There are materials enough in every mind....

[biiowiired]

Who| The Ψiioniic biiowiired & YOU
What| Psii can't sleep and tries to fill in time he would normally spend coding. See Psii doing more than one activity if you wish. Also there are tribbles.
Where| Anywhere in the Tribute Tower. Pick a specific location if you wish.
When| jan 03 and after. Pick a date and put it your subject header.
Warnings/Notes| language (always with Psii), hypomania, talk of death, attempted animal harm (thanks Jason), mention of buckets in relation to troll reproduction (it's canon i swear)

Whether Psii wanted to admit it or not, he only holed himself up half the time. The other half, he needed conversation, some sort of social contact. Psii was a troll of opposites and extremes, avoiding people only to pester them two hours later. After resting from the mental trials of dying for the first time, he finally left the stifling confines of his respiteblock, thoughts racing.

He couldn't sleep, weighed down by the experience of dying only to come back still a slave in Panem. He couldn't code, the Peacekeepers being on the lookout for hackers. He couldn't speak his mind, when even his outspoken preacher friend told him to lay low. So Psii careened down a sleepless path of quietly frenetic activity with whatever else he could get his hands on. At all hours of the day and night he could often be seen doing two things at once to stave off perceived boredom, heavily shadowed mismatched eyes flicking back and forth with equal attention. His lip curled around his fangs in deep thought.

He was a rodent spinning its wheel and going nowhere fast.

Reading; anywhere

He would sit in the common area, the bar, the rooftop garden, surrounded by piles of books from the library. He was rapidly familiarizing himself with the flora and fauna of this planet. Know thy enemy and all that. He'd also checked out e-books and videos, though he opted to insert them in his communicator rather than hog the television in the common area. It chattered information away, mostly general overviews of past arenas.

Psii was mostly interested in what environments and hazards the Gamemakers preferred, rather than individual track records. Suspicious of everyone though he may be, he wasn't ready to turn on his fellow Tributes unless they attacked him outright. He'd seen infighting among slaves in squalid conditions, but it was more useful to work together, at least temporarily. Anyone with half a brain could see that, even without being a fucking genius like him.

He'd hear footsteps nearby and stop drumming fingers on a book to point to some video or other, his words lisping out rapid-fire, "Look, they had an arena in a retail complexth, what the fuck...."

Drawing; anywhere inside

He procured some paper and began to frenetically scribble equations and fractals in red and blue pen. He had enough math and physics to occupy himself without showing too much intelligence. Flight patterns and gravitational calculations were ok, but programming languages were not. He wasn't going to be arrested and executed like that hacker Brainiac. He spent too much time laying low under the Alternian Empire to be caught by mere humans. His hands would tremble slightly, mirroring his head filled with thoughts shouting over each other even without prophetic voices muscling their way in.

Soon he had a growing pile of intricate but ultimately useless chicken scratches strewn about him. He could come up with new codes in his head, but no way was he putting down on paper what could get him caught.

Knitting/weaving; anywhere

His interest in fractals and geometry lead him to knitting, weaving, anything he could teach himself with minimal tools. This also kept his hands steady whenever they would be hit with shaking from his racing thoughts. He perched his communicator on a table to display some tutorials and got busy creating anything but clothes. His interest lay in repeating loops of shapes, not wearable couture. Fashion was Dolorosa's deal, not his.

A simple but oddly soothing esoteric yarn atrocity grew from clever scarred fingers to cascade over his knobby knees to the floor. He could see himself making a hobby out of this, if only it wasn't so useless to him. Perhaps he could find some way to work a code in it, but he hesitated to risk that.

Tribbles; anywhere inside at night

Psii was on his way towards the living blocks. Everyone else was asleep, but he was still on a nocturnal clock, awake as a live wire. It was quiet enough that any untoward noise would be noticed, even by someone who wasn't as paranoid as Psii. A soft coo ululated from the wall.

"Mother Grub'th thecond thphincter, what ith it now...." he groan-whispered to himself.

He stepped lightly to the room on the other side of the wall. Something sat in a corner nearly out of sight next to some crumbs. Certainly no one without nightvision would have noticed, but for the cooing. The furry ball didn't run when he appeared or when he took a step closer. He blinked, then looked around trying to find someone to quickly wave over so they could explain this mystery to him.

Gaming; District 9

Psii missed his husktop with the besotted ache of a stranded lover. His codes, his games, his porn was on there. Though he was hesitant out of pure spite to do what the Capitol provided for him, the siren's call of technology pulled him to the gaming consoles in his district's common area. The heart-racing virtual combat and hidden strategy of a first-person shooter should occupy his over-active mind. He fired up the highest-rated game he saw and wrapped long grey fingers around a controller, adjusting to a shape that was similar-but-not-really to ones he'd used at home.

