thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

✘ donatello

(no subject)

Who| Don and OPEN
What| Don is preparing for his 10th Arena and worrying about the arrested Tributes
Where| Throughout the Tribute Tower, particularly the roof, the D9 suite and the Training Center
When| The last three nights before the Arena
Warnings| None at the moment, possible Arena talk!

Brewing coffee had never taken such an eternity.

The closer the Arena date came, the slower the time seemed to go for Don. No sign of the jailbreakers being released, only continued pedantic announcements of how the investigation of Penny's murder was gone. Half the Tower was practically missing now. And he could only keep wondering if he did the right thing in ultimately not getting involved in the jailbreak.

Or maybe he did the right thing. The fact that no one had returned is a sign it went bad. And he at least was able to finish the Shakespeare, though much good that did. He'd only been able to get a general approximate location of a pod near the Capitol Art Museum with the equipment Lonestar had given him, but not much else. That, and with the arrests surrounding Penny's death...and the very subtle shift of how he was treated on the streets, even though he was known to not be involved with the jailbreak or murder...

...was this coffee ever going to finish? Shell, it had been ten Arenas now, and he couldn't remember feeling more terrified, even after Ariadne's death. Things were most definitely changing, and he knew the pressure was only going to get worse. He cracked once; how now was he going to stop from cracking again?

Most of the last nights before the Arena would be spent training, drinking his own brewed coffee, and pacing. Lots of late night pacing, throughout the Tower, and on the roof, just drinking coffee. And worrying.

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"Actually...I'm from Manhattan," Don replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Mutated by space goo, but still American born and raised."

Sorry, doc, you weren't getting out of this easily.

"Manhattan? But you're a...a...a...tortoise!" He remembers that much biology. "A large, sentient bipedal tortoise."

Give him a minute to let this sink in. It's probably bad that he'd almost rather it be a hallucination.

"Are you like...an escaped experiment? Or from some Superfund site? Or Three Mile Island?" Or...something? He is still a scientist: he has questions, friend.

"A red-eared slider, actually."

Semantics. But in any case.

"...No, no, and...before my time." He shook his head. "I just fell into the sewer during a car accident."

He nods at the correction. Close enough. The important thing is that the, uh, sentient amphibian didn't deny it was a sentient amphibian.

"There are tortoises in New York?!" Radioactive goo? Sure. Talking tortoise? All right. But tortoises just roaming the streets of New York? A bridge too far, friend.

Then again, Dennett, you're the guy who brought cyborgs to Detroit. "I-I'm sorry. Dennett Norton. From Detroit."

"Donatello Hamato." Well, more like moving through the shadows of New York. "And...there's me and my brothers. And our master. And...one or two more mutants, That's about it, in terms of that."

Edited 2014-08-22 02:21 (UTC)

Well, once Dennett's accepted that there are talking bipedal tortoise mutants, he really can't draw a red line in the sand about a Renaissance sculptor's name.

"Oh. Well, that's a relief, I suppose." Not really, but he has to say something. "A-are you toxic? Has anyone checked your radiation levels?"

Oh, dear.

"I'm not toxic in that fashion, no. I was exposed to a type of alien radiation inside what mutated me," and the mutagen virus, not that he planned on mentioning that to someone already clearly worried about his health in Don's vicinity, "but that was a long time ago. Standing around me isn't going to be a problem." A pause. "...Unless you're a vampire and try to drink my blood."

Edited 2014-08-24 03:19 (UTC)

He's not an expert--Dennett's more about robots and brains than toxins, but he wishes now he knew more, had a good medical library he could access. But he does realize--he's slow, but not rude--that he's probably making the other man--turtle--uncomfortable.

But that...doesn't help. "There are vampires here?"

Oh...oops.

"Not that I'm aware of, anymore?"

"Anymore." Oooooh boy. He almost dreads the day this place and this sort of revelation feels normal. "Well, I suppose the shell gives you some advantage." Have a clumsy neurosurgeon try to make a joke.

"...Something like that." He rubbed the back of his head at this. "If I even really had a neck to begin with."

"Well, I mean, you have a neck-like structure." Oh, you brought this on yourself, tortoise, because now he's staring at your anatomy. "Though I was thinking more about getting stabbed in the back." Which was not a metaphor in this place.

"Oh." Technically, but- "Someone could do it, with enough strength. Someone has, actually. Though...one of them's not here anymore."

Dennett's just going to give a sheepish laugh. "I think I'm going to stop trying to say reassuring things." Because he's not sure how much more he can take.

"So. Uh. How long have you been here?" That's a safe topic, right?

"Two years." Don sighed as he answers. "Ten arenas, once this new arena starts."

"Jesus--erm, I mean," Don't start cursing now, Dennett. "I don't even...how do you manage?"

"Carefully." Don let out a breath. "To not go insane again."

"I can imagine. That's what I'm afr--'again'?" What does again mean?

"...Well," Don frowned. "This place can do things to you."

He's seen avoxes, so he knows that 'do things to you' can be very, very literal here. But that seems almost tame compared to the mental affect. "That's what I'm afraid of. I can't decide if it's good or bad that I know people here. I mean, people from my home."

"...Oh." At this, Don frowned. Of all things he could be lucky about, it was that they hadn't brought anyone he cared for to Panem from his world. "I'm sorry about that. Who...if you're all right with answering, who did they bring?"

Edited 2014-09-04 17:31 (UTC)

Dennett would have to agree. Getting slapped by Clara when he'd met her here? He'd deserved that, really. But getting killed by her, or having to kill her? Oh, no. He couldn't. He couldn't even think about it.

"One of my patients. And his, well, his wife."

"Oh...geez..." That sounded pretty bad. And worse, he was a doctor, on top of it? "I'm really sorry to hear that..."

What is your life when you're getting sympathy from a mutated turtle? How, exactly, low on the totem pole of life does that happen? Apparently this low.

"No, no, it's fine. Well, it's better for me than them. Husband and wife. Here." He shakes his head. He can't imagine....

Low, maybe, but not quite as low as getting sympathy from, say, Harley.

"Husband and wife? Who are they?"