thecapitol | People In Glass Houses...

People In Glass Houses...

Who | Timaeus Nadir and guests
What | Timaeus is hosting a picnic get-together/catch-up.
Where | The picnic will be taking place in the Tropical Habitat Dome.
When| We'll be using a bit of wibbly time so that people who want to attend can.
Warnings/Notes| None as of yet.

(This is an opportunity for me to make some new CR as well as catch up with ongoing relationships, but I also want to encourage tagging around between characters! Feel free to do whatever you like in the setting with whoever you like! Also I will be backtagging this so don't feel you've missed the boat if you haven't tagged in immediately <3)

Timaeus certainly knew how to organise a gathering- even if it wasn't an outrageously opulent celebration to be held on one of his own yachts. This one was to be held under the expansive dome of the Tropical Habitat- the entire location rented out for the day to Timaeus and his guests, a loosely private affair- formal invitations as such hadn't been extended, but those welcome knew they were. Naturally, all tributes and victors were included in this group.

The Dome was a beautiful piece of architecture in itself, though antiquated when compared with the technology used for the Arenas. Rather than invisible forcefields, the climate of the interior was separated from the outside by elaborately curving steel and glass. Inside, tropical plants of all types thrived- there was a still, green pond and, deeper inside, a cascading waterfall. Butterflies in hundreds of colours, sizes and shapes flitted about, tropical birds swooped between the trees, brightly coloured fish darted in the water.
Blankets and cushions had been scattered in the main clearing with hampers of food, but there was plenty of space for the guests to break away from the gathering if they so desired- the dome was full of winding paths through the greenery- some even climbing around the trunks of the largest trees and leading to viewing platforms above. In a temporary gazebo in the clearing, a string quartet played music that wasn't quite the classical pieces Tributes were familiar with.

Timaeus himself seemed in a brighter mood than he had been for months, more than happy to make conversation with anyone who approached him- though he was certainly keeping an eye open for particular individuals. Some that he'd met, some that he'd lost and had returned to him, and others still that he had yet to meet.

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"I LOOKED. Weren't no simple inference what all brings this to she. PUT SCRUTINY SOLID UP UPON WHAT ALL COULD BE FOUND AND NOT FOUND FOR. You know they don't always bring us all the fuck back." Sometimes the dead stay dead, he thinks. Sometimes they get bored. Sometimes they want to make examples. None of these are things she'll want to hear right now.

He shakes his head. "SHE'S GONE, LITTLE PYROPE."

You know they don't always bring us all the fuck back. For some reason, that hits harder than he thinks it might because she does know that. She does. How many times had that fear come up among their group? Wasn't that the reason that death still held some sort of fear in there?

Terezi bows her head, her hand still clutched tightly in his--like a lifeline, now. She wants to scream; she wants to throw things. It's not fair. It's never been fair, but of all the people to take, why her ancestor?

"Just...Pyrope, now." It's a stupid thing to remark on. But without her ancestor there, there's no reason to distinguish her as the littler one. Without her ancestor... It hurts to think that way. She tries to isolate that feeling, to shove it away from her so it can't hurt her anymore. She doesn't want to act like a wiggler in front of him. She doesn't want to cry.

"...She doesn't have anything good to go back to. If she went back." The words are quiet, anger and sadness nestled deep. She still doesn't lift her head. "It would be better if they just left her dead. She doesn't live long, anyway. She doesn't die a good death."

Maybe she should have told her, when she had the chance. If she did go back, timelines be damned, maybe she could have been safer. Happier.

His free hand lifts and hovers awkwardly. He doesn't know what to do. Find her moirail, maybe, if she had one. But she doesn't, he knows that much. He doesn't know how to do this, or anything.

She doesn't have anything good to go back to. If she went back. Why doesn't that surprise him at all? What do any of them, but maybe him, have any good to go back to? His moirail would get the Helm, at least with death to follow soon. He was pretty sure the rest of the elder lot were to die too, in their times. This person, who kissed and culled him and mocked him and shared just by know of name that she was supposed to be important one day, was to be his partner, the Neophyte. Apparently not for very long.

