Karkat Vantas ♋ carcinoGeneticist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crabmunicator) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-04 09:33 am
crabmunicator) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-04 09:33 am
(OPEN)
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.)
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.)
no subject
"Karkat Vantas. The whole thing was awful and no, I don't want to talk about the specifics, so don't ask on that subject," he rattled out, tone much more natural. "I'm from a planet called Alternia in a completely different universe from this or any Earth."
no subject
Though he still suspected Vantas was a hallucination, he was damn sure it wasn't Golden Freddy or the Marionette's doings. In fact, he yawned as he tried to recover some of his old energies. Five years of their mindscrews weighed on him
no subject
Being an alien was nothing new, though, and held no particular importance to him. As a member of a spacefaring race, everyone was an alien to someone.
He sipped his hot chocolate, finally convinced he'd be allowed to, then answered. "I'm in district 6. What about you?"
no subject
He kept his questions simple, letting the coffee warm his hands before checking Karkat for any weapons. As soon as he realized he was safe, he took a gulp of the bean juice then grimace, "What the hell-what's this stuff?!"
He was so used to crap breakroom coffee, Capitol-grade felt disgusting. Caffeine Stockholm's syndrome.
no subject
"No, I haven't. If they ever take people to their districts, I've never heard about it."
Indeed, Karkat was weaponless, apart perhaps from his fangs. Those couldn't be helped without direct alteration. But even then, his body language showed no aggression. His attitude was the worst of it.
His eyebrows shot up as Phil reacted to his coffee. "How should I know? I don't know what you ordered. Did you pick something weird?"
For all the stuff here was fancier than he was used to, and from a different culture besides, he hadn't run into anything that alarming.
no subject
"How long have you been here, Kar-kat?" Goddamn Midwest accent, "Karkat, sorry. Are there other Alternians around these parts?"
The cameras were off-putting though and he's been a bit stiff around them.
no subject
He sipped his hot chocolate again as he tried to think of the human words.
"A couple months, I think you call it? Around eight weeks. Troll is the species name, by the way, and yes, there's a number of us here."
no subject
"All lTributes as well? Damn!"
no subject
It didn't escape him that technically Phil would be future competition in the arenas to come, but he held no zest or zeal for the situation they were in. He didn't want to kill people, and he didn't want to die, and he held that most people here didn't deserve this sentence.
no subject
"You and pretty much the rest of this place have a lot more skill than I do."
The possibility was there but a knife fight between a troll and a night guard, it was clear who would be victorious and win the crowd. He tipped his coffee to him.
no subject
"If I see you in there, I'd sooner avoid you," he admitted, then sipped his drink rather than return the tip. "I don't want to make things harder than they have to be."
Even if he did have more skill than Phil did, he didn't feel a need to posture or make comparisons. If circumstances ever did push them to fight, he'd find out then, and that would be that.
no subject
It must get boring to see them just relax, right? There must be some privacy...right?
sorry for the delay! I hit a slow spot
"Do the cameras ever shut down? Ha." He shook his head emphatically. "Not even in your miserable dreams. What kind of place do you think this is that we would have that luxury? It would be a crying shame if their precious game pieces went doing anything they weren't supposed to."
During the past arena, through telepathy some places had been hinted to him that lacked the constant monitoring, but he could hardly open his mouth and blab about them here. It wouldn't be safe. Even a hint would be dangerous, and a part of him felt that Phil should understand the danger before he went learning the safe spots.
It's all good!
Out of respect and consideration, he didn't ask for the blind spots and nodded, "Thanks for telling me all this." Some of his coffee fueled euphoria had given way into this degree of acceptance.