(OPEN)

[crabmunicator]

Who| Karkat and whoever runs into him
What| Dealing with aftermath of the arena and adjusting back to Capitol life.
Where| Out in the Capitol, on the training floor, in district 6, or bugging specific people.
When| During the first week post-arena.
Warnings/Notes| Possible description of gore and death, but not likely to come up in most threads. Otherwise just Karkat's foul mouth.

A. The Capitol

The thing about fighting in a real arena is that now Karkat has fans. Sure, some people still held their interest after whatever antics his past self had gotten up to, but it's now that he's had a real turn of his own - not the short, lackluster experience of the mini-arena - that he's proved his own worth an object of entertainment. And he hates it. After enough of getting stopped in the street or gossiped over by chatty Capitolites, Karkat has decided enough is enough and fetched himself a hooded coat. It's one of the rare few times in his life he's ever been glad to have small horns; he can yank the hood up over them no problem, hiding the flash of orange that's drawn too many eyes.

The trouble is, small horns doesn't mean no horns, and trudging around with two lumps poking his hood tends to draw attention regardless. Besides, he can't exactly hide his grey skin. But still he tries, skulking around to cafes or a particular bakery he's grown fond of, or just along the streets for fresh air and the chance to stretch his admittedly short legs. It's better to be out and about than cooped up inside, and one might find him wandering night or day now that the curfew's been lifted.

B. The Training Center

When he is in the tower, however, Karkat often finds himself down in the actual training center the place gets its name from. Much of his time in the arena was spent making the best of the pocket knife he got from the arena, and while his skills were inept and amateurish, he adapted well enough that he figures it best not to lose what little he learned. For all he knows, he might end up stuck with only a knife to his name in the future.

To that end, he takes a blade and goes at the training dumbies, testing moves and trying to remember the flow of fights he had before. It's weird when the target isn't moving (or trying to kill him), but it's the best he has available.

Other times, not wanting to lose his old skills either, he trades the knife out for the more familiar shape of a sickle. With this he is methodical and practiced, tracing over old moves - none professional or trained, but speaking of experience nonetheless.

C. District Six

But when the Capitol at large or training calls him, Karkat eventually wends his way back to his district. With the curfew gone sometime between entering and exiting the arena, the place feels less stifling to stay in. There's a TV and games, and much as he did on the nights stuck here, he pulls up something inane to take out frustrations and take up his time. RPG, FPS, fighting game, whatever--so long as a target is offered for him to mash the right buttons at, he's content to give it a shot.

D. Around the Tower/Wherever (closed to certain CR)

Lastly, Karkat has loose ends to tie up: people to check up on, friends to talk to, or even a stranger to learn more about. If he knew what floor he could find them on, he might go and knock at a door with an "Are you there?" called through. Other times, he'd be just as apt to stop someone in a hall or on the street if he ran into them. Regardless, he's intent on talking to them sooner or later.

(OOC: Karkat would want to talk to Nill, Terezi, Dave, the Initiate, the Signless, and Shepard post arena. Feel free to have him run into your character wherever, or feel free to contact me if you want to arrange something specific.)

Comments

fun roommate times

[atethecanary]

Julian’s used to sleeping as a cat most nights, but he can’t do that anymore. He can’t do a lot of things anymore. That, and everything else that comes with this strange place, haven’t led to the most restful nights. Not able to fall asleep, he heads to the kitchen to get something to drink, but when he sees the TV on he makes a tsking noise.

“You shouldn’t be playing games. It’s noisy.” It’s not like Julian could even hear it from his room, not when he doesn’t have his enhanced hearing anymore, but it’s the principle of the matter. But when he makes his way closer, and finally takes in the appearance of who’s playing the game, he stops and stares.

Despite how he knows people come from different worlds or whatever here, the horns instantly make him think fae. He’s never even met a fae or seen them without glamour before, only ever smelt them from a distance. The sniffing noise is audible as Julian tries to pick out any familiar scent, but of course he gets nothing. Stupid useless human nose.

Julian doesn’t seem to realize how creepy he’s being, but he does finally speak up again. “I didn’t think fae would even like video games.”

[crabmunicator]

It figures that sooner or later someone would give him crap about playing at night, but the inevitability of the chiding does nothing to deter him. Without even hitting the pause menu he calls back, "Suck my bulge. The volume's on low, so if you still can't sleep I advise getting ear plugs."