"Terezi," He says, but he doesn't add more. At least not immediately. He squeezes her hand but he's not sure she's even notice, with how tightly she hold his. They're joined by that with this stupid space between that seems ridiculous suddenly. He tries again, to speak. "PYROPE, IT AIN'T YOUR FAULT. If she's fated all for what she is there ain't nothing what you can or could all have done. PERHAPS HER FATE WILL CHANGE UP WITH HER OWN." He wavers. "Perhaps if he ever... doesn't come back from arena... he can change that fate. HER AND THE HELMSMAN'S, A MOTHERFUCKER CAN BE ALL LIKE TO MAKE ALTERING." That would mean going back. That would mean losing Mituna and what he has here. That would mean going back to that empty ass motherfucking beach with nothing but his culls, at least not until he became Grand Highblood and then he'd have his throne until the end of times but...

With sudden clarity of a sickly nature, he realises; He doesn't want to go back.

He shuffles closer then stops before her, wavering on what to do. He breathes deep, then, bends to knock his forehead against hers.

Terezi doesn't lift her head when he moves closer. She doesn't know what he's doing, and she's not sure that she cares. She's upset, and nothing that he's saying is helping... Especially the talk of him not coming back from the arena. It would be nice if he could change their fates, but she doesn't think he actually can.

She doesn't think that anyone can.

It's not until she feels his head knock against hers, forehead to forehead, that she really takes notice. She seems startled by the closeness at first. It's not like him to start this sort of thing himself... Maybe it's obvious just how upset she is, despite her attempts to hide it. She can't bring herself to mind.

Tears are still threatening to fall. She doesn't know if his gesture is an invitation or just a means of comfort on its own, but since he's right there... She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck. Her head moves, resting her face against his chest. At least if she does cry, he won't be able to see it.

"...Don't talk like that." She mutters the words, low and muffled. "I don't want you to leave, too."

His eyes open up when he feels her arms wrap around him. He stares down at the top of her head and his hands are left to hover again at her sides. He feels more than merely awkward or out of place, but he initiated this. Even if this is... a lot closer than she's ever been. He looks around him first, then sort of starts to rest his arms around her back. Another minute or so passes and then he rests his chin between her horns. It just seems like the natural thing what all to do.

"I won't make plan on it then," He mutters, as if he'd ever made any plan for it before. It just adds to it all, that he'd never he thought how to go back. If he feels her tears on his chest, leaking through the sheer top, he doesn't say anything.

Terezi doesn't say anything for a while. She's not sure that she needs to. She just stays there, her head resting against his chest, clinging to him tightly. She doesn't want to have to imagine what being here would be like without him. She's already lost her ancestor... She could survive without him, she thinks, but it would be too painful to describe.

"Thank you," she murmurs after a few minutes, calmer now. The tears have stopped. She pulls one arm back, subtly trying to rub the remaining dampness out of her eyes without his notice. It probably doesn't work as much as she'd like it to, but at least it gives them both an excuse to pretend.

"...I want...to do something for her. Eventually." She pauses, lifting her head up towards him and keeping her voice low. It's possible that out here int he thick of the foliage, no one might hear them. "It's not okay... You get what I mean, don't you?"

It makes him thinking of his own descendent, all this. For one brief stupid moment, he wonders if he'd be missed the way the Neophyte is by hers. He wonders if it would matter that much, just because of blood and face and sign shared.

He takes the excuse offered. and looks elsewhere as she rubs her eyes, even if he sees the motion out of the corner of his eye. It's strange to see her cry and it's no good trying to pretend he's got any idea what to do about it, or what he's doing at all.

He frowns at her question, that he should understand this idea to do something for her. Do what? There was nothing to keep, nothing to hang onto. People weren't supposed to care on the dead. But then, they weren't supposed to keep them either.

"WHAT DOES A SISTER INTEND?" He asks, wincing just slightly when his own voice is unable to match her low tone. "Is this all like at to be means of motherfucking... honoring? REMEMBRANCE? What all do you want to do?" She should know these are strange concepts.

Terezi also winces at the harsh noise that his voice makes. She might have commented on it, if he didn't wince, too. But he does, and she doesn't say anything because he obviously knows how jarring it is.

