thecapitol | (no subject)

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WHO| Don and OPEN
WHAT| Don has awoken, and...well, he doesn't take what happened too well.
WHEN| After the end of Arena 04
WHERE| Throughout the District 9 floor
WARNING/NOTES| Sadness. Lots of sadness. And stuff.

If Kevin Prentiss was the toast of the town, then at this moment, Donatello was probably the butter spread on top of it.

Of course, his incredible streak - and surprising transformation (what a plot twist! So wonderfully brutal!) had only enhanced his standing with watchers in the Capitol. Few Arenas had one person kill so many people. There was even talk about one party-goer who was going to do a "metamorphosis ball" in honor of Donatello's transformation in the Arena.

But if anyone in the Tribute building was expecting to see Donatello out and about after the end of the Arena, they would be sorely mistaken. He was in his room, on his bed, staring out the windows. In the common room, on the couch, looking at the floor. Barely touching his food or drink.

Donatello had flashes of what he might have done. They were faint, almost dream-like, sporadic flashes. He can remember running and tearing into...something fleshy. He didn't know what. Almost as quickly as they came, they were gone. It was enough for him to know that he didn't want to know anymore. Which, of course, he was filled in on anyways, by one of his Stylists (who also maintained a healthy distance from him as he was given the news, and then ran out of the room).

This just...killed him. The Gamemakers had to know. They had to know he was infected. The file they had on him - the brief glance of it he saw - had concise information on him. How could they let him into a place with radioactivity knowing-

Ha. Who am I kidding. Because it makes a good story...good TV. That's all it is...to the people in this city.

He was tired of this game.

He wanted to go home now.

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"Why?" Neeshka blinked at him. She wasn't holding grudges. Well, mostly wasn't holding grudges, anyway. "It wasn't like you did that whole crazy-monster-turtle thing on purpose, right?"

She paused, narrowed her eyes at him in mock-suspicion, and asked, "Or did you?"

"Wh-no!" Sorry, Neeshka, even mock-suspicion felt like complete condemnation. He brought his head into his hands. "I wouldn't! I didn't! I didn't even realize the Arena was irradiated, I only had a feeling! And if I'd known it would react to the virus like that, I...I'd have killed myself before it got that far!"

"Whoah, whoah, calm down, gods," Neeshka exclaimed, holding up her hands and looking mildly alarmed. She hadn't expected that kind of a reaction! "I didn't honestly think that you did! I was just teasing you! Besides, it's not like any of it took." Hence why she didn't hold any grudges, and was more fascinated than annoyed. "I'm back alive and healthy again, right? Not even any scars!"

"But...still." Deep breath. "That's not me. That thing...I don't like that...I can turn into that thing and...its just entertainment to everyone! Its not! And...and even if I didn't do it on purpose, I still did it."

"Donatello, calm down," Neeshka reiterated firmly, still looking a bit alarmed, but at least glad was slowing down a little. Not much, but a little. "It wasn't your fault. Remember? The whole games-people doing all this toe mess with us? You said it yourself, it's not you. So if it's not you, then it's them, and so there's no point beating yourself up for something they did."

Neeshka is very good at rationalizing, Don, can't you tell?

There was a silence at this. It was him, technically. But then again, Neeshka was right. He had no doubt that they were aware of his illness, but sent him into that Arena anyhow. It unnerved him. Not that the Games didn't unnerve him, but this did the job even moreso.

"I'm a ninja. I follow bushidō. I'm supposed to do things honorably. That includes allowing a dignified death for my opponents if such a battle is unavoidable." Death. How many people had he killed in this place. How many times. What would his father, his brothers, say? "This...this isn't even dignified. This is..."

Cruel? Evil? Other adjectives he wished to say but couldn't because the walls had ears?

Edited 2012-12-13 01:28 (UTC)

Neeshka didn't have a clue what a ninja was, but that did sound kind of like what she knew of as a monk, so she went with that. "Yeah, I know guys like that. There's this dwarf back home who's very into that kind of thing. But think of it this way: would you totally say it was your fault if these Games guys just out and out shot the people you killed? It's the same thing, completely. They just turned you into a weapon to do it with, that's all, and it's not the arrow's fault when it kills someone."

"But that's just it. I already was a weapon, in a sense. That's what you're taught as a ninja." Don rubbed his head. "Your body is the instrument of your will."

