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
...Because he was bound to find out sooner or later, and it's better like this. Better that she tells him now than to deal with him in a fury later when she's unprepared. But even so, she's not nearly as prepared as she thought she was here, either. She's not prepared for that familiar anger on his face, or that familiar pang of betrayal that feels like he's taking Signless's side over hers.
"Forget it. I'm not doing this again." She turns abruptly away, no place in mind for a destination except to get away from this conversation.
no subject
"Don't you dare leave in the middle of this!" There is anger and hurt and betrayal on his face, all in the knotted set of his eyes, his mouth, and his brow above. "You don't drop a bomb on me and then leave as soon as it becomes inconvenient for you, Pyrope. My weird, pacifistic ancestor winning might have been a problem before if your judgement is right, but why was killing him something you 'had' to do? There's a ton of tributes and countless dangers in these games, and when it took your Mind powers for him to win at all, what makes you think he was so on the path to victory that you had to step in with a fucking knife to the throat?"
It's not even a thing about picking one over the other in his mind, specifics of the situation aside. It's about avoiding needless death, about undeserved suffering, and ultimately all the ways in which he's a shit excuse for a troll. If he were more normal something like this would be par for the course, perfect sense, but right now all he can see is how harsh and unnecessary it seems to him.
no subject
"Because you hired him an entourage! You went around demanding that all of your friends sign up for the Save Karkat's Moirail brigade. I wasn't even in this place for two weeks when you asked me to lay down my life so your ancestor could skip off to victory! We were weeks into that arena, and all I could think about was how your moirail was an Actual Rebel Leader that you wanted to put on a Victor pedestal. I wanted to wait for something else to take him out, but it wasn't happening, and every day that passed was one day closer to losing my chance to do anything at all to prevent that."
no subject
It doesn't stop a cringe for the actual rebel leader comment, but he doesn't dare say a thing to that. It's enough of a worry as it is, how the Capitol might treat him for the stance he took on Alternia. He just hopes the Signless will handle it smoothly.
But back here in the present...
"He was never my moirail," he says first. His voice is calmer but harder for it. "And I don't remember any of that. I can't deny what happened and I'm not going to, but how am I supposed to answer for things past me did when I'm not the one who decided it all? I don't know what was going through his head. All I knew was you told me you killed him, just dropped that right out of nowhere, and expected me to carry the burden of whatever he fucked up this time."
The hurt is crowding out the anger again, because damnit, they just fixed things between them. How is he supposed to deal with anything here if he keeps getting pulled short by the leash his past self secured on his neck?
no subject
"I just... It was bound to come up. And I didn't want you to be mad at me for months again." That's the hard part to admit. That his opinion of her actually matters to her. Because even from a young age, she understood that caring about others and their thoughts and opinions meant putting power into their hands. The power to help or to hurt; but it was usually the latter more often than not.
no subject
But even what anger he does feel doesn't help. Sometimes it's like a defense mechanism, easier to take the harder things if he can just argue about them, but the hurt of this has lodged in like a thorn under skin.
"I don't want to be mad at you for months--I don't want to be mad at you at all. But every time I turn around, past me has done something with someone and suddenly we're fighting about it. But I can't just pretend I'm magically okay with my ancestor getting killed by my friend just because getting along is nicer, either."
no subject
"It wasn't you, but it was a you. It's not like I can dismiss what happened as some completely different person, Karkat. Am I supposed to stop worrying about it happening again just because you don't remember the first time? It doesn't work like that. I told you what was up, and you still called me panfucked. You didn't even know what he was like back then, and you still didn't trust that I had a good reason for doing what I did--just like before. So don't tell me that it's completely different things!"
no subject
"I don't want you to have to die for anyone, Terezi. I don't know why he was so set on having the Signless win, and no matter how much you tell me it was still a me doesn't mean I will. You're right that I don't know what my ancestor was like, but that goes for both sides: I don't know how he was that made you worry, and I don't know what about him made past me feel the way he did. And blabbering on about it isn't going to make his mindset click into place." All this comes from behind the veil of his hand. At the end he drops it, finally meeting her eyes for all she can't see it.
"I come from a different part of the timeline with different experiences and knowledge. I met my ancestor a completely different way from however he did. I've gone three years on a meteor with half my friends dead, and the people in the dream bubbles doomed for a thousand million arbitrary reasons I can't and never will wrap my head around because Paradox Space is that fucking fickle. Everyone here dies again and again and again until they get out, if they can get out. Even if my ancestor winning might have been dangerous, I'm tired of people dying, and if it has to happen I don't want to be at the hands of one of my friends." His tone is strained, but not shouting. This is the anger of someone wrung out and sore. "Is that really so hard to comprehend?"
no subject
"But we don't always get what we want, Karkat--especially when what you seem to want is for me to be retroactively sorry for murdering someone half a sweep before you ever showed up here. I'm not sorry for doing it, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to do it again. And it doesn't mean that I'm panfucked for doing it in the first place. I had my reasons, I told you them, and I'm done feeling bad for something that happened ages ago."
Terezi exhales again, her shoulders tense. Regardless of the note that they started on, she really just wants to leave. It's more than apparent in her body language. "It happened, and a lot of things have changed since then. I just wanted you to know before you saw it at the Crowning or on the recaps. That's all. ...So if we're done here, I'd like to leave the conversation without being manhandled back into it. If you don't mind."
no subject
"Fuck you," he bites out, all that change transmuted into his voice, and to the sharpening set of his eyes above. "You don't get to come here, confess a murder, and expect me to just take 'sorry, not sorry' as a valid response. You're double panfucked if you think I will, let alone after you tried to argue into me how I'm supposed to feel bad for things I don't even remember!"
His shoulders have raised in a hunch, and his hands balled into fists at his side are trembling with how mad he is. He spits, "If you want it to be done, fine. I'm out. Don't talk to me."
And he turns on his heel, looking to storm on off if she'll let him.
and that's a wrap
It's true that she shouldn't have dumped her troubles with his past self on him--especially when she knows that he doesn't remember. But at the same time, it's hard to apologize when she's feeling hurt and defensive. It's hard to hold that olive branch out there when she expects it to be thrown back in her face. In the end, she lets him storm off without a word, a painful feeling of deja vu lingering in her chest.