"No... Well, maybe." It's sort of like remembrance. And she's pretty sure that the Neophyte would be honored to have this place go down in flames in her name. She would agree, Terezi thinks.

She's done crying. She's done being sad. That part has been let out enough that the rest can be pushed down and locked away. Beneath all of her sadness, there's an anger simmering there. "I just want them understand. What they're doing is not okay. For her."

He looks at her for a long moment. Oh how he wants to ask why it only came to her now. Oh what he would give to joke on it. He doesn't trust this place. He doesn't trust any bit of this place to not be monitored one way or other. He frowns, then turns from her to clear a space in the dirt, some space that can be drawn in.

"LISTEN, PYROPE, AS ALL I TEACH SOMETHING WHAT YOU AIN'T GOING AT TO LIKE. You need at to listen straight through regardless of what all I speak," He says. "THERE IS A POLITIC UP WITH IN THIS WHAT ALL YOU NEED KEN FOR. What has been... neglected to the now."

He begins to mark in it all. One, two, three- he pauses on that and shoots her a look. Four, five- another pause, another. He marks up to twelve, then stops again.

"TWELVE BLOOD COLORS MOTHERFUCKING OFFICIAL. Twelve what all may be allowed, spoken of. ONLY TWELVE MOTHERFUCKING COLORS. But you and I both not at that not to be true. YOU AND I AND ALL OTHER TROLLS WHAT ARE TO BEING HERE UP AND KNOW, THERE IS ONE. more. COLOR." He stares at her, dead in the eye. "A thirteenth color. THE MUTANT."

Slowly, carefully in the sand, next to all the other marks he makes one more, bigger and bolder than the others. His hand lingers there.

"Do you know why the knowing and officiation of their color would all be deemed illegal? TROLLS MUTATE ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING TIME, SO WHAT ALL WOULD MAKE THIS DIFFERENT? Meant at to be hunted to extinction, removed from existence as if so it never up and existed. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT WOULD MEAN TO HAVE SUCH A THING UP AND MOTHERFUCKING REVEALED, THAT A TROLL WITH BLOOD SUCH AS THAT HAD PERSISTED, EVEN DESPITE SUCH?"

He gives a short pause, to let her think, but not for her to answer. He draws a line under the earliest twelve.

"Motherfuckers would think they have a hope and cause problem. THEY WOULD THINK ERROR OF WHAT ALL POWERS HAD SERVED THEM. They would see flaw in what strength were to be flaunted, real or otherwise."

He draws a circle in the sand, above the other marks. He makes it careful, precise. It is clearly supposed to represent something important.

"AND THIS THIRTEENTH BLOOD COLOR," He continues, "WHAT COULD IT BE ASSUMED TO HAVE? Strength? POWER? Something stronger than what were to put it down in the motherfucking first place, perhaps? IT LEAVES PRESUMPTION WHAT COULDN'T BE ALLOWED. And so, this new one, would of course, have to be crushed and erased you understand?" His hand hovers over the thirteen, as if to erase. But then he continues, "FOR WHAT MOTHERFUCKING IF? What if that even still, that were not the case? WHAT IF, EVEN KNOWING THIS EFFECT, THIS NEED, THE MUTANT WAS LEFT BE? What does that tell you?"

Instead, he draws a circle around it and gives it a tap. He stares at her intently. From the thirteenth, he draws an arrow to the circle above. Then he wipes the circle out.

"IT TELLS," He explains slowly, giving a small tap to the spot, "THAT THEY HAVE STRENGTH THAT EVEN THE EMPIRE FEARS TO MOTHERFUCKING PLAY WITH. It puts power behind them. AND THIS IS WHY MOST NO ONE KNOWS BUT OUR OWNSELVES THEY EXIST."

He begins to wipe it all out of the sand, starting with the other numbers. His next words don't have quite the same energy to them. He isn't trying to impress anything upon her here, like before, it only needs to seem like he is. So that anyone listening would have point to claim. He doesn't look at her then either.

