thecapitol | ↠ if i let go of all my ghosts

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↠ if i let go of all my ghosts

Who| Davesprite (

anachronologistics) and Terezi Pyrope (

pythianjudgment)
What| A birdsprite and a troll walk into a ~~elevator~~ bar...
Where| Elevator
When| Nowish/before the Reaping
Warnings/Notes| Strider language and trolljudice on Davesprite's part.

You never step foot in Murderville on Bloodmonkey Mountain and expect to spend approximately two weeks doing absolute bullshit. At first it seemed like one of those situations where your captors were going to fatten you up before plopping you down in front of some starving lions and tigers while the Senate cheers for your demise, except in this case, the aforementioned lions and tigers were usually other adults and kids. Now it just seems like there's nothing to do except stew in your own excrement until someone decides to doll you up like some kind of bondage Barbie for televised shenanigans.

... sans the shitty costume part, it's really not all that different from the bullshit on the ship.

At least Murderville on Bloodmonkey Mountain has a decent training center, with not-terribly-shitty swords to ~~refamiliarize oneself with walking around on brand-new legs and huge feet~~ train with.

He's worked up a bit of a sweat tonight -- it's weird, because he never sweat as a sprite -- and with a few hours to go before curfew, he's going to head back up into his suite to somehow finaggle a shower while still getting as little water as possible on his wings. Wet wings are good for no one.

It's a shame that he's going to have to wait for 11 flights of people coming on and getting off this damn elevator.

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Unfortunately for Davesprite's luck, the elevator halts at floor three, barely a few floors through his ascent. Maybe it might not have been so bad, if it was anyone else joining him in the small elevator car, but the doors open to what should be a familiar face.

Terezi looks pleasantly surprised for a moment, a greeting of "Hey Dave" starting on her lips. But she hesitates when she smells the wings, a confused and slightly awkward gap punctuating between the two words. Is that really him?

"Mr. Orange Creamsicle, I presume?" she asks, lifting a brow at him as she boards the elevator. The button for floor Eleven has already been pressed. Terezi's finger hovers over the middle of the pad for a moment before hitting Twelve. That moment of hesitation belies the fact that Twelve was not actually where she had intended to go.

Fuck.

You know, he should have expected this. Trolls are like ants: where there's one, there's fifty, and the queen asshole of fishy troll douchery already shares a suite with him. That he should end up stuck in an elevator with one (particularly Terezi) like some kind of shitty joke shouldn't come as a surprise.

He watches her press the button for 12 -- god damn it -- unaware of how his wings pull taut against his back even as the rest of him stays loose and relaxed.

"Nope. Rob Schneider. There are no Mr. Creamsicles in the elevator, either orange or otherwise."

"Apparently not! You are significantly less orange than I remember. Even if Dave Rob Schneider Strider is possibly the worst name I've ever heard."

Despite her casual response and her grin, she can tell he's uncomfortable. The exact reason isn't entirely known to her, but she's wondering at the timing of it. He didn't seem that guarded before she stepped onto the elevator.

"I've been hearing whispers about a new Dave on the block. Imagine actually running into you." It's not like they don't all live in the same tower. "Are you settling in well? Did they set up a nest for you?"

"And no one was surprised that the blind girl was running into people..."

He couldn't help taking that jab, okay.

There's a part of him that hopes the elevator will stop at the next floor, but something tells him that this would be the one time that he won't be so lucky.

"Of course I am. Did you think I would settle in this shithole in any other way? I think fucking not. Also, I'm not exactly comfortable describing my sleeping arrangements to you. Who knows what sort of weird, edible sensual bouquet you might come up with. Leave that to the legion of adoring public."

If Davesprite though that his jab at her blindness would offend her delicate ego, then Terezi is delighted to disappoint him with a grin. Friendship confirmed. You are never getting rid of her now.

"Oh, Dave, please. I have already ascribed you to an edible sensual bouquet. Mr. Orange Creamsicle will live on in infamy as the most dashing and delicious of all the sprites."

As delightful as all of this banter is, though, she's aware that she really knows nothing about which point he's from or why he has both wings and legs. The second point she can probably attribute to the Capitol being assholes and doing whatever they like, but the first... There's really no chance of finding out except to ask.

"So which temporal space junction did they pull you in from?"

Damn it.

"First of all, gross. Second of all, I'm not Dave."

For a moment, he considers pushing a button for another floor. There are a lot of things he would rather not to talk to Terezi about. His timeline is very high on the list of those things.

"From the None Of Your Business Junction. My celestial spirit-guiding can only extend to certain parameters."

... but, well...

"Tell me yours and I might tell you mine."

"Funny, you smell like a Dave to me." She doesn't say more than that on the subject, though. It's a little weird of him to be so insistent on not using his name, but whatever. He's probably got his feathers tied in a bunch about something.