But that part? That wasn't weird. What is is when he hears the guy shuffle in and sniff the air, too intent to be incidental. His shoulders tense; the game is left momentarily forgotten as he turns to look back at him.

"The fuck?" He lifts an eyebrow, taking him in. "Were you just trying to sniff me? I can tell you that whatever a fae is, I'm not that."

Hearing something hit is player, he frowns and looks back long enough to open the pause menu, before turning to Julian again.

"What do you want?"

[atethecanary]

“I wasn’t trying to sniff you! I was trying to figure out what you are.” It’s pretty much the same thing, but Julian refuses to acknowledge that. “I’m a shifter. It’s normal for us to… smell things.”

Julian doesn’t like the way this guy had basically brushed him off just moments before, or the way he’s speaking to him. Offended, Julian stands a bit straighter, trying not to look as tired as he feels, and narrows his eyes at Karkat. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you. You’re the one who’s playing games late at night in my living room.”

Okay, so it’s technically supposed to be shared, but Julian still considers it his.

Julian pauses at Karkat’s last question, uncertainty crossing his face for a brief moment. What he had wanted was to see if there was something from his world here, something from home. Even if it was a fae, it would have been nice. But Julian’s not going to tell this guy that, so he just goes back to glaring at him.

“I’ve been told most of the fae can’t be trusted.” Which, though it has some truth to it, is a fairly biased opinion. “Maybe you’re not one of them, but you could be close enough. You don’t play tricks on people, do you? Or eat them?”

[carnagecarnival]

The second time around, being found by Karkat, he isn't any less tense. In ways, he's more so. He's back in Capitol, there's a lot to have seen, he's not got his power as a back up plan for if as things go all sorts of wrong in the here and now of whatever goes the fuck down.

On the other hand, his moirail is out of the arenas, safe from that guaranteed eventuality as comes of all those tributes what go in and hope to come out. It's just as unbelievable as it was a week ago, when as he screamed at a television screen. Also, his horns were back.

And so there would lie the neutral ground to stand upon, and does now as he turns around in the hallway to raise a brow at Karkat. Had he known Karkat was going room to room, he might have counted himself lucky for being out away from Terezi's just in time to avoid the inevitable drawing out of another's motherfucking opinions on their matespritship.

"SUP?"

FINALLY HITS THIS now that the end of the other seems more certain

[crabmunicator]

Karkat's only heard hints that the Initiate and Terezi might be more involved than just a friendship, but what thoughts he had on that before differ from the present. Now, he wouldn't be sure what to make of it, but it wouldn't be the encompassing negativity that would have covered things before.

But that's not why he's stopped him.

The Initiate's greeting is just casual enough that he's not sure what to make of it. Things are tense. They went from wall-slamming to secret-sharing to weird mind control shit to cover for the cameras. It's not remotely a normal progression, and it leaves him uncertain of what's to come, or what it means taken together now that they're out of the arena.

So rather than wonder alone, he says, "I want to know where we stand with each other now."

No aggression. No presumption. It's an honest question, even if not grammatically phrased as one.

[carnagecarnival]

The Initiate looks around him. Left, right, behind ways and forward at to karkat.

"In a motherfucking hallbit looks like. ALL UP OF THE INBETWEENS BEING OF ENCLOSED CAPACITIES DOMICILE."

He knows what Karkat means. Perhaps he ought not play. Too late now.

He shrugs his shoulders and fold his arms up over his chest. "I don't motherfucking know, yo. WHERE ALL IS YOU FEELING AT?"

d

[reassures]

Nill, much like the kid Arena, had made the somewhat unfortunate choice of watching what she could of the ending. It meant that she saw Karkat survive for a long, long while, kept tabs, tried to make sure he was at least doing okay physically in a place that any other kind of okay was probably out of the question. It also meant that she eventually saw him die, too.

But with that was the end of the Arena, with the Signless being named Victor. There was some time between Karkat being revived and the ending - she didn't know how much, really, had no idea how much time passed between her own death and revival - and it was enough time for the exhaustion to really set in. Probably somewhat comically, Karkat actually showed up when she was asleep.

