thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| Everyone, pretty much. Particularly Secret Santa people and those Creuntus is fucking with.
What| Holiday times!
Where| The Tribute Training center
When| The whole week, but Creuntus' gifts arrive today.
Warnings/Notes| none atm. Please add any in thread headers. Also, for secret santa, if you are the giver start a thread with your giftee's name (unless you two have worked something else out between you). You can use the District threads below, or choose a different setting of your own.

Every floor public space is dripping with holiday decorations.

The decorations are themed, ridiculously so. Every surface is covered, and a table sits proudly full of holiday treats and spirits, kept stocked constantly by the avoxes. Cheerful music plays softly throughout the whole building, though luckily for everyone the Capitol doesn't really know what Christmas carols are.

Those with secret santa's have a cheery, passive-aggressive note reminding them not to disappoint anyone and ruin their holiday.

Those that have expressed a want for some object from home will find a box on their bed sometime during the day, with a merry holiday greeting from Cruentus. Inside they will find the object of their desire, or something similar, crafted from their words.

In blown glass. Pretty, decorative, utterly useless.

Bert's guns, Punchy's goggles, Sigma's music box, Maximus' leg, Mindy's knife, Terezi's dragon cane...on and on, as many gifts as Creuntus could find out. Those that were with them when they were pulled are more perfect replicas, those that they have just described obviously have an artistic touch to them.

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The Psiioniic saw the box near his bed, and he didn't think much of it. He had left it alone for hours, because he didn't really see the point of it. It was just some weird Capitol bullshit, so why bother?

But he can't ignore it for long.

He carries the box into the common room, sitting down by the fire quietly. Slowly, he unwraps the box, using his claws to tear the tape and peel the paper apart, and just as slowly he opens it. When he sees the contents of the box, he goes completely still. It's several minutes before he pulls it out. It's very delicate, made of a vibrant, fuchsia glass, and it looks like a very bizarre headpiece. There's even glass over the eye-circles, and he can appreciate the artistry of it.

But...He would have never thought he'd see the rig again, even if it's only a small, small part. He stares at his gift for a very, very long time, and doesn't move from his spot on the couch.

(Someone particularly observant just might realize that the shapes of the rig match the scars on his face eerily well.)

The Intiate knows those scars by now like the back of his hand. He's traced that face, with eyes, his hands. All those spots where the grey got marked to whiteness with the yellow tint just barely there. Old scars, from their world, Her Condescension, The Signless and Disciple. And he himself. His future self that led his moirail to that thing.

And now there was the Capitol, just throwing it back into the face of him.

When he enters the lounge, he frowns in confusion at the shape in Mituna's hands, then quickly, he freezes as the shape--and the tyrian color to it-- starts to make sense. A cold sick fury rises in him, running deep and and churning like rapids. His fists and jaw clench, and with what little disbelief in him-- that the capitol would stoop so low, but of course it would-- he asks, "What the motherfuck. IS THAT?"

As if he doesn't know. As if he can't damn guess.

Should have known. He should have known that Kurloz would come here. He probably got his own gift, his own reminder of the past, and maybe he would have showed him.

A part of him feels like he should have just hidden the glass. Just shoved it away where nobody could see it, and only he would know it's there. He looks up at Kurloz helplessly, before his gaze drops back to the rig in his hands. Slowly, he curls his fingers around the delicate tendrils, lowers it to his lap, and...He says nothing.

Kurloz already knows what it is. Anyone with half a brain could probably figure out what it means.

"It..."

What does he say now? The Capitol gave this to him for some reason, and he's not about to sit and think if there's a deeper meaning to all of it. And if there is, what does it matter? It's his. He is not just a Helmsman, he is the Helmsman who helped trolls expand their empire ever farther and farther, and the scars he has are a testament to that.

"It ith what it ith."

It's stupid. He wouldn't have like to hear it said. But leaving it unsaid isn't any better. Leaving it unsaid let's them win, it lets them, all of them, get away with it, it makes it something to ignore again, like it's okay, and it's not, it's never going to be okay.

It is what it is.

"No," He starts, through grit teeth. "NO IT'S NOT. This ain't all going to continue. PERSEVERANCE UPON THIS HAPPENING THIS ALL WILL NOT!"

He let it go this long. Just as bad as them. Unholy sinner, he is.

