The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-09-30 08:04 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thecapitol2014-09-30 08:04 pm
I picked my life up piece by piece in the style of an awful metaphor
Who| Initiate and Open (with a special prompt for all those who helped him in arena)
What| Initiate is no longer avox. But he's still a little different.
Where| D5 floor, around the tribute tower, and the speakeasy
When| Forward dated to after his death and revival, late week 6.
WARNINGS| Language. Animal death mention?
A -- (For Jane Shepard, and Open)
He wakes up to a self unfamiliar. With a sudden breath of air and a clear head. Clear of the drink, clear of...
The Avox, the Alternian, the Other-- that's what he'd been calling it. All him, part of him, now and forever. But he thinks, at least now, he recognizes the Other a bit more. Enough that he can slip into this new skin and feel comfortable enough to explore what as it will do for him.
This new skin comes with a healed leg, one he can walk on without limping-- which is as weird as the last time he had a leg injury. It comes with those stupid little fins he'd hated so much before they were gone with only the ghost of an ache. It comes with a tongue, which settles all strange in his mouth. If he tries, he can probably make a sound now. He doesn't.
His hair feels strange all long now. He wonders if he should cut it of his own volition this time. For now, he will simply braid it back, and with that all done, he carries himself on out of the room, trying not to feel like a ghost what ain't really here with no presence to his name. He finds a water for himself from the district five fridge, then heads on to settle into one of the lounge chairs. He doesn't have to do anything. He does have to go anywhere at all. He hasn't got a job here right now. He just has to keep telling himself that.
B -- (For Terezi and Signless, Closed)
There's a weight around his neck. He'd almost not noticed it, with everything else, but he does now. He can feel the tube of paint and know he ain't got to be a bare-faced sinner disgrace for his Messiah anymore. There's a golden goat's skull; the necklace from his moirail. There are three rings interlocked, teal, indigo, mutant red. His ashmates
He'd spent too long over his ownself and upon the realisation, he curses himself for it. He had people to find.
And not find. Like Kurloz, over which he evicted no exclamation like he had the last time he'd wandered into district two, or when he watched Kurloz be dragged off with Gamzee. As his face twists in the empty doorway, he has no doubt in him that this time his other self won't be coming back. There's a second or two where as he prays, bids the motherfucker on to shangri-la , and then he moves along. He's Kurloz now. There's nothing what as he can do for this past.
Or the future, it turns out. The Disciple wasn't the first on his list or even someone what he'd call close, but she was with the three of them when they were on the run and, truth told, he's hesitant to look for, say, Terezi first in case she might not be there. But with the wake up call before him now, he wastes no more time.
He goes to find his ashmates, fidgeting the red and teal of the rings on him as he hurries on through the halls. If the Signless ain't there, so help him, he'll leave a goddamn note. And Terezi... with a heavy weight in him, he decides not to think if she ain't there. He raps his knuckles upon the door.
C -- (Open)
He ain't an avox. Not anymore. He knows that.
But on some level, he supposes he doesn't, because when them things spill, he wastes no time in dropping to kneel. He picks it all up piece by piece, slowing only for a short second and frowning as the realisation hits him of what he's doing. But then sure as sure, he's picking everything all back up anyway. He might as well, he's already done this much.
He rises up to give all back to the rightful owner. Whoever that is to be.
D -- (Open, especially to every single person who helped him in arena or even just talked to him)
There were a lot of people what had helped him back there. A lot of motherfucking people. More people than he thinks he's ever had deigning to nicety at one singular time. It's weird, in retrospect, and it leaves an odd feeling in him, one he's not sure how long all he wants to get a ponder on to.
But he owed these people. He ought to say something to these people. He knows this but he also know such things as they be is, well, a whole other sort of weird in itself. So he comes up with a new idea instead.
It doesn't take horrendously long to catch the proper amount of rats and birds needed, but still some time (and much of that is spent determinedly ignoring the looks of capitolites and the pressing feeling that he's out of place there and would be more in place in an avox uniform). Once done though, he finds himself falling into step easy with cleaning the corpses and collecting the bones and feathers from the dead things. He's already got the string pieces ready and he settles into that same comfortable quiet as he did when he did this in arena with some teeth. They're not particularly elaborate or superbly fanciful, just bones and beaks dipped into color and strung together, but they're things what he can slip easily on a door knob with no ceremony, while still managing to thank in some small way.
He still feels ridiculous, but not as much so as he thinks he might've before this all. He didn't exactly wake up with his pride restored.
From there it's just a matter of slipping them on the doors as he'd intended. Ideally it would be without notice, but he could hardly help it if anyone caught him in the hallway.
