Karkat Vantas ♋ carcinoGeneticist (
crabmunicator) wrote in
thecapitol2014-11-08 02:52 am
(OPEN) at least he's not dead now
Who| Karkat and whoever runs across him.
What| Now that he's out of the mini-arena, Karkat's exploring the place he has to live.
Where| All across the Training Center.
When| After his death in the mini-arena ~ a few days after. Anywhere around then.
Warnings/Notes| Karkat is pretty foulmouthed and irreverent, but nothing else. Feel free to use prose (whichever tense) or action; I'll adapt with you.
Of all the ways Karkat would wish to be welcomed someplace new, this was not one of them. Thanks to the arena, which they'd shoved him in with only minimal explanation, he'd suffered his second death in as many days. Wasn't it enough for Jane to fork him before he showed up? Did he really have to get...
He didn't want to think about it. Maybe it was better that it was something from the arena rather than a fellow tribute, but it didn't make being killed by an oversized, animatronic cartoon beast any better.
Even after, being alive was strange. Back during Sgrub and everything else before Panem, at least there were countless mechanics to explain why someone might revive. Here he didn't know what they did. Something technological? It wasn't unthinkable when they'd brought him here from another part of reality, and while he was glad to not be dead permanently, it was unsettling to think they had such technology at their disposal.
Now he was... not free, but at least somewhere safe. Not subject to the current edition of the Hunger Games, at any rate. He learned his district and what that meant. (District 6, transportation, here's your floor and your room.) He learned that the tower was host to tributes and the various mentors, escorts, stylists, and whoever else served part of this entertainment machine. Night would bring curfew, but days would be relatively open, giving him the chance to feel out his surroundings.
A.
One place he'd definitely find himself was the actual training center, the floor from which the building got its name. Being here would mean needing to be in shape and on his game, and while he had skills still left over from Sgrub, they would do no good if left unpracticed. If he could find a sickle amongst the weapons provided there, he'd be practicing with that. Otherwise he might check out the other stations. Learn knots? Sure. Learn edible plants? Worthwhile. And then there was regular old relief of frustration: he may not have been a fistkind user, but that didn't stop him from taking things out a punching bag.
B.
Night of course would leave him confined to the District 6 area. Unused to a bed, lacking sopor slime, and still rattled from the arena, he didn't sleep much. It didn't help that his species was naturally nocturnal, but even during the day he sought little rest. At least the common area had a TV and games to play, and the kitchen helped for hunger or thirst. It wouldn't be hard to spot the look on his face: tired and grumpy, with perpetual bags under his eyes.
C.
During the day again, he more than once found himself up on the roof. Here the atmosphere was less stifling, with fresh air and an actual sky to see, unlike the darkness or the void or luminescent shapes of dream bubbles back on the meteor. It wasn't his sky, not the one he knew from Alternia, but if it had been he wouldn't have been able to stand the sun. This was tolerable - relaxing, even - and it gave him a space from everything else.
D.
But beyond the rest, he wandered. The tower was big, and he knew well enough that people he knew had to be around. He'd heard mention, or seen a flash of horn in the arena he couldn't stop long enough to identify, and he had run into Eridan while he was still in there. It meant teammates or friends were here, and these above all else he sought out, carrying him through common rooms or the lobby or across hallways and elevators throughout the tower. Feasibly anyone could run into him; though short, most people weren't grey with horns, and it made him stand out.
What| Now that he's out of the mini-arena, Karkat's exploring the place he has to live.
Where| All across the Training Center.
When| After his death in the mini-arena ~ a few days after. Anywhere around then.
Warnings/Notes| Karkat is pretty foulmouthed and irreverent, but nothing else. Feel free to use prose (whichever tense) or action; I'll adapt with you.
Of all the ways Karkat would wish to be welcomed someplace new, this was not one of them. Thanks to the arena, which they'd shoved him in with only minimal explanation, he'd suffered his second death in as many days. Wasn't it enough for Jane to fork him before he showed up? Did he really have to get...
He didn't want to think about it. Maybe it was better that it was something from the arena rather than a fellow tribute, but it didn't make being killed by an oversized, animatronic cartoon beast any better.
Even after, being alive was strange. Back during Sgrub and everything else before Panem, at least there were countless mechanics to explain why someone might revive. Here he didn't know what they did. Something technological? It wasn't unthinkable when they'd brought him here from another part of reality, and while he was glad to not be dead permanently, it was unsettling to think they had such technology at their disposal.
Now he was... not free, but at least somewhere safe. Not subject to the current edition of the Hunger Games, at any rate. He learned his district and what that meant. (District 6, transportation, here's your floor and your room.) He learned that the tower was host to tributes and the various mentors, escorts, stylists, and whoever else served part of this entertainment machine. Night would bring curfew, but days would be relatively open, giving him the chance to feel out his surroundings.