"....Wow thith shit'th primitive. What kind of two-bit engine are they uthing for thethe graphicth?"

Comments

[biiowiired]

Psii nodded and grimaced with him. Alternia had theaters, of course. Movies, too. Followers of the Mirthful Messiahs were not only highbloods, but great patrons of the arts. Psii thought of the Gamemakers and Capitol citizens as highbloods anyway, so it wasn't too hard a thing to grasp. He was already familiar with the art of wanton cruelty and neglect.

"I refuthed to thpar with you becauthe I wanted to work on another project, if you want the truth." It wasn't the whole truth, since talking about trying to escape was out of the question here. "But I have time now. Without muthclebeatht or highblood attackth, I've got to keep on my toeth thomehow...."

Talking about Signless's pacifism made Psii want to ask if he did indeed break it, but that was something Psii should ask Signless himself about instead.

[ka_sera_sera]

He nods. "Offer's open. But I warn you, I won't go easy. And I'll need to know some about you - what you know, what you're good at. Since there's so little time between arenas it'd be best to hone whatever skill you already have, if we can find a useful one."

"Take your time deciding, if you'd rather work on this instead," he adds, waving toward the communicator the Psiionic'd been using to watch that video earlier. "Might be just as useful at this stage of things. Found out anything interesting?"

[biiowiired]

"If people went eathy on me, I wouldn't have thurvived patht my thecond thweep. But you're athking thomeone who'th only been through one arena. Honethtly--though it painth me to admit it--my short nubby friend ith more qualified to give a dithertation on arena tacticth than I am. God, that'th embarrathing."

He shuffled through a few books restlessly. He had to one-up Signless, and fast.

"Ath you can thee, I like gathering information and implementing thtrategieth. I can rethearch and craft thtuff. I can't optic blatht anyone, tho I have to make do with my brain, a good eye, and a couple kniveth. I haven't uthed big weaponth, including your fanthy thwordth. I wath alwayth hiding or traveling.... I thurvived in the Alternian wildth for theveral weekth, though I wouldn't want to do it again. I've killed." He paused, knowing humans were more touchy about murder. This human, he knew, was dating a pacifist. But Psii didn't want to elaborate on his own past.

"Signless wath a preacher of herethy, our leader. He'd uthually be off making terrible dethithionth while the retht of uth thcreamed at him. Thith ith why I've got to learn ath much ath I can here." His mouth twisted wryly, "Tho I can thcream at him, I gueth. Doeth any of that anthwer your quethtion?"

[ka_sera_sera]

"Crafting, that'll do," he nods to himself, having not flinched - or even really seemed to take much notice - at the mention of killing. He did note it, of course, the same way he notes all such facts, but while it's useful to know Roland does not see it as particularly worth mentioning. "These arenas seem designed for that, people who've the knowledge to make something useful out of very little."

"And knives, if you're good with those. Darts. If you learn to craft something with the right heft and balance out from whatever you might find, you'll be making a good start. Fighting in close quarters with small weapons, that too." He cuts himself off with a quick shake of his head. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

Then he pauses, debating with himself, and a little humor creeps into his expression. There is temptation here and, Roland decides, little reason not to give in to it. "Did you do much screaming at him, in your time?"

[biiowiired]

"Until I wath hoarthe." His eyes narrowed with his grin. "You athk like that'th not a thing you're aware of. What, ith he pulling a fatht one on you? Pretending he'th an exthtremely balanthed individual and not at all reckleth?"

Psii was aware that his friend had changed in his time here, had grown more cautious. But Psii would rather joke around than push what he knew was a pain button. He also didn't want to inadvertently pry into Signless's or Roland's affairs. He didn't know how much Roland knew about Signless's time here. That was between the two of them.

"Let me tell you about the time he dethided it would be a great idea to croth the othean filled with monthterth and thea dwellerth in a goddamn ship."

[ka_sera_sera]

"If there's recklessness in 'im, he's controlling it well. Or at least hiding it." Roland's leaning forward now, not hiding his interest. There may be better distractions from the dream that'd led him up here but not many, and the last few holds it'd had on his mind are fading unnoticed, and for a little while forgotten.

"If you'll tell me a story - one at least mostly set in truth - of your time with him, I'll see what I can do about training you. Or at least, setting you on the way to training yourself. Do we have a deal?"

[biiowiired]

"Deal. Though really, I thee thith ath a public thervithe, thomething you should know anyway, rather than any thkin off my back.

