thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who | Roland and Karkat
What | Roland follows up on their conversation in the arena
Where | central commons
When | soon after the arena (a dayish after?)
Warnings | none I know of

Some loose ends never do get tied up, especially after these arenas. Probably a good thing, given what happens in them. But there are two in particular he means to see to here and now, and they both lead to the same person. Explaining his relationship to the boy's ancestor really ought to be the more important one, but the moment he starts on that he knows he's going to lose any hope of getting enough of Karkat's attention to accomplish anything else - say, making sure the boy won't earn himself a slow, painful death next arena eating (or, in some rare cases, touching) the wrong plant.

He realizes too late that he did not ask Karkat's district when he had the chance. Unless he wants to barge into every floor's rooms asking, this means one thing: stay in the central commons, potentially for the whole day. