The Ψiioniic / The Helmsman (
biiowiired) wrote in
thecapitol2015-01-05 10:36 pm
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Entry tags:
There are materials enough in every mind....
Who| The Ψiioniic
biiowiired & YOU
What| Psii can't sleep and tries to fill in time he would normally spend coding. See Psii doing more than one activity if you wish. Also there are tribbles.
Where| Anywhere in the Tribute Tower. Pick a specific location if you wish.
When| jan 03 and after. Pick a date and put it your subject header.
Warnings/Notes| language (always with Psii), hypomania, talk of death, attempted animal harm (thanks Jason), mention of buckets in relation to troll reproduction (it's canon i swear)
Whether Psii wanted to admit it or not, he only holed himself up half the time. The other half, he needed conversation, some sort of social contact. Psii was a troll of opposites and extremes, avoiding people only to pester them two hours later. After resting from the mental trials of dying for the first time, he finally left the stifling confines of his respiteblock, thoughts racing.
He couldn't sleep, weighed down by the experience of dying only to come back still a slave in Panem. He couldn't code, the Peacekeepers being on the lookout for hackers. He couldn't speak his mind, when even his outspoken preacher friend told him to lay low. So Psii careened down a sleepless path of quietly frenetic activity with whatever else he could get his hands on. At all hours of the day and night he could often be seen doing two things at once to stave off perceived boredom, heavily shadowed mismatched eyes flicking back and forth with equal attention. His lip curled around his fangs in deep thought.
He was a rodent spinning its wheel and going nowhere fast.
Reading; anywhere
He would sit in the common area, the bar, the rooftop garden, surrounded by piles of books from the library. He was rapidly familiarizing himself with the flora and fauna of this planet. Know thy enemy and all that. He'd also checked out e-books and videos, though he opted to insert them in his communicator rather than hog the television in the common area. It chattered information away, mostly general overviews of past arenas.
Psii was mostly interested in what environments and hazards the Gamemakers preferred, rather than individual track records. Suspicious of everyone though he may be, he wasn't ready to turn on his fellow Tributes unless they attacked him outright. He'd seen infighting among slaves in squalid conditions, but it was more useful to work together, at least temporarily. Anyone with half a brain could see that, even without being a fucking genius like him.
He'd hear footsteps nearby and stop drumming fingers on a book to point to some video or other, his words lisping out rapid-fire, "Look, they had an arena in a retail complexth, what the fuck...."
Drawing; anywhere inside
He procured some paper and began to frenetically scribble equations and fractals in red and blue pen. He had enough math and physics to occupy himself without showing too much intelligence. Flight patterns and gravitational calculations were ok, but programming languages were not. He wasn't going to be arrested and executed like that hacker Brainiac. He spent too much time laying low under the Alternian Empire to be caught by mere humans. His hands would tremble slightly, mirroring his head filled with thoughts shouting over each other even without prophetic voices muscling their way in.
Soon he had a growing pile of intricate but ultimately useless chicken scratches strewn about him. He could come up with new codes in his head, but no way was he putting down on paper what could get him caught.
Knitting/weaving; anywhere
His interest in fractals and geometry lead him to knitting, weaving, anything he could teach himself with minimal tools. This also kept his hands steady whenever they would be hit with shaking from his racing thoughts. He perched his communicator on a table to display some tutorials and got busy creating anything but clothes. His interest lay in repeating loops of shapes, not wearable couture. Fashion was Dolorosa's deal, not his.
A simple but oddly soothing esoteric yarn atrocity grew from clever scarred fingers to cascade over his knobby knees to the floor. He could see himself making a hobby out of this, if only it wasn't so useless to him. Perhaps he could find some way to work a code in it, but he hesitated to risk that.
Tribbles; anywhere inside at night
Psii was on his way towards the living blocks. Everyone else was asleep, but he was still on a nocturnal clock, awake as a live wire. It was quiet enough that any untoward noise would be noticed, even by someone who wasn't as paranoid as Psii. A soft coo ululated from the wall.
"Mother Grub'th thecond thphincter, what ith it now...." he groan-whispered to himself.
He stepped lightly to the room on the other side of the wall. Something sat in a corner nearly out of sight next to some crumbs. Certainly no one without nightvision would have noticed, but for the cooing. The furry ball didn't run when he appeared or when he took a step closer. He blinked, then looked around trying to find someone to quickly wave over so they could explain this mystery to him.
Gaming; District 9
Psii missed his husktop with the besotted ache of a stranded lover. His codes, his games, his porn was on there. Though he was hesitant out of pure spite to do what the Capitol provided for him, the siren's call of technology pulled him to the gaming consoles in his district's common area. The heart-racing virtual combat and hidden strategy of a first-person shooter should occupy his over-active mind. He fired up the highest-rated game he saw and wrapped long grey fingers around a controller, adjusting to a shape that was similar-but-not-really to ones he'd used at home.
"....Wow thith shit'th primitive. What kind of two-bit engine are they uthing for thethe graphicth?"
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What| Psii can't sleep and tries to fill in time he would normally spend coding. See Psii doing more than one activity if you wish. Also there are tribbles.
Where| Anywhere in the Tribute Tower. Pick a specific location if you wish.
When| jan 03 and after. Pick a date and put it your subject header.
Warnings/Notes| language (always with Psii), hypomania, talk of death, attempted animal harm (thanks Jason), mention of buckets in relation to troll reproduction (it's canon i swear)
Whether Psii wanted to admit it or not, he only holed himself up half the time. The other half, he needed conversation, some sort of social contact. Psii was a troll of opposites and extremes, avoiding people only to pester them two hours later. After resting from the mental trials of dying for the first time, he finally left the stifling confines of his respiteblock, thoughts racing.
He couldn't sleep, weighed down by the experience of dying only to come back still a slave in Panem. He couldn't code, the Peacekeepers being on the lookout for hackers. He couldn't speak his mind, when even his outspoken preacher friend told him to lay low. So Psii careened down a sleepless path of quietly frenetic activity with whatever else he could get his hands on. At all hours of the day and night he could often be seen doing two things at once to stave off perceived boredom, heavily shadowed mismatched eyes flicking back and forth with equal attention. His lip curled around his fangs in deep thought.
He was a rodent spinning its wheel and going nowhere fast.
Reading; anywhere
He would sit in the common area, the bar, the rooftop garden, surrounded by piles of books from the library. He was rapidly familiarizing himself with the flora and fauna of this planet. Know thy enemy and all that. He'd also checked out e-books and videos, though he opted to insert them in his communicator rather than hog the television in the common area. It chattered information away, mostly general overviews of past arenas.
Psii was mostly interested in what environments and hazards the Gamemakers preferred, rather than individual track records. Suspicious of everyone though he may be, he wasn't ready to turn on his fellow Tributes unless they attacked him outright. He'd seen infighting among slaves in squalid conditions, but it was more useful to work together, at least temporarily. Anyone with half a brain could see that, even without being a fucking genius like him.
He'd hear footsteps nearby and stop drumming fingers on a book to point to some video or other, his words lisping out rapid-fire, "Look, they had an arena in a retail complexth, what the fuck...."
Drawing; anywhere inside
He procured some paper and began to frenetically scribble equations and fractals in red and blue pen. He had enough math and physics to occupy himself without showing too much intelligence. Flight patterns and gravitational calculations were ok, but programming languages were not. He wasn't going to be arrested and executed like that hacker Brainiac. He spent too much time laying low under the Alternian Empire to be caught by mere humans. His hands would tremble slightly, mirroring his head filled with thoughts shouting over each other even without prophetic voices muscling their way in.
Soon he had a growing pile of intricate but ultimately useless chicken scratches strewn about him. He could come up with new codes in his head, but no way was he putting down on paper what could get him caught.
Knitting/weaving; anywhere
His interest in fractals and geometry lead him to knitting, weaving, anything he could teach himself with minimal tools. This also kept his hands steady whenever they would be hit with shaking from his racing thoughts. He perched his communicator on a table to display some tutorials and got busy creating anything but clothes. His interest lay in repeating loops of shapes, not wearable couture. Fashion was Dolorosa's deal, not his.
A simple but oddly soothing esoteric yarn atrocity grew from clever scarred fingers to cascade over his knobby knees to the floor. He could see himself making a hobby out of this, if only it wasn't so useless to him. Perhaps he could find some way to work a code in it, but he hesitated to risk that.
Tribbles; anywhere inside at night
Psii was on his way towards the living blocks. Everyone else was asleep, but he was still on a nocturnal clock, awake as a live wire. It was quiet enough that any untoward noise would be noticed, even by someone who wasn't as paranoid as Psii. A soft coo ululated from the wall.
"Mother Grub'th thecond thphincter, what ith it now...." he groan-whispered to himself.
He stepped lightly to the room on the other side of the wall. Something sat in a corner nearly out of sight next to some crumbs. Certainly no one without nightvision would have noticed, but for the cooing. The furry ball didn't run when he appeared or when he took a step closer. He blinked, then looked around trying to find someone to quickly wave over so they could explain this mystery to him.
Gaming; District 9
Psii missed his husktop with the besotted ache of a stranded lover. His codes, his games, his porn was on there. Though he was hesitant out of pure spite to do what the Capitol provided for him, the siren's call of technology pulled him to the gaming consoles in his district's common area. The heart-racing virtual combat and hidden strategy of a first-person shooter should occupy his over-active mind. He fired up the highest-rated game he saw and wrapped long grey fingers around a controller, adjusting to a shape that was similar-but-not-really to ones he'd used at home.
"....Wow thith shit'th primitive. What kind of two-bit engine are they uthing for thethe graphicth?"
reading, rooftop garden, jan 4th
Dawn and dusk are strange times for Roland, the look of the sky just then having strange associations. When he looks out a window at the wrong time, wakes to find himself drawn to the roof only to see the sky looking exactly the same as it had in that dream...
Well, he can be forgiven for being a little distracted, can't he? His mind wouldn't have wandered so far that he wouldn't have noticed if something truly important had happened. The look of that sky isn't enough to overcome all his old reflexes, surely. So that must be alright.
"What?" He blinks, focuses, realizes there's a person right there with noise coming out of the machine on their wrist, and determinedly ignores his unease that both those things had gone so unnoticed. He goes back over what'd been said, frowning. "I don't know what that is, but it can't be so strange. They've set arenas in all sorts of places."
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He almost didn't see the sun coming up, until his old instincts mistakenly yelled at him to pay attention. But he knew the sun wouldn't burn him here, and ignored the niggling feeling that persisted anyway. Then footsteps approached, and a familiar voice spoke. Psii shaded his eyes against sun rays feebler than he expected and looked up at Roland. His brows raised mildly.
"....You're the athhole from the training block. Hi." He allowed himself a small smirk. "Are you going to throw sharpened culling implementth at me again, or regale me with exthaggerated thtorieth about all the arenath you've been in?"
Just because he was Signless's matesprit didn't mean Psii had to be sugar sweet.
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"Those say it all, don't they?" His hand gives a quick, jerking wave toward those books he'd glimpsed. "If you'd have your fill of exaggerated horseshit you need look no further. Though there are better places to sit while you dig it out." He pulls his gaze back just enough to raise his eyebrows at the troll, pointedly. There are times Roland couldn't give less of a shit that someone's trying to piss him off. There are even times when it amuses him. This, right now, is neither.
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He set the two books down on top of the others and leaned back on his hands, also raising his eyebrows.
"I got here firtht. Admire the view on the other thide of the roof if it botherth you tho much." He shrugged. Roland wasn't Psii's friend, so he was spared Psii's more incessant pestering. So far, most of his questions about arenas had been pelted at Signless.
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i think we could end it hereish?
yeah I think so. thanks, I've enjoyed it <3
Tribble hunting in the Common area?
"Huh?"
After meeting Karkat, trolls were still a learning experience for Phil, so he was wary to approach Psii with his usual self.
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What an intelligent response, clearly worthy of his attention. He sighed and rolled his eyes (hard to tell, but for the cant of his head). Humans and their love of the sun. Why couldn't they sleep at normal hours instead of milling about like creepy shadow droppers?
"Yeah, my wordth exthactly. Look at that. Free coo machine, or venomouth hairball?"
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Alcohol was an amazing sleep aid if caffeine wasn't involved in any way. He signaled Psii to edge through the wall, while he discarded his drink to capture the creature.
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Psii remained where he was, convinced this human had no sense. He was only half convinced this thing was harmless. He'd not let someone rush to their death if he could prevent it. He was in the habit of protecting people, douchebags and idiots included. The Tribble continued to trill contentedly.
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Tribbles
At least it doesn't seem like Psii's creating any masterpieces, and Jason can comfort himself a little bit with that. He's mostly ignoring the guy as he passes through the Tribute Center lobby to start work before the sun rises, but then the troll has to go and make sounds and Jason overhears whether he likes it or not.
"Oh, is it another one of those? Tell the Avoxes to write up a report and they'll get an exterminator in here." He walks over and reaches a foot out to squash the Tribble like a bug under his heel.
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"Hang on jutht a minute, chucklefuck," Psii drawled. "After a long night of bathing in arena blood and/or being trollhandled by fanth wearing too much makeup, maybe a thoothing coo machine ith jutht what we need. What ith it? Do they eat fingerth? Thpread ditheathe? God, it'th not even moving, how pathetic...."
Maybe if it was fanged or venomous Psii would agree they needed to be exterminated—and eaten. Trolls were mostly predators, preferring a diet high in protein. What was more, Psii grew up surviving his caste's slavery by the skin of his teeth. He wasn't picky. But a creature with no discernible defenses was too pitiful. Maybe Psii wanted to see what it would do. Maybe he wanted a coo machine to distract him from his worries. Maybe, despite his species' ruthlessness, he felt bad for it.
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"Don't touch me." Were this his own Tribute, Jason would have backhanded Psiioniic already. As it stands, he glares and sneers with a loathing that clearly stems from more than just the one action. "Tribute."
He spits the word as if it were a curse before looking back to the Tribble.
"It's vermin. Get over your sentimentality. All it does is breed, and it's not even good for that."
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hope this is okay, I'm trying not to get Peacekeepers brought in!
lol yeah same
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Gaming; D9 Common Area; January 6th
Even he had his limit for how much time he could could spend staring at the ceiling and sulking - brooding manfully, he brooded manfully - about the latest in a long line of weird shit that happened to him, so Ric grumbled to himself, pulled his shit together, and went to go see if he could at least find a little human company.
Human, that he didn't find, but when you were a mutant hanging out with other mutants, dating an alien, you didn't get that picky about it. Gaming consoles weren't really his thing, give him a computer and a secure server just waiting to be cracked open any day, but it was still something. He watched the... whatever he was... already playing for a second, smirking, before speaking up. "I've heard that one. First it's the graphics, then there's lag, then your controller is broken. There's nothing wrong with manning up and admitting it's user error." Hey, he didn't say he wanted to get along with the human, or not-so-human, company. Just that he wanted it.
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He slowly leaned back, indolently propping his elbow across the back of the couch. His widening smile could cut glass, but that was mostly the effect of his fangs. His fingers twitched on the controller, and his character cycled through various weapons as the camera panned around.
"The graphicth are shit, but at leatht it'th not lagging. 'Uther error' my ath, I haven't even done a round yet. Thtep right up, you could be my firtht," he drawled.
He should really control his eyebrows, they were waggling right off his face.
boarding the tribble train
"Bruiser?" The teen is tiptoeing, but he's not exactly keeping his presence a secret. "Is that you, you adorable little dipshit?" Gary lowers his voice to a mumble. "Last time I take you out for a walk. Fucking hell..."
There's another coo of the tribble and he perks up. That sounded close. "Bruiser?" Gary quickens his pace, zeroes in on the room where the calls are coming from. Unfortunately it's pitch-black in there and Psii is still near the doorway. Gary runs straight into him.
"Jesus!"
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Luckily, the exclamation of surprise let Psii know this was an accident and not an attack. No one clumsy enough to run into him was going to harm him. He put his claws down and refrained from screeching loud enough to wake the dead.
"I'm not 'Jethuth', I'm Psii! God, the latht blind perthon I met wath tho much more capable...."
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"Ah--geeze, man!" There's more purposeful swatting aimed at any lingering limbs by his person. Gary's just going to quietly ignore that Psii thinks he's blind. So rude! "What are you hanging around in the dark for? Who does that?"
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good place to end this, probably!
done and done!