(After all is done, much later, he's still got yet more to see. People he owes explanation to. People he owes apology. This must be what it means to start his life all the fuck over again. He can't say he's exactly eager, but he ought to chew the motherfucking munitions now. Even if it means hovering outside the door.)
E -- (Open)
Finally, his task is at it's end. There's just one last thing he wants to do. He heads to the Training Center to paint.
Just the same as always, he gathers up the paint of the camouflage area to settle before the wall. He dips his fingers into the color, raises them up to the wall. Then stops.
He's never been stuck on a painting before. This is new.
F -- (Open)
When he finally goes to the speakeasy alone and for his own whims, he orders Gin. He can recall, from the arena, drinking himself stupid with it, but of course he couldn't taste nothing of it. He had some sense of taste without a tongue but not nearly enough to truly distinguish.
Turns out Gin is pure motherfucking sin in a goddamn glass. Bluh. He coughs, sputters, looks at what he's order just to be sure it's indeed the same thing, and then pushes it away.
There's an unpleasant pout upon his features as he quickly orders a soda to rectify this madness what he hath partaken in, promptly swearing to never have such blasphemy again. He holds the soda glass in hand, sliding it carefully back and forth between the other one.
What| Initiate is no longer avox. But he's still a little different.
Where| D5 floor, around the tribute tower, and the speakeasy
When| Forward dated to after his death and revival, late week 6.
WARNINGS| Language. Animal death mention?
A -- (For Jane Shepard, and Open)
He wakes up to a self unfamiliar. With a sudden breath of air and a clear head. Clear of the drink, clear of...
The Avox, the Alternian, the Other-- that's what he'd been calling it. All him, part of him, now and forever. But he thinks, at least now, he recognizes the Other a bit more. Enough that he can slip into this new skin and feel comfortable enough to explore what as it will do for him.
This new skin comes with a healed leg, one he can walk on without limping-- which is as weird as the last time he had a leg injury. It comes with those stupid little fins he'd hated so much before they were gone with only the ghost of an ache. It comes with a tongue, which settles all strange in his mouth. If he tries, he can probably make a sound now. He doesn't.
His hair feels strange all long now. He wonders if he should cut it of his own volition this time. For now, he will simply braid it back, and with that all done, he carries himself on out of the room, trying not to feel like a ghost what ain't really here with no presence to his name. He finds a water for himself from the district five fridge, then heads on to settle into one of the lounge chairs. He doesn't have to do anything. He does have to go anywhere at all. He hasn't got a job here right now. He just has to keep telling himself that.
B -- (For Terezi and Signless, Closed)
There's a weight around his neck. He'd almost not noticed it, with everything else, but he does now. He can feel the tube of paint and know he ain't got to be a bare-faced sinner disgrace for his Messiah anymore. There's a golden goat's skull; the necklace from his moirail. There are three rings interlocked, teal, indigo, mutant red. His ashmates
He'd spent too long over his ownself and upon the realisation, he curses himself for it. He had people to find.
And not find. Like Kurloz, over which he evicted no exclamation like he had the last time he'd wandered into district two, or when he watched Kurloz be dragged off with Gamzee. As his face twists in the empty doorway, he has no doubt in him that this time his other self won't be coming back. There's a second or two where as he prays, bids the motherfucker on to shangri-la , and then he moves along. He's Kurloz now. There's nothing what as he can do for this past.
Or the future, it turns out. The Disciple wasn't the first on his list or even someone what he'd call close, but she was with the three of them when they were on the run and, truth told, he's hesitant to look for, say, Terezi first in case she might not be there. But with the wake up call before him now, he wastes no more time.
He goes to find his ashmates, fidgeting the red and teal of the rings on him as he hurries on through the halls. If the Signless ain't there, so help him, he'll leave a goddamn note. And Terezi... with a heavy weight in him, he decides not to think if she ain't there. He raps his knuckles upon the door.
C -- (Open)
He ain't an avox. Not anymore. He knows that.
But on some level, he supposes he doesn't, because when them things spill, he wastes no time in dropping to kneel. He picks it all up piece by piece, slowing only for a short second and frowning as the realisation hits him of what he's doing. But then sure as sure, he's picking everything all back up anyway. He might as well, he's already done this much.
He rises up to give all back to the rightful owner. Whoever that is to be.
D -- (Open, especially to every single person who helped him in arena or even just talked to him)
There were a lot of people what had helped him back there. A lot of motherfucking people. More people than he thinks he's ever had deigning to nicety at one singular time. It's weird, in retrospect, and it leaves an odd feeling in him, one he's not sure how long all he wants to get a ponder on to.
