Terezi Pyrope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pythianjudgment) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-03-15 09:39 pm
pythianjudgment) wrote in thecapitol2014-03-15 09:39 pm
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you
Who| Terezi Pyrope, OPEN!
What| Terezi is making it her job to "redecorate" the training area. After that arena, everyone could use a little more color. So she's putting it everywhere.
Where| Training area
When| About a week after the arena ended, timing can vary.
Warnings/Notes| Nothing yet!
Another arena has come and gone, leaving dozens of emotionally-troubled tributes back from the dead--and one no-less-emotionally-troubled Victor, she's sure. Pretty soon, people will start lining up to work on their skills for the next round. It's relatively quiet right now, though, as she stands in the middle of the training area. She's been here for three arenas now--not even the longest running member, and it's not any surprise to her that she's starting to feel run down. It's tiring, throwing so much energy into those death matches, only to be rewarded with yet another and another and another.
What she really needs, and what some of these other tributes need... is color. She remembers smelling the colors that the Initiate had painted on the wall the first time she came in here and how touching that had been. That was what they needed. Something to make them feel like people again, not animals. Primed with the paints from the painting station, pastel chalk from her personal collection, and the best of intentions; Terezi Pyrope gets to work.
At first, she just paints swirling colors, mixing paints and pastels and smelling how they work together. She trails across the wall, stopping by the knot-tying station to spill onto the floor with deep greens and browns. Once the paint dries, she scratches whimsical bits of flora overtop, things she's found on her own forest floor. On the other side of the station, she scribbles a forest of tall blue-trunked trees crested with fuchsia canopies. She stops on that wall and restarts again across the room by a rack of weights, reaching up on her tip-toes to scribble mountains and clouds and fearsome beasts flying across the sky--dragons of every shape and hue, big and small. After spending no small amount of time on that, she stops and moves to a new place. This time, she's not working off of personal memory, but she tries anyway. She haphazardly spreads blue paints across the wall, dripping onto the floor. Overtop, she scribbles every manner of sealife she can think of. There's a lot of empty space when she's done--places for other people to fill in what they want.
Near the center of the area, she leaves some paints and chalk and a scrawled note on the floor in big bright letters.
It reads: "Help yourself."
[OOC note: There's one closed thread in the comments, but the post itself is open to anyone who wants to reply!]
What| Terezi is making it her job to "redecorate" the training area. After that arena, everyone could use a little more color. So she's putting it everywhere.
Where| Training area
When| About a week after the arena ended, timing can vary.
Warnings/Notes| Nothing yet!
Another arena has come and gone, leaving dozens of emotionally-troubled tributes back from the dead--and one no-less-emotionally-troubled Victor, she's sure. Pretty soon, people will start lining up to work on their skills for the next round. It's relatively quiet right now, though, as she stands in the middle of the training area. She's been here for three arenas now--not even the longest running member, and it's not any surprise to her that she's starting to feel run down. It's tiring, throwing so much energy into those death matches, only to be rewarded with yet another and another and another.
What she really needs, and what some of these other tributes need... is color. She remembers smelling the colors that the Initiate had painted on the wall the first time she came in here and how touching that had been. That was what they needed. Something to make them feel like people again, not animals. Primed with the paints from the painting station, pastel chalk from her personal collection, and the best of intentions; Terezi Pyrope gets to work.
At first, she just paints swirling colors, mixing paints and pastels and smelling how they work together. She trails across the wall, stopping by the knot-tying station to spill onto the floor with deep greens and browns. Once the paint dries, she scratches whimsical bits of flora overtop, things she's found on her own forest floor. On the other side of the station, she scribbles a forest of tall blue-trunked trees crested with fuchsia canopies. She stops on that wall and restarts again across the room by a rack of weights, reaching up on her tip-toes to scribble mountains and clouds and fearsome beasts flying across the sky--dragons of every shape and hue, big and small. After spending no small amount of time on that, she stops and moves to a new place. This time, she's not working off of personal memory, but she tries anyway. She haphazardly spreads blue paints across the wall, dripping onto the floor. Overtop, she scribbles every manner of sealife she can think of. There's a lot of empty space when she's done--places for other people to fill in what they want.