"Motherfucker, this ain't no kind of okay. HOW CAN YOU SIT THERE? Not slimmest trace of what all malignancies plague. HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT AT TO SEE THEM PAY?! You were left to that by motherfuckers what all you trusted. YOU WERE MADE AT SUFFER BY THE FISH BITCH'S HANDS FOR AGES! You were used and hurt and... AND I LET YOU BE, UP IN FUTURES MINE AND PASTS OF YOURS!"

He paces for a moment, grasping clubs that aren't there. He breathes deep. Then he walks again to Mituna and drops to his knees before him. So Mituna has to look at him. So he doesn't have to look up.

"Don't tell a motherfucker it ain't weren't to mattering," He growls, slow. "DON'T TELL ME THAT THIS, HERE, DON'T MOTHERFUCKING MATTER. That shit what all you say don't matter up and happened to you. AND DID MOTHERFUCKING MATTER AS ALL IT STILL DOES NOW, OR ELSE YOU WOULDN'T BE SITTING THERE AS YOU ARE!" He wants to reach out to hold Mituna's face. Wants to, but doesn't. They hover and settle uncomfortably on the arms of Mituna's chair. "Ain't you got motherfucking ire to you?"

Edited 2013-12-30 06:41 (UTC)

It's a testament to their relationship that he doesn't flinch when Kurloz yells. He knows him well enough now to know that Kurloz is angry at him, that his rage and fury are directed at the Capitol and not himself, that he's not the one at fault right now.

He knows, because he didn't ask for this. He didn't ask for the reminder of his pass, though maybe he did. Maybe it's all his fault for not giving up his title, for staying Helmsman even though he was as far from a helm as he could be. Slowly, he lets out a breath, his grip on the fragile glass relaxing only just.

"I don't want thith." He starts slowly, like he doesn't what to say or how to express what he does want to say. "I'm...I'm not Helmthman anymore. I haven't been him for a while."

And since when has he been able to think that way? That he wasn't the man he was forced to be, and that...maybe, just maybe, he would be free from taking up the mantle again. Maybe he could just stay here forever, free from his bonds.

"I don't know what I did to detherve thith."

It's a broad statement, and it's beyond just the gift the Capitol gave to him. He never really deserved what happened to him, did he? None of his kind did, but that included him and he can't deny anymore that what happened to him was wrong.

"NOTHING," He says quick. Firm. He doesn't care. He doesn't care anymore what may or may not have been done by his moirail when he didn't know better. It was sweeps ago for his moirail, and so motherfucking help him, if they went back he'd make sure it wouldn't happen again. Capitol did not get to touch that. The capitol did not get to lay their filthy mark upon it.

"These motherfuckers have done an unforgivable thing they up and have. YOU ARE NOT THEIR SERVANT NOR THEIR SLAVE. And never will you be be." He lifts his chin higher at that. A promise. "DON'T YOU DARE LET THEY, OR ANY MOTHERFUCKER ELSE, MAKE YOU THINK THAT AGAIN, YOU UNDERSTAND? You've suffered more than any other troll what all was. AND WHEN ALL HAVE YOU BEEN THE GREATEST OF SINNERS, BROTHER?! Greater sinners there have been. AND NO OTHER HAS MET WHAT YOU HAVE, HAS BEEN LET TO WHAT YOU WERE AS LONG AS YOU WERE, AND THERE AIN'T NO REASON THAT THESE FUCKERS SHOULD EVEN DARE IMPLY WHAT ALL THEY DID OF CONTINUANCE! You can't let anyone tell you that all of that was earned of you... even if that fucker be one what shares my countenance. YOU UNDERSTAND?"

He breathes deep, waits a moment. He has to let his anger abate some before he can do this. He lifts his hands up to his moirail's face, to cup the sides.

"You're not the Helmsman. YOU'RE MY BROTHER. My moirail, my best friend. YOU'RE YOUR OWN GODDAMN TROLL." He runs a thumb over those scars near his eyes. "And we're going to get you a better fucking title right motherfucking now."

Hearing the words Kurloz says hits him more than he should. It...It's all true, isn't it? He would know. He, of all trolls, would know about sin, about guilt, about what a troll could and could not do. The church taught him, society taught him, long before he would ever be the one in charge of what happened to the guilty.