A.
One place he'd definitely find himself was the actual training center, the floor from which the building got its name. Being here would mean needing to be in shape and on his game, and while he had skills still left over from Sgrub, they would do no good if left unpracticed. If he could find a sickle amongst the weapons provided there, he'd be practicing with that. Otherwise he might check out the other stations. Learn knots? Sure. Learn edible plants? Worthwhile. And then there was regular old relief of frustration: he may not have been a fistkind user, but that didn't stop him from taking things out a punching bag.
B.
Night of course would leave him confined to the District 6 area. Unused to a bed, lacking sopor slime, and still rattled from the arena, he didn't sleep much. It didn't help that his species was naturally nocturnal, but even during the day he sought little rest. At least the common area had a TV and games to play, and the kitchen helped for hunger or thirst. It wouldn't be hard to spot the look on his face: tired and grumpy, with perpetual bags under his eyes.
C.
During the day again, he more than once found himself up on the roof. Here the atmosphere was less stifling, with fresh air and an actual sky to see, unlike the darkness or the void or luminescent shapes of dream bubbles back on the meteor. It wasn't his sky, not the one he knew from Alternia, but if it had been he wouldn't have been able to stand the sun. This was tolerable - relaxing, even - and it gave him a space from everything else.
D.
But beyond the rest, he wandered. The tower was big, and he knew well enough that people he knew had to be around. He'd heard mention, or seen a flash of horn in the arena he couldn't stop long enough to identify, and he had run into Eridan while he was still in there. It meant teammates or friends were here, and these above all else he sought out, carrying him through common rooms or the lobby or across hallways and elevators throughout the tower. Feasibly anyone could run into him; though short, most people weren't grey with horns, and it made him stand out.

no subject
He turns, though not gladly, to see the clown failing an attempted retreat. That's not Gamzee, though. He knows Gamzee and his hair and his slouch, but those are Makara horns plain as he's ever seen. Is this guy taller, too? Maybe?
"Carlos?" he hazards. "Wait, weren't you mute? One of you was mute. Which fucking one of you was mute, there are entirely too many of you to keep track of who's got which disability for what reason."
no subject
"HIS NAME WAS KURLOZ," He growls, turning slow. Last he knew, Kurloz and Karkat hadn't met. He'd broken Terezi out of prison and got his ass avoxed in the course of two weeks. Kurloz had shown up just before then. Karkat had died right after. Perhaps in that time they'd run into each other, but more likely than not, they'd met some other way, out in the bubbles as what Terezi told happened.
Point was, of all the people what he'd be okay with disregarding and disrespecting him and his, this motherfucker was not one of them.
He turns around all the way and glares down, chin held high. "And you got your guessings on wrong," He hisses. "OF UNDERSTANDINGS DONE GRASPED HE THOUGHT WE WAS TO HAVING. You stay the fuck away from me and I ain't go no ways near to you. YOU SEEM FOR NEEDING A MOTHERFUCKING REFRESHER, APPARENT."
no subject
And that is it. As he turns and faces him, hearing him hiss out words more convoluted than Gamzee's style of speech, Karkat's face presses flat and unamused. So the face is different now that he sees - like both of them in ways, but painted different, hair different. A Makara nonetheless, but that's unmistakeable.
"There are no 'understandings done grasped'," he says, hands up with fingers wiggling, "when present me has yet to meet your surly, Faygo-farting ass in any capacity up 'til now. Just do me a favor: dump a whole tray of ice on those wildly flailing rumblespheres and chill the fuck down, would you?" He gestures again, thumb and pressed-together fingers closing together like a scolding Earth teacher.
"And stop looking down your snout stump like I'm something you stepped in."
no subject
Messiahs fucking dammit, Terezi, why did you have to like this particular troll out all the motherfucking others what you could've liked for.
"And yet a motherfucker is just as charming and personable as what he up motherfucking remembers for," He says through a false smile of grit teeth. "BE HASHED OUR MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS. You staying from me. AND MINE OWNSELF NOT TEARING INTO YOU. With all such done and said, you can go onto the motherfucking pailing of yourself on a culling fork before I get to listening to any of the shit what you spew from the unfortunate overworked dungheap what you call a motherfucking word-flap."
This is going so well.
no subject
"Fine, I get the picture," he says, hands swinging up and open in mock-surrender. "Your chest is in a permanent state of unrest and not anywhere in the Capitol exists a vat of ice water big enough to cool it down. My most expansive sympathies for your condition."
