The Ψiioniic / The Helmsman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biiowiired) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-05 10:36 pm
biiowiired) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-05 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
There are materials enough in every mind....
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?"
biiowiired & YOUWhat| 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?"
no subject
Gray, this is not a toy or a puppy, this is…a possible alien? A pest? Was this the Capitol's version of a rat? Questions ran around his mind but, like his host said, it wasn't actively harming anyone. It would live another day then.
no subject
He gently rubbed the cooing bundle in circles like a goddamn lusus. How the mighty have fallen, especially after the casual way Psii talked about bloodshed. He strode to the nearest corner and peeked his red and blue eyes around it.
"Lucky for you, I don't have crappy human vithion at night. Hallway'th clear. What do you think, elevator or thtairth?"
no subject
"Hey, if you're willing to run up all the stairs back to Nine, be my guest," he shrugged, "But then again, people might take offense to a sentient dust bunny in their elevators." So to the stairs, taking note of security cameras. "You've been here a lot longer than I have, you could run circles around me."
no subject
"I don't think I've been here all that long, but yeth, I probably could? I know I look half wathted away, but I've fended for mythelf and traveled a lot on Alternia."
He opened the door and started hoofing it upstairs, keeping one eye on the landing and the other on his tribble. It cooed happily, unperturbed about the change of environment.
"Thtairth are more private anyway. I'd hate to run into anyone on the elevator and have to exthplain thith. Elevatorth are alwayth awkward. Anyway, you volunteered yourthelf into thith, tho you can't blame me." He smirked and couldn't resist adding, "You can cluckbeatht out anytime, human."
no subject
The Tribble gave the ex-guard reason to smile and hell, he even gave it a scratch or two while making it to District Seven's then Eight's. "And staff aren't all nice and proper when it comes to little things they can try to kill with their fancy shoes."
no subject
"But you're right about fanthy footwear. You'd think they'd want to keep their exthpenthive shoeth from getting methed up in the name of mannerth and practicality," Psii grumbled. He huffed the last floor to his district's suites.
"Thankth for thticking thith little journey out with me, human."
no subject
"See ya on the flipside and here's hoping for the best." With that, and hands in his pockets, Gray turned tail and headed back into his room