But he owed these people. He ought to say something to these people. He knows this but he also know such things as they be is, well, a whole other sort of weird in itself. So he comes up with a new idea instead.
It doesn't take horrendously long to catch the proper amount of rats and birds needed, but still some time (and much of that is spent determinedly ignoring the looks of capitolites and the pressing feeling that he's out of place there and would be more in place in an avox uniform). Once done though, he finds himself falling into step easy with cleaning the corpses and collecting the bones and feathers from the dead things. He's already got the string pieces ready and he settles into that same comfortable quiet as he did when he did this in arena with some teeth. They're not particularly elaborate or superbly fanciful, just bones and beaks dipped into color and strung together, but they're things what he can slip easily on a door knob with no ceremony, while still managing to thank in some small way.
He still feels ridiculous, but not as much so as he thinks he might've before this all. He didn't exactly wake up with his pride restored.
From there it's just a matter of slipping them on the doors as he'd intended. Ideally it would be without notice, but he could hardly help it if anyone caught him in the hallway.
(After all is done, much later, he's still got yet more to see. People he owes explanation to. People he owes apology. This must be what it means to start his life all the fuck over again. He can't say he's exactly eager, but he ought to chew the motherfucking munitions now. Even if it means hovering outside the door.)
E -- (Open)
Finally, his task is at it's end. There's just one last thing he wants to do. He heads to the Training Center to paint.
Just the same as always, he gathers up the paint of the camouflage area to settle before the wall. He dips his fingers into the color, raises them up to the wall. Then stops.
He's never been stuck on a painting before. This is new.
F -- (Open)
When he finally goes to the speakeasy alone and for his own whims, he orders Gin. He can recall, from the arena, drinking himself stupid with it, but of course he couldn't taste nothing of it. He had some sense of taste without a tongue but not nearly enough to truly distinguish.
Turns out Gin is pure motherfucking sin in a goddamn glass. Bluh. He coughs, sputters, looks at what he's order just to be sure it's indeed the same thing, and then pushes it away.
There's an unpleasant pout upon his features as he quickly orders a soda to rectify this madness what he hath partaken in, promptly swearing to never have such blasphemy again. He holds the soda glass in hand, sliding it carefully back and forth between the other one.
Re: F
"You know where." It was simple, quiet, even said with a bit of flirt in the language to hide how serious she was when she said it. Pretending she was obeying the Capitol was impossible now: they were making themselves the demon in the closet but operating out in the open, coming down on them over and over. Now she was just sick of things being calm and unsettling. She wanted Eva's infamous night again.
Re: F
What the fuck even is his goddamn life?
He breathes real deep, then suddenly begins to recite, "O'ere a tale of six young trolls and lo' one didst proclaim. I DREAMT TO LIVE AS OF THE MOON AND PART THIS LOWLY PLANE. Upon my tines shall hang a gold which will be naught but mine. MY ENEMIES SHALL KNEEL SO LOW, HIGH FUCHSIA I WILL SHINE. And four o' them did so agree, aspiring to this creed. BUT ONE REMAINED OF DIFFERENCE, AND SAID THAT WHICH THEY'D NOT FORSEEN. I have so lived as of the moon, not of this pining plane. UPON MY TINES I'D WORE NO GOLD, AND I BORN NO THING BUT PAIN. Of lowest rust I've kneeled so low, but green I did so shine. YOU'VE CHOSEN TO BE ONE OF CROWN AND SO YOUR FATE IS MINE. Before your eyes had lain two moons, yet one you did so see. I AM THE DEMONESS, NEW QUEEN, AND YOU'LL NOT FORGET OF ME." He stares off as he falls silent, lifts his drink to sip it, then nods. "A good tale. HIGHLY ILLEGAL, OF COURSE. But good. IT BASED UPON A MYTH THAT THE DEMONESS IS DESTINED TO HUNT THE EMPRESS. As well as that she has gone long in hiding as one of the most lowly."
Before he might have given her a pointed look, a means to say, we're still fighting here. As of now, he dares not. In fact, his hands grip the glass to hide a tremble left from his conditioning. He keeps a smile on.
Re: F
But a tale like that deserved a drink, and Mindy did actually have a G and T this time. "I'd say that a story like that is bound to get your ass in trouble, but these days, so much less will now."
She grimaced. "I feel like I always been that lowly though. It's not as bad as people make it out...not if you have the things you need. After that, its just about lying in wait."