While usually quick to wake, she registers the fact that there's noise and a voice more than she does the actual words, and Nill stumbles out of her bed a little clumsily, going to pull the door open before she really thinks about it.

She looks sleepy and a little fuzzy for all of two seconds before it registers that the person in front of her is Karkat, and like that she's a awake properly. Her wings flutter, and after a moment of being at a loss she makes a gesture for him to wait a second before reaching to grab a notepad nearby. Cue the usual writing, her expression already gently worried.

are you ok?

[crabmunicator]

If Nill watched him, she would have seen him shuffling about for about a week before the end hit. He made it as long as he feasibly could, until the collapse of the arena crushed down on him (and everyone else but one) for a painful, sudden death. Better perhaps than being killed, if one viewed it that way, and Karkat's still not sure what to think of such a sudden ending.

But after her, he didn't interact with other tributes much. After her, Terezi, and Shepard, he didn't want to risk anyone else dying around him, even if there was nothing about him making it happen. It was bad luck as best, but even that felt too much to drag other people into. It hurt too much to even think of someone dying on his account. So he stuck to himself, and hid from monsters, and fought when he couldn't hide, until the life was crushed out of him.

Since then, it's taken him a little to figure out how to approach everything. Being alive again and uninjured is a lot better than the alternative, but there's something inescapably bizarre about all that damage just vanishing. He's been able to eat and bathe regularly, though sleep is still set aside as something he just doesn't do. Too many daymares, and no way to stave them off.

But Nill--Nill is important, and like many people, he knows he needs to talk to her. He's hauled himself up to district 9's floor, and it's as he's wondering uncomfortably if he's timed his visit wrong, she opens the door to reveal herself sleepy and disheveled. Karkat gawks, really, even as she wakes up suddenly to see who it is. Of course he lets her fetch her notepad; he's too caught in seeing her to even think of interrupting.

The question isn't what he expected, but that doesn't mean it isn't apt.

The last he saw of her was her corpse, the body he'd killed, her bloody and blurred through his tears. He remembers how a simple stab in the side from a beast's tail was too much for her, and how drastically unfair it all was that she had to be that fragile, that he had to be the one to finish her off, that they'd had no better answer. But as responsible as he might have felt for Shepard and Terezi, neither of them died by the pointed intent there had been with her. He had to kill her, and he'd never once killed anyone for anything. It doesn't matter that he'd wanted to be a threshecutioner when he was a kid, or what he might do if it was to protect someone; it was still something life never forced him into, a responsibility he never had to shoulder, and the weight hits him all over again.

"... No," he admits with sudden certainty. He can feel his eyes stinging, and god damnit he is not going to cry again, not when she's here alive and well again, and he has to blink hard to keep the tears back. "No, I'm not."

[reassures]

It probably wasn't in her best interest to actually do so, but she made a point of seeing what happened to Karkat. She was torn, unsure if surviving like that was really any kinder than not, and he hadn't won but he'd been so close. At least someone that deserved to get out of the games had.

She'd tried for a long time in the Arena to overcome the wound, but even with her best attempts at keeping the bleeding at bay the blood was nearly dark enough to be black, and every moment brought more pain with it, until it was no longer something she could hide, and then. And then.

The twisted thing of it all was that it had probably been the most pleasant death she's had so far.

But Karkat's not okay, and Nill never expected him to be. Her expression goes soft and worried, and she steps aside, holding the door open with one hand while she extends the other towards him, easy to take if he wants it.

Come inside, Karkat. They don't need to have this conversation in the hallway. It might not keep them from the eyes of the Capitol, but at least he could have relative privacy.

A

[voiceinthephone]

Philip was exhausted from walking around the Capitol aimlessly and trying to spend some money on food. Death made him feel peckish he had to admit. He still heard the music box in his mind, so he steered from any simple-melody tunes or small bells. He was already bumping into people.

"Sorry! Sorry..."

He'd seen the Fallen Tributes but he had yet to realize what that mean. But what truly disgusted him was just how many young-looking faces and names were listed. He didn't read the causes of death, the mere fact they were dead was enough to disorient him into crashing into the local cafe. Coffee would snap him out of this weird dream, right? Maybe this was a dying hallucination.

"Damn, sorry!"

[[delete if unwanted!]]