"It would not matter on Alternia what these trolls were like. THEY WOULD HAVE TO DIE, FOR THE GOOD OF THE EMPIRE. Which is what this capitol is trying at to teach, for the good of their empire, we must die or serve. SO AS IT IS UNDERSTOOD."

He leaves only one thing; the circled thirteenth mark. When he looks at her this time he tries to plead with his eyes for her to see what he is trying to show her. He says, finally, "Do you understand what all I'm speaking at you, Pyrope?"

What he says at first catches Terezi's attention. He has to know what she means because he starts talking about politics. About a politic that she needs to know. And she pays rapt attention to his words, but this...

What he tells her isn't something that she hasn't known. It's about the Signless and his cause, and she almost stops him with a frown on her face like she doesn't want to hear this rehashed again.

Unless it's not.

Unless he's talking about the Signless's Rebellion, but he doesn't actually mean the Rebellion because he's talking about something else entirely. They were talking about the Capitol. Is he still talking about the Capitol? His story deviates, talks about the Empire leaving the mutant alone, and she knows that's not true. That is not a what-if that she thinks would ever happen. So he has to mean something else entirely.

Her attention shifts to the 13 that he's drawn, her mind racing and reaching only one real conclusion. If they're talking about the Capitol instead of the Empire, then the twelve blood colors are actually the twelve districts, and the thirteen... The thirteen would mean that he thinks there is a thirteenth district out there. That he thinks it has the power to rival the Capitol. Or at least make them afraid.

"I understand," she says slowly, frowning in thought. She doesn't want to question his analogy, but she has questions of her own. "...But the mutant did rise up against the Empire. A smarter mutant would have kept quiet and lived longer--but that would only benefited himself. What would it matter to us if he existed or not? If he tries to help, he dies; if he shuts up and leaves everything alone, he lives. If he had the ability to openly oppose the Empire and win, he would have done it in a heartbeat."

He almost wants to grin. But that would give it away. He keeps his expression controlled as well as he possibly can. She did it. She understood.

"TRUE MOTHERFUCKING THINGS THESE UP AND ARE. True motherfucking things these are like at to be. BUT WHEN HAS A MUTANT EVER BEEN QUIET? Even at the cost of other lives will the unrighteous sound resound," He explains. "IT IS A DANGEROUS THING. It is a motherfucking danger, this should not be mistaken. BUT FURTHER, MOTHERFUCKERS FLOCK TO ONE WHAT CAN SEEMINGLY STAND AGAINST ANOTHER. The motherfuckers flock they all do, and those what won't follow with ideal initial will find that others flocked afterways up and will. IT IS AN INFECTION AND BREEDS. It spreads on to the other castes, my sister. IT IS RISKY MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS." He sighs those last words out with a shake of his head. He does want that understood. He wants it known that he doesn't know how much they can be trusted, this rebellion. But it's an idea. It's a weapon, one way or other.

"The mutant alone, has no chance. BUT IF A MUTANT ALONE COULD BRING A FUCKING STANDSTILL, IF ALL ELSE MOTHERFUCKING FOLLOWED, WHAT CHAOS WOULD TRAIL THE FUCK AFTER, MY SISTER? If the mutant alone has not been eradicated, but is known of --even if only-- by those seeking to execute, they have at enough on their side still that there is threat enough. IT AIN'T JUST HIDING. It's a motherfucking standstill. FUCKERS WILL FLEE TO THAT. Motherfuckers will flock. AND BEFORE FUCKING LONG, ALL THEM GET A NEW POWER."

He leans back on his palms, pausing as if to mull. Then he seems to shrug, raising a palm up. "Of motherfucking course, it would all be for naught, what all with any intelligent motherfucker knowing at our ways was all set and anyone what all ain't fancy for it would get to give a good listening ear on for the Vast motherfucking Glub. KNOW OF INEVITABLES, KNOW WHAT ALL YOU SAID FOR THE WHEN OF THAT. But ain't no one else got to have a know for it and it ain't something what all would give lend at to their cause. PRETTY DAMN SURE AIN'T NO WAY WHAT ALL IT WOULD DIE WITHOUT SUCH GOING THE FUCK OFF." He grins now, giving a little chuckle. "Good motherfucking thing they ain't got no sea-beast of the like up in here. NO DEATH OF THE PAN MELTING SORT INESCAPABLE AT ANY POINT WITH A WORLD. Least, not from no thing what all can't be killed, yeah?"