Near the center of the area, she leaves some paints and chalk and a scrawled note on the floor in big bright letters.
It reads: "Help yourself."
[OOC note: There's one closed thread in the comments, but the post itself is open to anyone who wants to reply!]
no subject
"I do see things--I feel things. Forests are alive, it's not just trolls that feel things, you can see the world in the silence of--of this." She places her hand on the shore, the forest surrounding it, lightly held there to not lift up the chalk.
"You see things in trolls, their fear, and because everyone fears, they're alive and they have--a soul? But I don't need to see fear to know things are alive. That they have souls? Do you not think beasts fear or love or hate? That plants are alive--they are. And silence is never silent, you can hear everything, leaves shifting and animals moving, small things scurrying in the dirt. It's beautiful by itself, it doesn't need some greater person to make it that way."
no subject
It might ruin everything, but for a minute he doesn't care. He picks more colors to dot like splatters around the figure.
"Beautiful, yes," He agrees. "BUT WITHOUT THEM WHISPERS, WITHOUT THE GREATER? It is quiet." And he says that last word just the same.
"THE BEASTS? Probably. PLANTS. Maybe." It's hard to associate those noises with anything but the inevitable strife, the roar of the beast, the rustle of the plants around them.
no subject
"Does it matter? The whispers, the--greater? What does that mean? If the world is alive without the greater things you talk about, if it's beautiful and lovely without it, why do you need more? I don't get it--"
She shifts backwards, grabbing a piece of chalk and put sound in the world. The soft dull noise of the city is just that, dull and flat, using the side of the chalk to make a little cloud, the waves are highlight in white--splashing in lines that arc out in lines just barely there, the background noise of the world. The trees that same dull noise, the side of the chalk but in little halos around the trees. The line of a song--sweet and yet dangerous, is a wavering line of white. She adds more, the splashing of the beast in the shallows is undulating lines, the bark of a beast is spikes, flaring out. Then she grabs a pink, a green, starts outline the beasts in the bright pink, the plants in greens. Life.
When she's done, she slams the chalk down hard on the indigo figure, creating a smear of pink/green on it. Life.
"Why do you need more to things when the world is beautiful as it is? I don't get it, why do you need to add more color when the world is full of it. The world is ablaze with it!"
no subject
He keeps his eyes close and lips pressed into a line. He breathes, keeping Mituna in his mind, until he's sure he can speak again.
She's a faithless. Of course she ain't gonna hear them whispers. Of course she can't hear the Messiahs voices. Of course she don't feel all of this and recognize it as being part of the same picture as something important, special, beautiful. If she could, they wouldn't be here doing this.
She slaps pink on him, for life. But he doesn't see that. He sees her marking him with the Empress. He sees more death.
"Nevermind," He says. "FORGET IT."
no subject
But then the conversation catches a snag. She can feel tempers escalating, the whole thing unraveling in front of her.
"Why can't it be both things?" she cuts in, after being silent for so long. She wonders if either of them had forgotten that she was still there, overseeing this discussion. She's not sure that she knows where she's going with this--just that she doesn't want them to draw lines in the sand again.
"Sometimes... A picture is good enough as is, and you have to respect the feelings that are already there. Whoever or whatever made that picture, whatever person or group of people or things... They had a reason for what they did and a feeling behind it. That kind of thing deserves respect."
Terezi reaches out to trace Meulin's silhouetted figures with one hand, moving across the city to touch the murky water and sky of Fraysong's drawing. They're both gorgeous in their own right. She honestly believes that. But the images over top add another level of beauty, and she touches them next as she continues:
"But there isn't anything wrong with wanting to make it better, too. Or wanting to add your mark to it, to put your feelings into it for others to experience, to show that there's something more. If we were all content to leave things the way they were, nothing would ever change or grow. The world would be stagnant without that kind of passion. Wouldn't it?"
no subject
"I didn't mean his picture--I meant--Things don't have to mean something more to be beautiful. His pictures, they're fine, beautiful, surely, but we both know this isn't about our pictures in the end. We both have passion in the way we draw and paint.