[crabmunicator]

Karkat wasn't yet at the level of exhaustion; if tired at all, it was in the emotional way of being tired of dealing with people. At least it provided a change from the atmosphere of the arena, of the constant concern that something may be near that wanted him dead, but that was the only benefit. He wasn't even at the cafe for caffeine. Instead, he'd ordered a hot chocolate--one he very nearly avoided dropping as someone bumped into him.

"Shit--Watch where you're going, pus sucker!" The lid on his cup had stopped a spill, but that didn't keep Karkat from glaring at the man.

Considering his distinctly nonhuman appearance, he probably wasn't the best person to dispel that hallucination idea.

[voiceinthephone]

"Shit, I can pay you a new one, si-" Phil's automatic appeasement response was cut short when he saw the horns and the gray skin. He shook his head for a moment. The face was familiar enough as he muttered under his breath "Holy crap, sorry. You're one of the Tributes, right?"

Yeah, he was thinking Golden Freddy was having some fun with him as his body was stuffed into a suit. No way he'd think this one up, even with four cups of coffee now five. Either way, he was as courteous as he could towards someone who had come out of the Arena, winner or not. "Though pus sucker's a new one."

D

[69problems]

Signless is in his room when Karkat knocks. All-told he's been spending less time in it that he usually might after an arena and so the small amount of time in which he isn't obligated to do anything is time he treasures.

"It's open, Karkat," he says from where he's curled on the stripped bed (the blankets have all been formed into a pile on the floor, though the pillows he's kept because they're comfortable to lean on).

[crabmunicator]

The fact that his ancestor won is one of the first things Karkat learned about the arena after he'd awoken from death. Between now and then a few days have passed, with other things learned in the meanwhile (like Signless's district, and that he wasn't the only one to be crushed to death), and various stretches spent trying to decide what he feels about it. On the one hand, it's good for him to be out of the arena, but there is the nagging thought that he doesn't know how he won.

Though he could have looked up the footage of the last leg of the arena, it wouldn't be the same as learning directly. To that end, Karkat has finally brought himself to his ancestor's block. A small pause passes after Signless's welcome before he steps on inside.

"Hey," he says. He looks a lot better than he did before - more awake, uninjured, clean - but an uncertainty nags his lip. "I heard you won?"

He nudges the door shut behind him, but doesn't step in closer yet.

[69problems]

"Ah -- yes," he says, and the tone of his voice is not elation or pride or even relief -- he sounds as uncertain as Karkat feels. He sits up properly, brushes a hand through his hair (which does absolutely nothing), and looks his descendent over.

He looks better. Alive, which is the most important part, but less ragged too. Good.

"I did, but I don't think the reality of it has sunk in yet."

[ka_sera_sera]

((ooc: If you'd rather Roland not do this I can change it.))


This is the second time this week. Granted, that first time they hadn't been following him but the person with him, but it's a little much. If staying inside the tribute tower all day didn't make his restlessness even worse he wouldn't bother risking it, because the people of this place are... strange. Not the strangest he's met, but bad enough in large, excited numbers.

In the interests of escaping those large, excited numbers he moves quickly, turns a corner and knows this is going to be even more difficult if Signless-

But it isn't him, is just different enough. And Signless has told him, briefly, that the boy who meant so much to his Cuthbert is brought here again and remembers none of that other life. Nothing of Cuthbert. Which, in a small, selfish way, is a relief.

Shit. He's distracted himself long enough that the crowd is too close now. A couple numbers in it, he sees, have stylized horns springing from their hair. Perfect. Wonderful. Fine.

Surely the boy will understand why, when the heads of the crowd start to turn, Roland dives at him in an attempt to tackle him to the ground behind the shelter of a parked car. "Shh," he'll hiss with a wave at the crowd, even if his dive didn't work and the boy tries to stay in plain sight. He ought to at least be warned. "Fans."

this is beautiful and I love it

[crabmunicator]

For all Karkat's bad luck so far, he at least has had the luck of not running into people with fake horns. It's probably for the better; even the stubborn patience he's been forcing himself into in dealing with people would wane thin at that. It wouldn't do well to scare his fans off - even if he hates them on principal.

He's not really watching for much when Roland spots him - not the crowd behind, and certainly not a middle-aged man he's never seen before. The end result is that, with a shout and yelp, he winds up very neatly tackled to the ground.