Edited 2014-01-03 12:38 (UTC)

Terezi nods slowly. She understands. He doesn't think they're hiding at all--or if they are, it's not because they're afraid. They're an equal match, the Capitol and this mysterious new District. But if they were to add their strength to this District, they could topple the Capitol's control over their lives. And then?... Who knows. Not this, whatever they have right here. But there's no telling if that something else would be better or worse.

"Yeah. Lucky for them. Lucky for us." She laughs a little, but she's not sure how much effort she could put into it. "The Empire wouldn't have hesitated to use it. Even just a little. In fact, I'm sure they did at one point or another. They would rather cause a blood bath than let the mutant build a following. Even for just the slightest hint of treachery. Only a rumor, in some cases! It's hard to imagine that anyone could escape the Empire's grasp with that sort of paranoia."

"TRUE THAT IS LIKE TO BE. True, all of it," He says, a frown wanting to take over his features. "IT'S ONE OF MANY REASONS, many motherfucking reasons, WHY ALL IT NEVER CAME TO BE. Too much vocality in all the wrong motherfucking ways. NOT ENOUGH THOUGHT FOR THEIR ENEMIES AND REALISING THEM AS SUCH. Or allies as allies. THEY WEREN'T CAREFUL. They paid for it."

He thinks about it all, contrasting. He's not entirely unaware of the comparison being made here, how it reflects on him. He tells himself that it's different.

"I NEVER GOT TO LIVE SO FAR. I didn't see that end. THAT LAYS STILL IN FUTURES. Leaves a motherfucker to wonder who all sold for the Empire or if they were eradicated without chance to ponder."

"I can't answer those questions, either." Terezi shrugs her shoulders a little. "History is written in the eyes of the victor, you know? I didn't even know there was a rebellion at all until I came here. But there must have been. It's not written in the textbooks, but it's there in everything else. Even if most don't know what it means." Like the way that the color bright red evokes a feeling of danger. Like the way that Karkat was given a sign and a lusus, even though he was a mutant.

Like the way the Capitol citizens try too hard to support their government. Like the way even graffiti is viewed as a means for inciting rebellion.

"SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE," He says. "Odds be that proper empire would've made like all to erase it from history. PEOPLE SEE AT FOR IT AND THEY WONDER WHY ALL THERE AIN'T MORE. Too much questioning and not ones what all can be afforded." But as she says, it's there in everything else. No good, that. But he doesn't want to ponder how to better crush rebellion while also considering another. It all sits uneasily with him and if it weren't for the Capitol already making their choice on the matter and for them not having a means to stop them all like the empress, he might be more hesitant. But this isn't his empire. He cares not if it burns.

"NEVERTHELESS, AN ELDER PYROPES DEATH WILL NOT BE WITHOUT PURPPOSE," He says. Let the capitol not know that this purpose would be to incite rage. You could many things done, with just the right kind of rage. He focuses on Terezi and asks, "Will you be alright? EVEN KNOWING THIS?"

The reminder of her ancestor's absence hurts. Not like the initial blow, but more of an ache where a wound already exists. She lets it resonate, takes it in. She can handle this... It's not like she didn't know that Redglare would die. It's not any different from before they had met. Except in the ways that it is.

"I'll be alright. I can manage." Anger and hurt... She can manage those. She can shape them into something better--something stronger. Determination and resolve. He's right. Her ancestor's death won't be without purpose. Because she won't let it be.

He realises they are still rather close to one another, just about touching. With her reassurance, he pulls away from her, carefully, and stands up. He extends one scar marked hand down to her.

"The party ain't over yet," He says. "SHALL WE?"

He stands and extends a hand to her, and Terezi takes it gratefully, pulling herself up to her feet. She gives it an encouraging squeeze for good measure, but refuses to let it go, so long as he doesn't force her to.

"Sure. You can lead the way." She smiles just a little, forced but her intention is good. She wants him to know what he's done for her, in that small gesture. And that she appreciates it.

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