We just see the world in different ways. And our drawings make that obvious. You see the fear in the world and see it as being--I don't know, created or based in something bigger and that's what makes it beautiful to you? But I see it as full of life and things and I just don't need the extra things to make it beautiful. I'm not even sure I could feel the things you feel--it's part of being a blood that has powers."
She reaches over and taps Psiionic, on his heart of gold, "I could never understand his powers and how he sees the world but we accepted we'd never see things the same way. I just don't see why you keep trying to force the way you see things onto me--it's not like how I see all blood equal because that's a philosophy, yours is a fundamental state of being, your powers are a part of you and I can never really understand them. Of course it's both, because we can both see the things at a fundamental level the same way, we're both looking at the same world. We just perceive it in different ways."
no subject
"It's not extra. IT'S PART. That's why it's..." He still sounds defensive. He feels like when he was just one among a crowd, an outlier. He's trying to understand but he can't.
"YOUR PEOPLE. They're important to you, aren't they? IS IT BECAUSE THEY'RE ALIVE OR BECAUSE THEY MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU?" And he's trying anyway and it feels foolish. A waste of time. Can't teach, can't learn. He shakes his head. They could, things could change, they had already, and he'd seen it, it helped him.
But he's not going to be part of it no matter how and who is trying.
"You don't have to see it, Disciple. HE AIN'T GOING TO FORCE THIS AS ALL YOU SAY." He starts to stand up. Straight and tall. He looks at Terezi and he looks at her blank faced (as if she were a higher up of subjugglators, as if he's just another faceless soldier). "Permission for him to go, Terezi. THE TWO OF YOU CAN CONTINUE AS IS."
no subject
Fraysong stands, and the way that he addresses her with the blank stare has her fumble for words at first. Her shoulders raise a little, defensively. "You don't need my permission," she says, knowing full well that she doesn't want him to go. But she's not going to command him to stay, either. That's not the position that she wants to be in with him.
no subject
"You're right, it's not extra." She admits, soft and with annoyance coloring her voice. She hates and tries all at once, parts of her wanting to give up and go back to hating but she was never known for giving up lightly. She's stubborn. "It's part of how you see the world. My people ARE important, because I care about them and they mean things to me, I just...I don't know what you mean by any of that? I can't understand why you paint his heart and hands gold, why there's something in the sky that you feel is something greater--we just don't..."
Mesh. Work. Their world views are too different she thinks. She doesn't understand what any of that has to do with seeing people as equals, she doesn't really understand what these pictures had to do with anything but showing the differences in them. Look at how different their worlds were. Are. Have been and will be.
"You--neither of us are tryign to see the world as the other sees it alright? You can't imagine it without the tinge of your powers, seeing it as you've seen it all your life, with the whispers and your faith. I can't imagine it with it, because I've seen the world for exactly how it is, hard and beautiful all at once. We paint with the same colors but we don't see the same things. Maybe we should accept that and move past it."
And she lifts herself up off the ground, a single movement as she leaves the chalk scattered over their art, head turned from him.
"Sorry. Sorry Terezi. I'll go too." She says, defeated a little in the end. So close but not close enough.
no subject
Just accept it and move past.
Yeah. Motherfucking sure.
Maybe he says those last words out loud. Maybe he doesn't. All what he knows now is that he failed, not anyone else, but Terezi. What he does say aloud, turning to do so, is, "No. STAY. Someone ought to." He glances at Terezi, at the Disciple, then back away.
no subject
Someone ought to. That bothers her more than she wants to admit. It feels less like a sympathetic gesture and more like an obligation. Stay with her, so she doesn't have to be alone in her failure. We can't both be here, so someone has to stay behind.
"I don't need anyone to stay for me. I'm a big girl." She gathers up her drawing things and stands, her shoulders squared. She's not going to obligate anyone to grubsit her over this. "I have other things I need to do, anyway. You both can go."
And then she goes to turn away without waiting for them to protest her decision.
no subject
"Try again later."
And before he can ask, she's turning and walking, wiping rainbow hands on an outfit her stylists will surely have to destroy now.
no subject
He slumps back down to the floor. It won't matter now if there's only him left.
He looks at what's been made. He picks up a bit of chalk.