Tribbles
But that's okay, because that means he can prowl around the Tower in search of a good midnight snack. He's in the process of getting back to his room with his snack of the hour, a sandwich he's in the middle of squirting a bunch of mayonnaise on top of, when he hears that cooing noise. Though he'd really rather go back to his room and eat the sandwich, he's got to investigate. You just don't let mysterious cooing go uninvestigated.
He spots the Psiionic first. (Okay, he spots a shadowy shape in the dark, but that shape wasn't there earlier, so he's assuming it's a person of some sort.) "Hey, you're not doing all that cooing, are you?" he asks as he takes a bite of that sandwich he's carrying around.
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"No, I don't make thoundth like that. I'm more like—" Psii buzzed a low, purring trill, soothing in its own right, but obviously bug-like. The tribble cooed back from its spot on the floor below and began inching its way towards Psii. He hesitated, then tentatively picked it up. He turned it over, but it did not appear to have legs, eyes, or even an ass.
"It'th thith furry thing. Lithten." He held it out.
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He is, however, thoroughly confused by that weird buglike trill, because that is not at all what he expected. "Uh..."
But he takes the furry ball and listens to it as instructed. "Weird." He's flipping the ball this way and that, trying to figure out what's going on here. "You got any idea what it is?"
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that icon is hilarious to me and im not sure why
he is trying to be charming with mayo and it's ridiculous, maybe
gaming, d9. the 3rd?
Needless to say, Nill looks tired and sleep-deprived when she wanders out of her room, but she goes to the living room almost immediately, and takes a seat nearby to look over the graphics that are apparently awful. After a moment of looking it over she frowns.
...He's right, actually. She's seen better graphics than that, and she would have expected nicer from the Capitol. Maybe they didn't prioritize games like this much.
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"Nill!"
Psii never expected to meet the people in his visions of death, though he knew people (including him) would be coming back. It was weird. It was like seeing the rainbow drinker or shadow dropper incarnation of a friend—not that Psii knew her well enough to call her a friend—but without the creepy undeadness. She was very much alive. The controller lay forgotten on the couch.
"Are you ok? You died—Well, we all did, but not in the thame way."
Karkat had been in the vision, too. It unsettled Psii, seeing a face so similar to Signless's in distress. He didn't blame him. What a terrible way for Nill to go.
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But Nill knew that he was still alive when she died. She'd watched the rest of the Arena for the most part too, in between smoking copious amounts and drinking as needed. She'd seen Psii and the Signless at the safety bunker. He was at least in part responsible for the Signless's victory.
Thankfully she had enough foresight to bring her notepad out with her.
I'm sorry you saw that.
I'm fine.
She's sort of not, but that's only really half because she had died. Otherwise she's coping for the most part.
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Tribbles
Approaching, but maybe not so close as he thinks, when he sees the Psiioniic a second too late and the Psiioniic sees him and he can't just turn around.
He spots the tribble. His face goes from antlerbeast in frontal vehicular lighting to entirely blank. Mostly because he can't reconcile quite how he feels seeing this troll holding a tribble.
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At the sight of Initiate, Psii froze too, shoulders tensing. Then, slowly, as if sudden movements would set off a predator's instincts, he bent further and scooped up the furball. His arms circled tight, clutching the fuzzy coo machine to his chest as he quickly rose again. He'd already dealt with one asshole trying to kill the tribble(s) he found. He didn't need another, even if tribbles were technically pests.
"It'th mine. You can't have it. Or eat it."
Upon closer inspection, he'd seen it had stripes. Yep, definitely keeping it. If he couldn't have bees here, this was the next best thing.
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His hands go up, palm empty, meaning no harm. "NO. I wouldn't. GOT SOME OF MINE OWN, ACTUALLY," He assures, quick. Got the first of theirs togetherlike, by Terezi's gifting to them.
And that's when he realises the tribble he's seeing is being exactly the same. Stripped black and yellow, like the huamn's bees.
"She got you that one, Terezi did. LONG TIME AGO. Made all motherfucking purchase lain down at with Pasha. IF ANYONE TRIES AT TO TAKE IT, CAN BE CALLING ON FOR THEFT. That tribble ain't no one's but yours."
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