"Jegus, get off me!" he snaps, smacking his palms at the man before he can process what's going on. He sees the gesture, and he growls instead of shushes as his gaze flicks over to follow it.

Fans comes the warning, and with sight of bright, fake horns twining up from multicolor hair, he finally understands. His struggles ease, and though he turns a glare back to Roland, he finally shuts up. His anger can be better expressed when there's no imminent risk of a bunch of Capitolites cooing at him for it.

d obs gonna do a twist on it tho

[shenunigans]

Even though curfew was lifted long ago, Dave isn't quite out of the habits he'd settled into during it. It's quite late at night, around the time Karkat got back, and he's just sitting around on the floor of his room cutting out pictures from gossip magazines. Without adequete access to photoshop, his webcomics have taken a more traditional turn. How else is meant to pass the time through cur...few... Oh yeah. He was going to give Karkat some breathing time before their dramatic reuniting, then he got distracted.

It's nearing 4am when Dave pads through the halls and to the elevator in his baggy PJ pants and shirt so he can head down to sixth floor. He invites himself in the suite, then he invites himself to creep past Bro's room to find Karkat's. He considers knocking, but nah. He just lets himself in there too, slipping in like an insidious shadow to find Karkat. Awake.

"God damn it."

[crabmunicator]

After coming back, Karkat did a few things. First, he caught his breath, because holy shit being crushed to death was pretty harrowing. Second, he hauled his ass back to his district. There had been someone crying, but that wasn't his concern, and he took his attention to showering instead. Okay, so part was to block out the noise - he had his own traumas to worry over without concerning himself over a stranger - but other reasons formed the main of it.

It was just so long since he'd had a chance to actually get clean. Even if he wasn't even dirty post-revival, he missed the act of ablution. Clean hot water, soap, no threat of anything sneaking up on him--that was a comfort. Beyond that, it served a means to catalog himself and all his parts, safe and sound without one bruise left to mark what he'd been through. That, honestly, was surreal. He might have been mauled by an animatronic bear in the mini-arena, but it was so sudden and over so quick compared to the many hurts he'd accrued this time around. And beyond those, it gave excuse for him to take time alone as he adjusted back to the idea of being in the Capitol again.

Next was food. As with cleanliness, he no longer had the gnawing hunger of the arena to bother him, but he'd missed having a real choice in what he ate. Potatoes and cake got tiresome after the first week and ran out not long after, and the dried foodstuffs he'd been left with were disgusting and left him with strange cramps besides. He didn't bother to go out; instead he called up an Avox to order a selection of things, with an honest thank-you for their trouble.

And after stuffing his face...

Honestly, he's just been staying here. Everything still sits heavy on his mind, and he's not sure what to do with it yet. He doesn't turn on any of the Capitol programs, because fuck that, nor does he ask for any magazines or newspapers. He knows enough what happened to himself, and he figures he can talk to other people directly if he wants to learn their ends. The idea of being entertainment still grates him too much to watch the proof of it.

Just like him, people who died there must be alive again, and dealing with their own aftermath. He doesn't know how Terezi must feel, and he'll have to hunt down that woman who fought the guy with the fire, and Nill... That's a bit too much right now. There's others he spoke to as well who he'll have to check in with. Feferi he owes a debt of gratitude. And a part of him wonders just what caused that collapse, and how far he made it in the end.

He hasn't yet figured out how to approach it all when without real warning someone comes barging into his room. Scratch that - not just someone, but Dave. In pajamas. At four in the fucking morning. It's a normal time for Karkat himself to be awake - he already has no intent to sleep anytime soon - but it's weird to see a human awake now of all times.

But actually, that's not the important part.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He's sat on his bed, and he doesn't move save to sit up a little straighter as he regards him. "Have you never heard of knocking, or are you abandoning all social graces on purpose?"

Rather than mad, he's mostly just bewildered.

[earthborn]

Shepard makes a point of spending some time, every day, in the training center. It's nothing fancy, just running drills with her few surviving proteges, or hitting the punching bag, or hitting the few people who haven't yet learned to leave her the hell alone. She's single-minded, focused, and violent; that carries over here as anyone else.

Plus, she's got shoulders like an axe murderer. You wanna get in the way of that?