He takes a deep breath, and he trembles still, and he won't stop trembling for a while, but he's had a moment of clarity. A moment of realization. He never did anything wrong. He never did anything worse than wanting to be happy, than fighting for that happiness and his right to it. All he ever did was try to have the life that he deserved to have.

"You're right." Of course he's right. "I'm not him anymore, and I never thhould have been."

He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. "What thhould it be?"

He rises up on his knees just enough and pulls Mituna's head down simultaneously, to press his lips to the top of his head. Then, he wraps his arms around him to pull him close.

"ANYTHING ELSE. Whatever all a motherfucker wants at it to be," He says. "THEY GOT FOR BOOKS, JUST ALL MADE THE FUCK UP OF WORDS, LISTED. Could find for something up within them pages. SOMETHING WHAT ALL FITS AND AIN'T GOT NO MARK HARSH ON A BROTHER. Something what all your own self would choose."

He pulls back, with another kiss to Mituna's forhead. His face twists back to bitterness and he hovers a hand over the glass rig-piece, not quite touching. Almost as if touching it might make it real, might make come all to life. Bring her here, even. "AND THIS BIT OF MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMY WOULD ALL AIN'T SHOULDN'T NEVER ALL HAVE GOT TO HAVING EXISTENCE NEEDS TO STOP HAVING SUCH. Tell me what all a brother wants at to do because if he don't want for breaking it I motherfucking will."

He leans into the kisses, letting out a soft sigh. He's never truly though about titles. Not really. Titles are important, but he wasn't one of those trolls who would have the luxury of picking his own. As a wiggler he would have never dared to think of what he could be as an adult, and he wasn't even adult when he escaped. Still, even then, he wouldn't consider naming himself, going with what he was called most.

He lets out another, deeper sigh, pulling back to look at his Kurloz. "I don't know. I'm not...I'm not very good with wordth." He wouldn't even be able to read the words in the books the other troll is talking about. "And who knows what the bookth they have hear are even like? They're probably all jutht hoity-toity and ridiculouth."

He pushes the glass into his hands, looking Kurloz in the eye. "Break it. I don't need anything like it anymore."

It's pushed into his hands and in his mind, for the briefest second, it spreads like a poison. But he takes it and grips it. This was the end of Mituna's freedom. This is his sin, crafted to form. Pink. Ugly. He looks at Mituna like he's not quite sure suddenly. Should it not be he who breaks it? To break free of this? But, no, he thinks, maybe it's not about that at all. Maybe his moirail would rather see him do it. Maybe the choice to do it matters.

His face resolves and he nods, walking away. Mirth damn it all. He knows what he's chosen.

At proper distance, he turns back around, gives the glass eye piece one last look. He did this. Never the fuck again, he promises. "FOR YOU," He says out loud. He lifts the eye piece high, like it's just a smaller version of club. Then, quickly, violently, he brings down.

It shatters over the floor, glass skittering in all directions. It sounds like chimes. It sparkles like motherfucking stardust. There's just one scratch on him, just the littlest bit of indigo on his hand. He stares at all for a moment and laughs- it's only a little deranged.

He steps right around and over it all, back to Mituna. He reaches for Mituna's hand and kisses the top of it.

"I can be your words," he says. "HEAR FOR ALL WHATEVER YOU WANT TO BE AND FOR YOU I WILL FIND IT. Only need for what all that is. ONLY NEED TO HEAR IT."

Maybe it's cruel of him, to test Kurloz the way he does. He knows - it's hard not to know - of the guilt Kurloz carries for things that he hasn't even done before, that he won't do for sweeps. He knows that nothing will change the fact the Kurloz helps catch him, helps the Empress, and is responsible for the thousands of sweeps he's spent in the helm so far, and for the thousands of sweeps that he'll continue to spend in it if he ever leaves Panem.

He knows all of that, but now it's just as much a burden of Kurloz's as it is his, and having him break the replica would probably be more cathartic for someone filled with so much rage and anger as he has.

The Psiioniic's lips quirk into a small smile, and he twists his wrist so he can cup Kurloz's cheek. "Alright. Let'th thart at the beginning of the alphabet, then."

He purrs, quietly. Start with the beginning, his moirail says. Alright. He assumes human beginnings since he can't all imagine it being otherwise.