Re: F
"NEVER DID THOUGH. Kicked shit humble. KICKED THE WICKED SHIT WITH NO SUCH GRACINGS FOR MINE AND ME. Never ever did get my live on like them fishfuck pricks what was thinking above me. I'D GET THESE LOWBLOODS ON ME LIKE I COULD POSSIBLY HAVE KNOWN NO STRIFE-- HA! Heh." He's got a wry smile on his face, like those were the days, as he shakes his head. "Naw, I feel your preach. I'M BEING ABOUT IT. Ain't never been quite this low before-" wherein he had any thought of slaving so clear on his mind, even if it ain't near close to the whipping and hurt what his moirail had gone through "-but all the same. YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED, YOU FIGHT."
And she's right, of course. Even if it's from his old world, easily brushed off as being part them crazy trolls, it can't exactly be the sort of fables what capitol wants spouted. He gives a quick glance around out of that twitch of fear, just to be sure there ain't no one giving them sharp eye, especially not no peacekeepers.
Re: F
"Never thought you were low, even then," she commented. "You were trying to be you, however you could anyway. It helped center me a little bit. The Arena rocked my ass pretty hard, not gonna lie. Didn't spend it going after people like I did the one I won, so...I got a little fucked up there."
She cleared her throat. "Fighting. Yeah. I don't think I'll hold back with that again."
Re: F
Or he had, before anyway. He doubts he could pull it off now if he tried.
"That's good what to get knowing of," He says, with smile. He managed to show through as more than a Capitol servant. He'd wondered if all anyone had.
"YOU STUMBLED. But that's alright. YOU'RE HERE STILL. And a loss like that's one what can be learned from. YOU'LL COME BACK STRONGER." He adds, in joking tone, "He'll bet a drink for it." And he winks.
Re: F
Really, the branding was enough.
"If you're that eager for the bet, then I'm gonna dare you to try another drink. A REAL one this time."
Re: F
But he thinks about that, what she's said. He truly gives it ponder. And before, he'd have agreed.
Only something now has him shake his head. That new self born of broken shells what was really being old.
"...AIN'T WRONG, TRYING AS TO BE NOBLE," He says, and he sounds thoughtful, like it's all just occuring to him as the words spill out his maw. "My faith, sister, is of Messiahs two. OPPOSING GODS WHAT IS ALWAYS GOING AGAINST EACH OTHER. But they are in perfect unity. PERFECT BALANCE. An equal share of sweet melody. AND THE HARSH NOISE. I've been thinking... would it be so motherfucking bad, to be both?"
He gives her a questioning look.
Re: F
She gave him a wink. "Besides, if I'm daring you to drink that, you can dare me to do the same with whatever you pick. I'll even do it with a smile on my face."
That was something to think about, wasn't it? "I'm conflicted on that. I can kill, can slice and murder, most people know that after seeing me in action. But this place makes good and bad so damn murky, I try to balance my killing with making sure I'm right too. I never used to care about that as much: I shot from the hip. I hate that this place complicates fucking everything."
Don't forget the translation is in effect! Even if it doesn't matter much here :')
"WELL, IT AIN'T MOTHERFUCKING EASY. S'why the church has at for the wire set symbolic right? FUNAMBULIST GETTING UP ON THAT GOT TWO SIDES TO WORRY ON. He's watched probably one or motherfucking two of them fall at to the ticket-taker awaiting. HELPS AS FOR HOW YOU IS GETTING TO LOOK ON IT." He nods, seriously.
Re: Don't forget the translation is in effect! Even if it doesn't matter much here :')
Clearly he was having an effect on her, for her to say a word like that.
"I like not having to think about the fucking weights of my action. I could just DO what I had to. That clarity helps, you know what I mean? I can just let loose, not care. But thanks to the way this shit is, I haven't been able to do that once!"
no subject
And so he raises his soda up to clink against her drink. He's got no problems having effects up on motherfuckers.
"I GET YOU, SIS. Could've culled whoever as I wanted on Alternia. COULD'VE DONE WHATEVER. I spent me sweeps enforcing law. THE FUCK DID I DO THAT FOR? That's hypothetical, of course, I motherfucking loved that shit. BUT DAMN, YO." He shakes his head at his ownself and their predicament.
no subject
Though not really, but no one had to know that.
"I feel you. My dad wished he could do that: spent his life, you know? Then reality wakes him up and he finds he's supposed to bend the fucking law for pieces of shit who grease your pockets so you look the other way. Justice, apparently. But he don't answer to that kind of shit...and neither do I."
no subject
He listens quiet and nods. As all she finishes he says, "Sounds as like you ain't lost who you is entire at all. THAT'S A PIECE ALL RIGHT THE FUCK THERE."
no subject
"Nah." she was quiet, but steel. "Not yet. Not for me."
Finish here? c:
"That's the way to motherfucking be."
You know it!