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: A
"You could probably just try and lay low for a spell. The city is very much against anyone baring the traitors brand right now, and that girl Eponine already made a public apology and thanked the Capitol for giving her back the ashes of that stone boy that got killed." She explained dryly.
Re: A
"HE'LL SEE WHAT AS HE CAN DO." He still had Gamzee in ditrict five to worry about afterall. Even if Kurloz was gone now.
It would've been easier to lay low if all they'd just made him a servant again. It's just a game right now where all they threaten and hold the blade to throat. But he knows that's the test. Anticipating it to make him break, let him throw his hands up as to say fuck it.
The funny thing is, he ain't even got a brand. They'd not given him one, just avoxed him, and then on his revival slapped that damned cuff on-- his avoxing still showed more.
"ONLY PUT CULL TO ONE OF OUR LOT? That's surprising. I REMEMBER HIM. He was a good opponent. TO HAVE BEEN ANOTHER EXECUTION OR...?"
Re: A
It seemed fishy to Azula how quietly that particular mystery had been solved, but she supposed with the murderer already executed there wasn't much else to do.
Returning from the kitchen area she had a glass of wine for herself and a freshly poured glass of soda for him. "Have you tried out that new tongue yet for tasting?" she asked offering it to him.
Re: A
That... no way could that be right. Unless he'd gone all for getting entirely wrong perception of the motherfucker up in his fight, he wouldn't be about no sort of thing as what got done. They'd have mentioned real destruction. They'd have called on her being about broken bones.
But more than that, his mind keeps going back to one person in particular.
It was too easy to say Orc had done it. But it could be for the better. No one need know otherwise.
She comes back with Soda and a smile comes over him. A look of deep gratitude. He takes the glass from her and holds it like it's a precious thing. "Thank you, Azula," He says, the word thick with its very meaning. "TOO MOTHERFUCKING KIND ON AT HIS UNGRACIOUS ASS." He lifts the cup up to his lips and the pop and fizz gets on tingle up ins. "Miracles," He mutters, and it's got a little more emotion in it than he really gets intention for. It occurs real sharp he's got a chance what the other non-tribute avoxes, and even his own past life ain't gotten.
Re: A
"Well as ungracious as your ass may be, you're still my tribute. And we've lost one recently so I'm feeling a bit more protective."
Though truth be told she barely missed Shaggy.
"Mr. Rodgers has not returned and his room has been assigned to another tribute. I hope you weren't particularly fond of him." Just one of many headaches she was dealing with by sipping her wine.
Re: A
Being looked after is strange but he's not in any sort of state to fight it. He just listens.
"THE TERRORBITCH? He's the fucker what got on eating all of everything, that right? MOTHERFUCKER COULDN'T ALL KEEP FROM JUMPING AND MAKING ON THE SKITTER SCURRY SCAMPER UNDER SO MUCH AS A GODDAMN GLANCING." And he hadn't come back. Maybe he'd run for it, but Initiate knew that it was all the more motherfucking likely he was dead as a door knob.
He shrugs. "Naw, I ain't got fondness what as to spare." And he's under no illusion she's got all too much either. "ANY OTHERS WHAT GOT GONE RECENT?"
Re: A
"Enjolras hasn't come back either and they've cleaned his room out this morning."
If it were any other mentor she might be more upset but there was no love lost between her and the french rebel so removing him from her life was nothing but relief.
Re: A
Somehow though, he ain't really surprised. It was more a surprise they waited until the motherfucking blackout for it.
It has him thinking then, frowning.
"...DID THEY EVER COME ON AT THROUGH HIS? They do that, right, when all they decide on permanence of slipping silence?" Did they intend to bring him back the whole time? Just a threat on their part?
To be fair, much of his old belongings were gone since they'd been broken. They'd taken his necklace too for the arena, but had returned it back. Would they have even done it to her notice, or sometime while she was asleep? Perhaps it's pointless to wonder.
Re: A
"Well I feel as though it's been a long time coming. I've had great luck with the tributes I was given, just increasingly bad luck with the people who are in charge and the other mentors I'm supposed to be working with."
Seems like all the mentors she actually likes keep vanishing as well.
"Who's to say really? They don't keep me in the loop on why they make their choices. It's almost as if they don't respect me as much as they pretend to." Clearly she's still a little miffed about that.
"But tell me of your people, the one you left to rescue in that incredibly misguided action that was a horrible betrayal of my country and everything I stand for. How are they doing?"
She felt silly having to admonish him like that but at least she didn't have to act like she cared.
Re: A
"AND I GUESS THAT'S TRUE TOO," He says, letting himself just melt into the chair, eyes closing.
He can't help laughing at how she words it. True as true, what she says. "She got hurt bad. LOST HER MOIRAIL, LOST SOME HOPE. Brand upon the face marking as the traitors we is. BUT SHE'S BEING ALIVE. And that's what I wanted. GOT AT TO APPRECIATE THEM LITTLE THINGS, YO." He cracks an eye open. "Speaking of, it cool that she stay here? WITH ME?"
Re: A
"I don't mind. It's not as if we have some kind of top secret tactics training going on to help you win the next arena." She twirled a finger in the air to show her lack of enthusiasm.
"She's welcome here as far as I'm concerned. I don't think the security staff care all that much but if it causes problems then call me and I'll try and help sort them out."
She couldn't do much, but she could at least do this.
Re: A
And the gratitude he presents ain't no secret neither. It brings to light, with how she studied him, just how much she expects it from him to be playing the sly game. He's only shown her the one side of himself-- deliberately so, what with her being someone he saw as strong. It's not as though she's the only one he's done it to, but she's seen more of that particular side than others.
"That's good what to motherfucking hear," He says, relieved. "YOU'RE A SAVIOR TRUE, AZULA. He owes you." For more than one thing. Even if the escape failed, she still made to help.
Re: A
"In time I'm sure I'll find use for all that credit I've earned with you." She added coyly. "But find a way to help another one of our tributes from our district win and consider us even."
Not that she really thought he would try that hard. There was a bigger game to be played by both of them. But for appearance sake she would make that her apparent desire for now.
Re: A
But he knows, for all they both got bigger plans and things what to worry about now, she wouldn't exactly say no to a motherfucking win some time. It's not as though he doesn't train people already so, sure, maybe he actually can.
"SURE MOTHERFUCKING THING. Can be all about that righteous noise, sister."
He doesn't mind her brushing no thing off. He knows she hears him.
"DIDN'T THINK I SAID SAY BUT... s'good to be back."
Re: A
Considering how most people didn't even acknowledge Avox in action, this might qualify as being subversive by Azula's standards. But she doubted she'd get in trouble for it.
Then again maybe snide little comments like this were why she couldn't seem to make any progress with the higher ups.
And done. c:
It ain't just Capitol what he ought be grateful to, for having been given tongue back in the whole of his lifetimes.
"AIGHT," He says, unsure how to take her comment. It's weird to know such things were noticed. More so that they may have been missed. And from her, too. "He can be about that."
But in the meantime, he doesn't think he'll mind settling into a silence of a different sort. Just for this short while, he'd like to feel at peace.