thecapitol | (OPEN) at least he's not dead now

Entry tags:

(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.

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But then he turns to see just who this asshole is, and he understands. Dear god does he understand. He's a measly 5'2", and surely everyone has to be little next to this mountain of a man.

"Oh my sweet fuck."

Is he staring? He's staring.

Thor won't even pretend to understand half of those woes, considering he really doesn't know all that much about Trolls or where they originate from. He's befriended quite a few of them, but he's not had the chance to ask about where they reside or the culture that makes them so... them.

He knows what it is to be an alien in a strange place, at the very least, so he isn't too annoyed when Karkat reacts the way he does. His expression is surprised, somewhat affronted and then he scoffs and shakes it off. That is how seriously he's taking that threat.

"Pardon?" He asks finally, raising a brow at Karkat and giving him a chance to somehow salvage himself from that little fit. The look he gives him makes it pretty obvious that he's taking note of Karkat's staring, as if silently pointing it out to the troll.

"How are you so tall?" Karkat asks as Thor alerts him from his staring. He's still too shocked to be embarrassed at it, so shocked indeed that he now walks a circle around him, to look from every angle as if he's hiding some trick to his height. "I didn't know humans even got that big. What the hell?"

What else could he be, looking like that? No horns, no funny skin or eyes, no teeth or claws or extra limbs. It'll take a good amount to convince him otherwise.

But with height questioned and no secret found from circling him, he comes to a stop at his front. Somehow his stature makes what he said stand out more. "... Did you mean it when you said I have a good arm?"

"Luck." He answers flatly. He could have easily said genetics or any number of things, but the way Karkat circles him makes him want to be facetious about something he regards as insignificant. "Humans don't, in my experience." Again, vague. He won't give him his answers on a platter if he isn't asking properly. He's already proving himself to be a prickly thing, a little less irreverent than Terezi and nowhere near as imposing as Initiate.

Thor's big arms move to fold over his broad chest, meeting Karkat's eyes when he asks his question. His lip twitches in an effort not to smile, but there's something sincere about it that makes it oddly endearing.

"You have tenacity, but you'll burn energy if you don't strike the right places." He gestures at the punching bag as he talks. "Even the biggest foes can be brought down with a single hit, should the aim be true."

What's with that vague load of bullshit? Karkat knows it is, and it prompts him into a glare that's nearly a pout even as he tips his head just for better sight of his face. Arrogant is the impression, arrogant and a showoff, and god, how dare he have such a figure? Does he have a permit for those guns?

He'd snap at him, but the prospect of real advice keeps him quiet long enough for an answer - and a serious one, from the sounds of it. Worth it.

"You think I don't know that? I use a weapon normally, and I've gone against stuff that would dwarf you easily," he explains, turning back to the punching bag. "Mostly I'm just venting steam through the age-old art of punching the shit out of things, so I wasn't exactly aiming to do it right."

But now Thor's got him thinking. His eyes narrow in consideration of the target, which really is nothing like a proper torso. It tells him nothing of what to aim for.

"Basically I've never used fistkind in any serious capacity. What do I do?"

Thor would hardly call himself a showoff at this point, given that he hasn't shown Karkat anything but mere attention. Besides, his guns and figure are a result of wars waged and won, he believes he's earned the right to hassle people in training rooms because of it.

"As have I." He says curtly, just so Karkat knows he isn't going to fawn over him for fighting beasts. There are many creatures bigger than a man without half the brain power, rendering them easy foes to fight.

"Then by all means, vent away." He starts, but Karkat doesn't take long to express that he's still interested in hearing more. "I suppose I'd have to gauge your strength." He half murmurs that to himself, stroking his chin in thought. "Strike me." He says finally, pulling himself up into a braced stance and giving his chest a pat. "I assure you I can handle it."

If Thor's fought big things, then so much the better, actually. While their footing can't be called even, at least some degree of similar experiences brings the gap closer together. It also informs of what they might know, lessening the question of what needs to be learned, or at least better informing how to teach it.

Then Thor tells Karkat to punch him.

"What?" He looks from his face to the broad expanse of his chest and torso. This man isn't a Zahhak, so safety isn't really the issue he's concerned about. "What do you mean, strike you? Can't you judge from how much the punching bag budges when I hit it?"

Thor is many things. He is a warrior, a leader and a savior. He is a lover and a fighter. However as a teacher and mentor, he leaves a little to be desired. He does like to take a head on and hands on approach, regardless of how well he knows someone or whether they really even want to be taught, but he can't imagine why Karkat would object.

