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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"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."