization is more startling than it is embarrassing, but it's still not what she was expecting, and her wings flutter, unsure of how to proceed. What does she say to that? In the end, unsure of what else to do, Nill just shakes her head, and waves her hand a little. No, that. Is definitely not what she was going for with that.
no subject
He lets his hand drop, then swallows to clear his mind.
"Maybe we should sit and talk," he suggests, "about the other stuff. What happened." Just talking isn't such a problem, and he figures maybe they need it. One mistake of intention can't derail that.
no subject
Now that she tries to think of something to say, she doesn't really know where to begin. It takes a moment of fiddling with her pencil before she writes anything, and even then, what little she comes up with doesn't seem like it's even close to being enough.
I'm sorry you had to do that.
no subject
He gives her as long as she needs to find words, but answers immediately once she's written something.
He shakes his head. "It's not your fault." His elbows sit on his legs with his hands folded before him, and his gaze sits on his lap. "I didn't realize your wound was that bad... And--and you didn't deserve to suffer."
no subject
I didn't tell you.
The problem was that as soon as she got the injury she knew it was going to kill her. She didn't think it would happen that fast, or how it did - she expected eventual infection due to the frankly filthy station they were trapped in, or that it would slow her down enough that something else would finish her off. She never expected it to hurt to a point where, despite the fact that she tried to tell him not to, she was glad to some extent when she died and the pain finally ceased. At the time it felt like it hurt more every time she so much as breathed. She still knew it would be the death of her eventually.
thank you.
For staying with her, worrying for her, helping her, eventually ending her pain. He did so much in that Arena for her, and she can never repay him for all of that.
no subject
His eyes water again for her thanks, and he rubs the moisture away with a knuckle.
"I don't think I did anything to be thanked for."
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It didn't really matter that she asked him repeatedly to leave, and that she only let him stay once he started begging. It didn't matter that him leaving would have been the better option, and that she never wanted him to have to see her die, let alone to be the one to take care of it so she wouldn't suffer. She's so grateful he didn't go.
no subject
This time he holds her gaze. It's hard for him, because as much as he blames the deaths of others on himself, it's one thing to look at the circumstances from a certain perspective and another to do the killing himself. Even if it helped her, even if (because) it was his idea, it's hard.
More softly he adds, "I wish I could have helped it some other way."
no subject
He did in a way, but the other choice would have resulted in significantly more suffering for both of them. Trying to make sure she didn't spend the rest of her time curled up in a ball of pain, which is what she was headed to, was just a slightly kinder course of action than the alternative.
there was nothing we could do.
no subject
He feels stupid again, too. He doesn't know why she's so at ease about it, but why is he whining when he's not the one who had to die like that? With a shake of his head he tries (without much success) to clear his head.
"How are you now?" he asks. "Does anything hurt?"
He would hope not and imagine not, given how everything he suffered has healed up like it was never there, but he wants to ask her just the same.
no subject
they don't leave marks.
Nill's never been all that sure how she felt about that, either, but if she had kept all the scars from the things that had killed her before she'd probably be pretty deformed at this point. Hell, she'd be missing an eye and several limbs. She should be a lot more grateful than she is that they just patch them back up.
are you still hurt at all?
no subject
"No, everything's normal. I don't even have scars." No new ones, anyway. "It was disorienting. It happened after the mini-arena too, but it feels weirder after how long this one was."
He doesn't think he'd be glad to have scars left over from everything, though. It's hard to imagine what he'd even look like given how he died both times. And her... It's probably for the best there's no reminder of how he killed her.