His limbs lower and fold in over his chest. "But honestly? Fine. I have had more than my fair share of carnival-stinking crap from my team's resident Makara, so the less I have to put up with your religious prattle and face paint and that garbage disposal of a speech impediment, the happier we'll both be." He lifts one hand just enough for a shoo, shoo motion. "You were getting in the ascension box, right? Good riddance."
no subject
Ought to teach him a lesson, half of him hisses, like it's being the half of Messiahs. Can't harm tributes. Can't harm, can't cull. You promised anyway, whispers the other half, like the other Messiah. Do not kill him.
But can't a miracle descend on downward, preferably at a high velocity, to extinguish this little shit?
Come on. Calm down. Calm down.
"DO NOT. Motherfucking. ORDER ME. The fuck around, Vantas. THIS IS YOUR LAST GODDAMNED WARNING."
Nailed it.
no subject
"What?"
No, seriously. Asshat Makara here has some spring wound way the fuck too tight. Karkat's long since given up on Gamzee after finally being pushed off the slow sinking ship of their moirallegiance, and things with Terezi have only added onto the conviction. Kurloz was just weird and he made an effort of avoiding him. But this guy right here, whoever the fuck he is, has given him the most attitude yet.
"At what point did I order you?" he asks, hand leaving fold again to gesture helplessly out beside him. "You slammed the button for it earlier, don't think I didn't hear. And didn't you just make like you want to get away from me? What's wrong, can't even follow your own plans when they a heathen mouth makes mention of them?" His arms splay out. "You want an order? Here: try removing the stick from your ass!"
no subject
It takes one for his arm to snap out, grasping the collar of Karkat's shirt to twist and haul up higher than the motherfucker even deserves to be. He spins the mutant around to slam his back against the wall and pin him there. His other hands curls into a fists and slams into the drywall beside Karkat's sorry simple little skull. He snarls loud.
And then, after a second more of watching struggle, he drops him.
"You best thank Terezi Pyrope. YOU BEST OFFER HER YOUR GREAT GRATITUDE UNENDING. Because it is due by her, and only thanks to her... THAT I AIN'T BREAKING EVERY BRITTLE BONE IN YOUR WRETCHED MOTHERFUCKING BODY!" He roars. And then suddenly, smiles all sweetlike. "Enjoy the arenas, Vantas."
no subject
"Wh--" His feet kick. His hands come up and clutch at the other edges of his collar. "W--"
He almost falls to his knees once he's dropped, just managing to fight off their initial buckle to straighten back up. The move rattled him, and it shows in his eyes even as he sucks breath back into his lungs, breath he couldn't get enough to speak a moment earlier. And the rattling continues still for the force of his voice, for the roar of what he says. And he has the nerve to follow it up with a smile?
"What the fuck?" he snaps out finally. His shoulders hunch in defensive, head just tipped in - for protecting the neck, but also a tip of his horns. Small, useless for anything real, but it's like an instinct. "What the hell is your problem with me?! I made a guess about who you are, you gave me shit, and you throw a fit when I fire it back at you?"
He's breathing hard still, less for loss of it than the adrenaline of what just happened.
"I don't know you, and I don't know your issue, so fuck off. And don't tell me to enjoy the death match, you trumped up paint stain!"
no subject
So when Nill opens the door to the towers and there's a sudden burst of yelling, she recognizes the voices better than she does the words they're actually saying, but she manages to see Karkat, held off his feet, before he's dropped again, and "EVERY BRITTLE BONE IN YOUR WRETCHED--"
It's about all that Nill needs to see to understand the situation, and she knows enough of karkat's stupid fucking mouth to know that if he gets to say much more than that without intervention, the both of them are going to get into a hell of trouble.
She has a small bag of groceries, but Nill quickly drops them and sprints across the space between, immediately inserting herself between the Initiate and Karkat. Her wings are folded in and down against her back, and she tries her damnedest not to make it seem like she's defending one of them over the other, but she shoves Karkat back a bit and her face is towards the Initiate when she lifts her hands to frantically sign K U R L O Z at him, hoping he'll see that.
PEACE. KEEP. STOP.
By which she means, if you don't the peacekeepers are gonna come and haul the both of you away. The signs are as simple as possible, and she hopes that if he doesn't understand them, he'll at least catch the name, or stop, or at least something that's better than nothing.
no subject
Nill slips in between them and his steps come to a dead halt. His eyes keep their orange burn but he doesn't move. This is the second motherfucking time in his life someone has stood between him and ripping the Vantas to shreds and the similarity ain't lost on him.
He growls through his teeth, but he doesn't ask her to move. He watches her sign at him. His name. Kurloz's name. It clicks in and clears his head enough to focus on the rest of what she's signing. Stop. Peacekeepers.