"You really do sound like a monk," Neeshka snorted, not impressed and pretty sure she was never going to get through to him. Persistance was not really her strong point. "Well, fine, if you wanna beat yourself up over something that's not your fault, I guess I can't do anything to stop you."

"It's...hard not to." Though that mink crack did get the faintest of smiles. "My sensei...my brothers...I'm not sure how they'd react to what happened, if they were to come here. Especially my older brothers."

Leonardo, who was always harder on himself, even after his spiritual journey. And Raphael...who'd been the one to unwittingly push him into the path of that tentacle that nicked him. He didn't even want to know how Michelangelo's heart would shatter - just that it would.

"If they blamed you they'd be pretty rotten brothers," Neeshka shrugged, secure in having never had brothers or sisters of any kind. And even if she had, it wasn't like tieflings were exactly familial and loving to each other.

Subject change time. And possibly scenery change, too. "So how long have you been sitting in here, being all gloomy?"

"Its not exactly that they'd...blame me." At this, Donatello clasped his hands. "They'd blame themselves. But it wasn't their fault."

~~Donatello, take your own advice.~~

"I don't know. I haven't bothered looking at the clock or the calendar."

"Just like it's not yous." Neeshka hopped up and stood in front of him, holding out both hands, clearly aiming for him to take them, with the intention of levering him off the couch. Not that Neeshka was anywhere near strong enough to lever someone with a shell anywhere, but it was the thought that couunted.

"Come on," she said firmly. "You're getting off that couch and outside into the open air. It'll make you feel better. We'll even find somewhere without any of those teevee screens. All right?"

Oh dear. Shades of Michelangelo.

"I'm guessing..." he said as he slowly got up, "you're not taking no for an answer."

"Nope!" she chirped at him, grinning proudly that she'd managed it. She took his hands once he was up and tugged him towards the elevator, ready with a stream of chatter so he didn't have to to voice any protests. "Have you ever been sledding? I found some trash can lids that work great for sledding. Of course, the guys who don't talk get kind of frustrated with me when I borrow them, but I think a little frustration is probably good for them now and then, don't you?"

"Uh-" More shades of Michelangelo. Was she the female troll equivalent or something? "I don't know. The avoxes...aren't exactly trained for anything but servant work."

"Nobody gets trained for being frustrated," Neeshka pointed out, hitting the button for the ground floor on the elevator with her tail spade. "I still say it's good for them. So they're avoxes, huh? Why the special name?"

"...Well..." Don thought for a moment. "I'm not exactly a student of Latin, but vox generally means 'voice'. The use the term on vox in the space program back home to denote that they are on the network speaking to mission control back home. And, well, since they don't have their voices anymore...I'd say the a means of or no or something like that. So...'no voice'. Avox."

Edited 2012-12-20 14:23 (UTC)

"Latin. Wow. What's Latin?" Neeshka didn't exactly come from a world where Rome existed, but she was certainly curious, now that he'd mentioned it! "I guess it makes sense, though, if that's what that means, and they don't talk ever." No, she still hadn't put together the whole "no tongues" thing. Neeshka was only observant when she was trying to be.

"Its the language of the Roman Empire, from where I come from. It was a huge political entity which controlled almost an entire continent for centuries before it collapsed. Latin was hugely influential in many other languages as a result."

He turned to Neeshka, slightly incredulous at her words.

"You realize why they never talk, don't you? Its because they've been rendered that way."

The elevator hit ground floor, and Neeshka blinked at him. "But how do you-- oh. Ooooh. Hells, that's nasty to do to somebody!" She made a face, finally connecting the dots, but wasn't as horrified as she could be. Neeshka had heard of such things before. "Talk about a permanent job, then. Can't do much else, if your tongue's chopped out."

She lead the way out into the lobby, towards the door, snatching up a coat from the waiting rack. She went out rather a lot, since she'd gotten back, and usually kept one down here.

Pretty obviously. Meanwhile Don didn't have one.

"No. No you can't."

"That's pretty annoying. I guess maybe they could be, like, scribes or something... but that's almost as boring as being a servant, I'd think." Neeshka got almost to the door before she realized the lack of coat, and turned to look him over critically. "I think there's probably a coat on the rack that'll fit you. Maybe. That shell sure does look like it'd get in the way a lot, though."

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