"Tho anyway, a fucking boat, and gueth who'th the only one driving thith thing with a bunch of inexthperienthed not-thailorth?" He jabbed a thumb at his own chest before devolving into pantomime. He might not be a great storyteller, but he sure as hell could bitch and gesticulate.

"Tho I'm thtuck thcooting thith piethe of nautical shit around with my mind, blathting monthterth, weathering thtormth, and thith idea ith tho beyond bad. If thomething happenth to me, they're bathically fucked. Thay there'th no wind, they'd be thtranded. I mean, Dolorosa and Disciple could take care of motht giant thquidth no problem, but if an actual monthter theveral timeth the thize of our boat reared itth head or ath or whatever the hell it eatth with and I wathn't there, they'd be fish bait, and you'd be down a matethprit."

He scrubbed his hands over his face as if trying to wash himself of the memory.

"Thith ith why I hate theafood."

[ka_sera_sera]

"Hm. Signless doesn't seem to mind it," he says, sitting back. The stories of his world, long and involved and including every detail of things that happened - and, often, one or two things that didn't - is probably a thing of the past. Impossible to miss that he hasn't heard one person from all their different worlds tell a proper tale since he got here, but there are times he realizes it anew. Like now.

"He wasn't wrong, though," he says, instead of making a big deal about it. It's all part of being a tribute in this place, and might have happened in his long travels even if he'd never ended up in Panem. Many of the ways he knew are gone, and the telling of stories is apparently one of them. That is that. "You didn't die, and neither did he. Presumably the others made it to the other side with you. You must be very strong in the Touch - ah, in your powers. Was it you moving the boat the whole time?"

[biiowiired]

"He'th alwayth doing crazy shit that doethn't make thenthe." And that was that. Psii might complain, but there were certain universal constants he too had accepted as fate.

He balked at the compliment. He could fall into it one of two ways: He could brag about his psionic prowess in one of his manic, narcissistic whims; or he could dissemble humbly and play down his part in keeping them all alive. He could swing from one extreme to the other, but both were due to his self-depreciation.

"I only moved the boat when the wind wath off. I wouldn't have gotten any thleep otherwithe," he mumbled and rubbed a hand down his face. "Thure we didn't die, but I'd rather not repeat the exthperienthe. Ever."

[ka_sera_sera]

"You may not get the choice. The Gamemakers seem wary about the powers of their tributes, but they like making us eat words like that." He considers, then, whether to ask more about Signless. This Psiionic is a good source for information about him, perhaps an even better source than Signless himself.

He decides against it. If Signless does have reckless tendencies, Roland may see those tendencies better if he's not biased by the Psiionic's stories of a past and a world very different from this place. "We could start seeing about your training now, if you'd like. I've the time. Unless you've not had your fill of watching past arenas." Roland gestures toward the stacks of books nearby. He can't tell whether the Psiionic has gone through most of them already, or hasn't had time to go through any at all. "May be best to learn all you can before you start deciding what skills you'll need."

i think we could end it hereish?

[biiowiired]

"I very much doubt they'd give me enough power to move a boat. Too much logithticth, too much inthuranthe to take out, too many dangerth I could pothe.... It'd be a tall order."

That said, Psii was already committed to staying out of trouble. Maybe they just got a better kick out of him being in arenas, but he knew they'd Avox him if given enough reason. And if they had helmstroll technology, he could actually live the terrible future he had dodged. They'd seen the Helmsman; they knew what his future self was capable of. Psii had no interest in becoming a battery.

"I can't put thethe away jutht yet." It was silly, but Psii was both mentally and physically entrenched in his nest of books. Whoops. "Firtht show me thome thtuff about herbth. I'd like to dreth my woundth, not die of poithon."

yeah I think so. thanks, I've enjoyed it <3

[ka_sera_sera]

"I'll see if I can't find a book or two on it," he says, pushing himself to his feet. "May have to test what you don't recognize from your world - some we'll probably be able to guess, but I don't know enough about your species to say what you will and won't react to." All the species Roland's old teacher had been so careful to press into their minds, the Taheen, the Rods, all the rest, all that knowledge will likely never matter again. But it's useful, still. Tells him that, like all those creatures from the Prim he'd learned of as a boy, a species like trolls may well have some weakness to something a human would think innocent. Not that he wants a bad reaction, especially not in someone Signless considers a friend. But he does want to know.

"We'll speak over it when we start. Call me any day you're ready. Only don't wait too long - there's a lot to go over, and maybe not so much time." And with that, Roland takes one last look at the sky. Then turns and walks over to the door, leaving the Psiionic to it.