His eyes dart about him, spotting the ones getting ready to tag him down, possibly to drag him back to avoxing. He looks back to Karkat, over Nill's head, offering him one last snarl, before his attention goes back to Nill.
He signs. O.K.
She's right. He's not worth it, she's right. And he can't fuck this up again. He can't do that to Terezi. He takes some steps back.
no subject
One moment Karkat was gearing up to start shoving if he had to, and the next he found himself getting smacked back against the wall by a girl he actually recognizes. It doesn't stop his oof at impact, but the intervention does shut him up long enough for him to goggle at her... hand... gestures? He doesn't understand a one, and is left to watch silently as, just as odd, the Initiate signs something back.
Whatever it was, it seems to work, and his would-be assailant backs the fuck up. He can deal with the snarl if it means this Makara has shut up and is keeping his hands to himself.
Karkat's posture eases slowly. He spares Nill a glance, long enough to ask, "What was that?"
His gaze returns to the Initiate just after. He doesn't trust him enough (or at all) to not keep his eye on him.
no subject
She whips out her notepad way faster than anyone else might, and the lettering to her message this time is large and messy, rushed, taking up most of the space on the blank page that she holds up for him to see. When she looks at Karkat the smile is gone, replaced with little more than obvious concern.
LATER
YOU SHOULD LEAVE
no subject
He watches narrow-eyed and careful. She's not going to betray you, He tells himself, just to cut off them thoughts before they even get to motherfucking start. Should just be a second of her answering Karkat.
Speaking of, the moment the mutant gets looking at him again, he greets motherfucker with bared teeth.
no subject
Speaking of Nill, her message gets a sharp frown. "No. I want an explanation."
He doesn't budge from the wall, though, keeping his back safely against it.
no subject
It's probably obvious that she trusts the Initiate though, because despite the fact that he's more than a foot and a half taller than her and has some seriously ridiculous claws she turns her back to him, and actually backs up so that she's closer to him than Karkat. That way he can read what she's writing if he wants to. She spares him a look over her shoulder, worried, before she harshly underlines the LEAVE, and adds more beneath it, still writing quickly and messily but smaller than the letters taking up most of the page.
I TOLD HIM TO STOP
PEACEKEEPERS WILL TAKE YOU BOTH IF YOU MAKE A SCENE
Then, turning her head to the Initiate again, she signs O.K?, making it obvious that it's a question, before adding, Roof? Room? because if Karkat doesn't back down then she really needs to get at least one of them out of here before those peacekeepers try to take them down.
no subject
He reads over her shoulder, taking her looking as invitation. He's terribly smug to see what she writes to Karkat, but he manages to keep it all down and hidden.
He nods at the first question, giving approval, then echoes the sign for room. As much as he'd like the roof and he enjoys the air and the sky above, it got far too much traffic, and peacekeepers still lurked there. Better to stay safe.
So much for going to visit Terezi.
no subject
He has to wonder why she's taking his side, too. Or at least it looks as such, with her signing and her standing in front of him as she does, back to him like he's the threat. What did he ever do? The Initiate's the one who picked him up and slammed him against the wall.
His gaze passes to him again as he takes one last moment to consider. With no further provocation from him, it's easier to decide.
With a sigh, Karkat turns to walk off. He's not sure where he's headed - out of the building for now, probably - but namely away from this clown. He can't resist one last parting gesture, though, as he flashes the middle finger after all.
"Later, Nill." He still intends to talk about this, even if he can't right now.
no subject
She actually looks a little guilty as Karkat turns to leave, but she doesn't make any move to follow him or try to persuade him otherwise. She doesn't seem to mind the flipping off, or even think much of it, and just sort of waves after him, a lame half-hearted gesture. He can't see it, anyway.
Nill's quick to turn her attention to the Initiate again, and she offers him a very slight smile, though it certainly doesn't resemble the easy ones she usually gives him, even if she is a little relieved. She was kind of worried that would go worse, actually. Getting in the middle of arguments when you can't really argue properly is difficult, and she can only do so much, and even then only if people are willing to pay attention. Thank goodness both he and Karkat were.
Room?
Nill an Initiate will be getting their own log now, Karkat and Nill cam continue here as "later"
But he's not guilty to see Karkat go. Rather, he has a split second jerk where he thinks to follow after for the flip off and then--
No.
Especially not when Nill turns around to look at him like that. His shoulders go up, like he's being scolded, then droop. His eyes drop down and now he feels guilt. Guilt and shame and why the fuck would he just lose control like that, in front of her too, he was such a fucking idiot.
He nods rather pathetically and doesn't speak. The two of them head off.