"It's hardly a reasonable measure." He explains with a shrug. "I'd sooner find out if I were to feel it myself, it's not as if you'll cause damage." He doesn't quite mean for that to come so condescendingly, but he imagines it will only help his cause in the long run given how Karkat has proven himself to be so far.

Karkat jerks the slightest space back at Thor's reasoning. He doesn't even claim doubt, but simply states things like a fact, that he won't hurt him with this. Beyond condescending it's an insult, and his teeth grit together to hear it. But for all that irritation, for all his hands even curl to fists at his sides, he doesn't strike him.

"Do you even hear the river of crap spilling out your mouth? First you tell me to hit you, and now you demean me to try to goad me into it? Do you think I'm easy or just stupid?" he asks. His gaze has risen back to his face, showing a downright offended scowl. "Obviously you aren't a troll and don't understand the implications of your words, so I will give you one chance to drop the whole thing."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" He exclaims, finding it too humorous to really be annoyed or defensive against Karkat's claims. "You'd not be asking for advice if you could injure me in a single strike, I'd hardly call logic an insult." He says that dryly, mirth still in his tone even as Karkat delves dangerously into swatting-for-lack-of-respect-territory.

Instead, he chooses to focus on the final part of what Karkat is saying. It causes his eyebrows to furrow ever so slightly, as if skeptical. "Where does species play into my implications?"

Karkat seems to puff up for Thor's continues dismissal, shoulders hunching up as something to his cheeks adds to the image. He's glowering, though, no more pleased than before, especially as Thor's (predictable) lack of troll knowledge shines through.

He huffs, "Did you not hear the last part or did you purposely ignore what I said when I gave you the chance to stop?"

But an explanation--that's what's going to be necessary. His lips press together. Species implications. "It's..." Kind of embarrassing when Thor obviously doesn't mean it. "The whole goading me into aggression thing, downplaying my abilities and giving me the chance to try to prove you wrong without giving any belief that I will, it's--it's a type of flirting, in troll society."

Swallowing to clear his throat, gestures now start, circular sorts of movements of explication as he goes on. "Trolls have four different kinds of romance, you see, and one of them is based on hate and rivalry of a particularly dedicated sort. Considering you had to ask, I'm not taking this as anything serious from you--you look too old for me, anyway--but I am giving you the chance to try to make this shit less awkward for me. If you want to help me, stop being a dick about it."

Thor simply shrugs his broad shoulders at the question, barely defending himself against that either. He isn't engaging so much as observing something unfold in front of him at this point. It is as if Karkat were a feast of grievances served up on various platters.

He listens patiently to the explanation, both because he's interested and because it will surely come in handy later. He just can't help it, amusement is bubbling inside him and he needs to let it out. Before he knows it he's throwing his head back and laughing. To his credit, it doesn't sound terribly malicious or mocking, it just sounds entertained.

"I can assure you those are far from my intentions." He offers Karkat a small smirk. "If you will not strike me I shall find another way to teach you."

A sound somewhere between a groan and a growl answers back, matched with a petulant frown. It's not the tone of the laughter so much as the fact he's laughing at all when he's trying to be serious. ~~It has nothing to do with any lingering embarrassment.~~ "Stop laughing. It's an important piece of my culture, jackass."

The smirk fails to change his expression.

"Find it, then. I'm not hitting you after this."

"It's importance does not negate the fact that it is a bold claim to make." He quirks a brow down at Karkat, because he doesn't get to be indignant when he's accusing Thor of hitting on him in a foreign way.

"I could always hit you." He adds in a purposefully casual tone, but the way he shakes his head is also a solid indicator that he's joking around. "When you strike a man, where do you aim?"

Karkat's look remains a frown. He'll be as indignant as he likes, thanks.

His mouth pulls back into something more like a grimace at the offer. Joke or no he retorts, "Fuck no. You'd put a hole through me." He takes a moment longer to think on the question. "I don't know? Like I said, I don't use fists usually, and I can't exactly apply my usual weapon skills to this."

He looks him over, as if somewhere in his hulking form a spot might have "ANSWER" printed across it.

"I guess somewhere that isn't guarded that's likely to hurt."

Even if he's friends with Tony Stark, Thor still finds Karkat's sassing and complaining to be uncharted territory. He isn't accustomed to it, especially from little ones, but it humors him more than it sincerely bothers him.

"You'd do well to hit here." He points low on his chest. "The solar plexus. It will wind your opponent, the pain and struggle for breath will gain you time to escape or strike again." Now he turns to the punching bag. "It is important to step forward and transfer your weight forward. Do not try to reach for them, move in for the hit and don't extend your arm too far when you strike." He demonstrates this by stepping in as he throws a punch square on the bag, choosing an undercut to sell his example.

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(OPEN) at least he's not dead now

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