But today, mister Vantas, is your lucky day. Today when you head down to the training center, you may just spot Shepard taking a water-break, conspicuous in a sports bra and workout pants. Clearly, you should go ask her what the fuck is wrong with her; it is your destiny, your dharma, your edge to grind, your boulder to push. Like Sisyphus, you are bound to Hell. And Hell is other people.

[crabmunicator]

What the hell is that about? Karkat's never studied the philosophy of Jean Paul Socrates, nor has he ever been stranded on an island full of Buddhists after a plane crash. All he sees when he spots Jane is that woman from the arena, the one who came in suddenly and yelled at him and then started fighting the one dude. He should look up footage of that much, he realizes mid-gawp, even if he doesn't want to watch anything else.

Anyway.

"Hey!" There he is, some short-ass grey dude in sweat pants and a t-shirt, jogging on over from the entrance. It's only as he gets closer that he realizes he has no idea what he should actually say, and that even if she's shorter than he remembered, she looks distinctly intimidating. What the hell is going on with her face? He's staring. He's definitely staring. Shit.

"Uh, you're that woman from the arena, right?" he asks as he slows to a stop.

The one who died for him. When he doesn't even know her, despite her knowing him.

He makes a face like a sudden cramp has seized him, because fuck him with a piece of rebar, there is no way this can go well. He's stupid, and an idiot, and he should have hung back until he knew what the hell to do with his mouth, because all that's coming out now is the equivalent of a creative fart noises.

D (sorry for the late tag in)

[pythianjudgment]

Naturally, Terezi had made it back before him. She's not in her room when he goes to find her, but she's around the tower. It's not long before they run into each other in the hall. Her initial feelings are somewhat split. She still feels a little awkward about where they stand, and yet with the way that she went out of that arena, she's also worried. Those station doors weren't soundproof. She could still hear him, even with the pain of her severed arm and the loud alarms from the steady drop in air pressure.

"Hey," she greets, trying to keep the concern out of her voice. "Welcome back. Looking for someone?" Like she can't take a guess.

[crabmunicator]

Between his crying and shouting, it's a wonder nothing came along and attacked him then. He felt awful and carried a deep weight of blame for it for the rest of the arena and beyond. It left him uncomfortable in talking to the Initiate; while they cleared things up more, he wasn't sure what to do when mention of her came up. He wound up not mentioning what happened in the end, just agreeing that he should talk to her anyway.

But it's now that he sees her, alive and well and greeting him, that it hits him all again. It feels startlingly similar to when they found each other on the rooftop of the lab, back when Gamzee snapped--only this time, she actually died.

And like before, he barely thinks before stepping forward, going (if she'll let him) to sweep her into a hug.

closed to Signless

[crabmunicator]

Karkat's getting tired of storming off angry from Terezi, even this second time, but there's not much else he feels he could have done. She confessed she killed his ancestor and refused to apologize for it! It might have been different if she had presented it differently, or if at the least she hadn't projected so many of her feelings on his past self's actions onto him.

It's not even a thing of avoidance for him. He knows he can be stupid about Past Karkat; he has been several times in the past, in dumb memos on the meteor and other incidents of distancing self hatred. But how can he take on the responsibility for the actions of a self he doesn't remember? Everything is too different: timeline, experience, memories, how he met the people involved... It's too much, and it's unfair of her to expect it out of him.

So once again he's left with a fuck you, and after a trip to the training floor has at least worked out the immediate energy of his anger. The base feeling, however, is still there, sitting sore and slightly nauseous in the pit of his stomach. It's not just going to go away. The last time this happened it took an encounter with the Initiate in the arena to settle, one with fucking chucklevoodoos in his head, and he doesn't want to have to rely on such dangerous situations to do his mediating a second time.

Instead, after a shower on his floor and a change to fresh clothes, he heads up to district 12. A knock comes at Signless's door. "Hey, can we talk?"

[69problems]

"Of course, Karkat," says Signless. This is not the first time Karkat has shown up at his door and he's beginning to get the feeling it's far from the last. He opens the door, taking in his descendant and looking for clues as to what this particular talk is going to be about. With Karkat he's never really sure, but usually when the younger troll comes to him it's because something is weighing on his mind that he can't sort through all on his own.