She considers his tit-for-tat offer for a few seconds before shrugging her shoulders. "Sure, whatever. I was on the meteor that was were hiding out on. It was about one human year into our three human year escapade into the Scratched Session. Dave and Rose kept us updated on the time--after we somehow picked them up in the Medium where the Green Sun exploded. Everything else was pretty uneventful, all things considered." She shrugs her shoulders again. "There might have been some demons chasing us, I don't know. That was more than a earth year ago for me. I have been a lovely resident of Panem since then."

With her part of the deal out of the way, she nods her head towards Davesprite. "Your turn, Mr. Creamsicle."

It doesn't feel right to not differentiate. The last thing Dave needed was for his avian alt-self to show up in Murderfest City and reap any of his deserved spoils with the general public.

"I said I might tell you mine."

It sounds like they are mostly from the same point, so there's no risk for any weird paradoxes. Though, would it really matter at all, considering how fucked up the timelines must be if the Capitol keeps plucking them out like a beautician keeping up with Joe Jonas' eyebrows?

"Prospitian battleship. I was all snuggly in Jade's pocket like a baby kangaroo for a while 'til she made it spew us all out and then we spent an unmannerly amount of time playing the Ghostbusters MMO, eating ghost cake, and basically being bored out of our minds."

Plus other things, but he's pretty content to just leave it there.

"Yep, being bored out of our minds sounds like a pretty common state of being." Three years was such a long time to have a limited space to live on with a limited number of people. No wonder most of them ended up dead.

"I am so glad that we share this very touching moment of cross-universal ennui. I feel like we are infinitely more bonded now. Peas in a pod. Birds of a feather. Or we would be, if I had your decadent plumage."

The decadent plumage fluffs a little.

"What can I say, not all of us were meant to have wings. Also do trolls even have peas? I forget how trickle down your culture is."

"Dave, we have everything that a proper civilization should have." Which doesn't actually answer the question of whether or not they have peas. Maybe she'll just let him wonder about that one.

"You are going to have to explain your quip about our culture, though. Is there some location that we are supposed to be trickling these peas from? And some location that they are supposed to be going to?"

Of course it doesn't answer the question. Which is okay, because all things considered he didn't really care about the answer.

"Man, nevermind." General banter is a bad idea, no matter how much he wants to take that and run with it. She'll stick to it like glue and then he'll never get rid of her.

He crosses his arms and leans his shoulder against the inside of the elevator. This thing needs to hurry the fuck up.

The sudden but abrasive cutoff is more than a little strange. The awkwardness leaves her feeling unsettled, and while any normal person might be put out by the sudden distance, she doesn't seem all that surprised. It's not like this version of Dave was ever super fond of her--despite their mutual agreement that things were 'cool' between them. She never really fully believed that.

"Dave, you are going to make this elevator ride very awkward if you decide to clam up now. We were in the middle of exchanging amiable and witty banter, like two chums who have not encountered each other in ages."

Well, if it is banter the lady wants, who is he to be the asshole who doesn't deliver.

"Sorry," he mutters. For a moment, it almost sounds genuine. Almost. "I was thinking about my plan to attend a see party at an art gala after I get off this elevator and approximating exactly how much I was planning to shit myself after getting all that see on that I forgot you were talking. I'd invite you to come along but, you know... obviously it is suit and tie only."

It's such an old joke. Terezi cocks her head to the side and gives him a dry expression--softened just a bit by the hint of a smirk in the corner of her mouth. Then again, he might be hard-pressed to recall a time that she wasn't grinning or smirking in some degree.

"But Dave, I have already been provided with a suit and tie of my very own! Somewhere in the abyss of a closet that my stylist seems to enjoy filling. Are you sure that I can't come to your see party, too? I promise to behave this time. I will only lick the paintings a little bit. Along the edges, where no one will notice."

To say he's hard-pressed to remember a time when she wasn't grinning or smirking in some form or fashion is indeed a bit of an understatement.

(And now he's thinking about her in a suit and tie and fuck if it isn't at least somewhat appealing. He's not sure if he should hate himself for that line of thought or not.)

"Man, don't you know that's where it starts? First, you start with licking along the edges, and then the next thing you know you're scaling the walls -- or worse, scaling me, to get to the walls -- to try to figure out what melting clocks and upside-down staircases taste like. Newsflash: it tastes like oil paint and shame. I don't know, Teez, it's risky."

Also, I'm not Dave, he thinks to say -- but doesn't.

"Scaling you? That sounds positively obscene, what a ridiculous suggestion. I am familiar with ladders, you know. Unless you were offering..." She waggles her brows for emphasis, and she has to congratulate herself for not breaking that smirk, even if it feels a little weird. She doesn't have an awkward romantic history with this Dave, but it's difficult to completely separate them mentally, as much as she might try.

Fortunately, she doesn't think he's likely to know about that.

"I am willing to take the risk, if you are. Come on, live a little."

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↠ if i let go of all my ghosts

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