thecapitol | (no subject)

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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Don didn't even make a move to stop Howard; he was more than welcome to have it. Though that last quip did cause Don's eyes to narrow ever so slightly.

"Ha ha."

"Dude, no one's dead for real." Thank goodness. Howard doesn't like to think how he'd feel if the last of Lottie's existence was getting her brains beat out by a rock. "Relax."

"Its not that simple." His response was quiet. "I don't enjoy killing, regardless of the outcome or reasons. Especially not for...entertainment."

"Well, that's nothing special." Howard shrugs. "I'd be more weirded out if you did like it."

At this Don let out a sigh. Well, that was a...comfort. Sort of.

"...You're new, right?" There was a vague recollection Don had about seeing his face in the sky a few nights before his...devolution. What else can he call it? "I...I didn't kill you, did I?"

"Yeah, I got in after you guys had killed each other for all the supplies, so I got to waste away from infection instead. Fun times." He chews on the fork; the tip of it bobs up and down in front of his face. "So no, you didn't kill me."

"Good." That breath coming from Don's beak might have been a sigh of relief. "I mean...death by radiation sickness...isn't good either way, but..."

At least it wasn't at his hands. Which would have been terrifying, and horrible, for this kid.

"At least you took out your victims fast. They didn't have to linger or anything." That's the way to look at it, Don! Silver linings!

"And in return half the people in this building are frightened of me." Donatello sighed. "That I'm going to 'go monster' on them all of a sudden."

"Are you?"

Because that's something Howard wants to know, man.

"...I don't know." It's, unfortunately, the truth. "The radiation obviously caused an interaction with the virus, that much I know. But aside from that I've not had any symptomatic episodes since arriving here." Suddenly, Donatello was up and pacing frantically. "I haven't been able to do any research on what I have in order to figure out exactly what other variables could trigger it or if I can even cure it for, well, obvious reasons. No equipment, no time to make them. Nor do I know if...if somehow I've managed to give it to anyone else. Or if the Capitol has found a way to stave off the devolution and that's why I didn't before then. Or that they even knew I was sick..."

Pace, pace, pace.

"They don't want you sick here. They like all their violence contained. I mean, I haven't been here long and even I figured that out." He paces opposite Donatello, like someone in a cage with a wild animal trying to keep his distance.

"But that's just it. Because I was sick, I...I killed so many people." Don stopped pacing. "That's what they want. They want us to kill each other, and the more violent, the better."

In other words. How long would it be before the Gamemakers decided it was getting too boring, decided to spice things up again and figure out a way to trigger that mutagen churning inside him? And how did he know this time wasn't on purpose?

"Yeah, in the arena. You're no good to them if you go on a rampage on your groupies out here, right?"

Howard's genuinely asking, because he has to believe all the violence is contained to the arena. He has to.

"...No." Though Don did frown at the mention of groupies. "No, I wouldn't be."

Oh, Howard. You will be disappointed soon enough.

"So don't you think they'd have pulled you out and started testing you to make sure you don't bite off groupie heads if they were surprised at you being sick?"

Don't take away his safe space too soon, Don.

"I would if I were them." Don shook his head. "But I don't remember them every doing that."

"Which means that they probably knew all along." He licks the plate Don gave him. "Which is kind of a cheerful thought, I guess?"

"Not really." For someone who's supposed to be amoral, Howard is oddly naive. Not that Don knows that. "It just means they know and they could potentially use it to their advantage in some way."

At least, that was how it worked back where he came from.

"No, what I mean is - if the games people here at the Capitol were shocked by the way you changed, and afraid that you'd do it again outside the arena, they'd have hauled you away and tested you to make sure you wouldn't go apeshit on one of their Gamemakers or eat a dignitary or something. The fact that they aren't means that either they knew ahead of time, or they know enough now that they aren't worried about that happening and don't need to keep you on ice. Because they give a shit about their own skins."

He suspects they're talking past each other, miscommunicating. "Or they ran a bunch of tests on you before reviving you. Either way, I'm guessing they like to keep their nasty little surprises in front of the cameras."

Naive, maybe, but still cynical.