He rambles off, muttering, "Adaptive... ACQUIRER... affluent...AR...GUABLY? Alacrity-" He looks up. "NO, NO, THAT AIN'T MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT... analyser..."

The Initiate stops, sighs heavily, and runs a hand through his hair. "THIS IS LIKE AT TO TAKE A LONG DAMN TIME ALL AIN'T IT?" He asks no one in particular.

"Assenter..."

He watches him for a moment, before he chuckles softly. "Are you going to go through every word?"

His hand sneaks up, and he scritches at the base of Kurloz's horn. "Becauthe I think that might be a bit much, honethtly." But his voice is dripping with fondness, and once again he's struck with wonder. He was truly blessed to have a moirail like Kurloz, and he wasn't even someone who really bought into the idea of a Messiah, or some great power who could change his life.

It all felt so much like fate, but he had such a hard time believing that there was someone out there handing him a gift.

His head tilts into his moirail's touch, eyes closing, breath shuddering all right into an even purr. He hums through it too, in non-response to Mituna's comment. His eyes open part-way, near delirious with pity-fondness and contentment.

"GOT TO FIND ONE WHAT WORKS. One what all a brother likes," He purrs. "PERHAPS ALL HE COULD GO AT BY OTHER END OF THE LIST..."

The Initiate doesn't have slightest doubt that fate is involved. He of course, is well buried in the belief the Messiahs have bestowed this on him. And he is grateful.

Edited 2014-03-28 01:37 (UTC)

Cuthbert goes to see the Psiioniic somewhat impulsively. He doesn't want to try and explain himself to Karkat who will just mother him, or any of the other trolls he's close to who will require more of an explanation about what happened. He thinks this troll in particular will just let him be for a while, and give him the small amount of company he craves.

Bert's hands are bandaged up and don't seem to be bleeding through. Still, he has some trouble opening doors, and ends up having to knock on Psii's to see if he's in.

He didn't expect to see Cuthbert on the other side of his door, but he can't say he minds much. The human's company is strangely enjoyable, and he's grown just a little bit fond of him over time.

(Of course, to the Psiioniic, a little bit of fondness is huge.)

He spares a glance to the bandages on his hand, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. He probably got a shitty present, just like he did. Stepping back and kicking away some tribbles, he motions for Cuthbert to come in wordlessly.

He was grateful for the easy entrance. He didn't want to have to explain himself where other people can hear him.

Once he had sat himself on the Psiioniic's bed he felt the need to break the silence.

"I hope you didn't get a present the way I did. No one should have to go through that."

He hesitates for a moment, not sure if Cuthbert will appreciate him sitting close. But it is his room and it's not like there's anywhere else for him to sit, so he crawls into bed next for him, leaning back against his pillows.

"...I did, if you mean I got thomething from the Capitol."

"Your heart? Your soul? Your best friend's severed head? I know not what lengths they would stop at."

Cuthbert is bitter and angry and he doesn't care who hears it. The Capitol did this to mess with him, he knows it, and just because it worked didn't make it right. He is fairly obsessed with his own pain at the moment.

He shakes his head slowly, going quiet. He doesn't feel like he knows enough about Cuthbert to know what he could have possibly gotten that would make him so upset. He picks at the blankets piled on his bed, frowning at his hands.

"I don't think they know where to draw the line, but..." He thinks back the the delicate rig he received, and he shakes his head. "But letting them get to you ith letting them win, ithn't it?"

"Some days there are no winners, only losers. And I, as always, am the very bottom of that pile. The worst. The lowest."

Bert balls his hands into fists beside him, not that it's easy to tell through the bandages. He leans over a little further, not wanting Psii to see the tears forming in his eyes.

The Psiioniic frowns, leaning forward and reaching to place his hand on Bert's shoulder. "Hey." He chews on his bottom lip, thinking over his words. "It'th...not like you're alone. I'm jutht ath fucked ath you are, tho...At leatht you have that, I gueth?"

He is probably being the opposite of helpful, but he...Doesn't know what else to say, and he wants for him to stop being so upset.

Cuthbert is actually pretty touched by that.

"We'll be fucked together, and not even the Capitol can take that away, aye?"

He leans up against the Psiioniic and just rests there.

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open as heck

TRAUMA TRAUMA EVERYWHERE

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sometime later...

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