HK-47 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sloshing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
sloshing) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
Entry tags:
[open] if my anatomy had a chat with me,
Who| HK-47 and YOU
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
no subject
"Yes, although I'm not sure mine will do you much good. You may need someone bigger," Charles answered. He was shorter than many of the people he knew personally. "But if you believe I can."
He wasn't the sort of person to just leave someone hanging there, regardless as to how things would be in the arena.
no subject
HK stretches down, arms fully extended to reach, and sure enough, he comes up a little bit too short to get a proper center of gravity established. Craning his head back, which is really awkward when you're already hanging upside-down, he was gathering, he looks over Charles' physique.
"Query: How strong are you?" He had an idea that might work, and while handicapping someone outside the arena could be beneficial, that would ruin the sport of it. So he wanted to make sure that wouldn't happen preemptively.
no subject
He shifts a little, trying to make himself taller and stronger. He surely didn't want to leave him trapped up there in the net. All the blood would rush to his head and he would pass out before too long.
no subject
"Answer: Hold your arms up and brace yourself." Assuming it would work out, he should be able to get down fine that way. Or he'd knock Charles over and they'd both be on the floor. It was better than passing out though.
no subject
"Ready," he said.
Even if he probably wouldn't get hurt if Charles dropped him, he'd still prefer not to drop him.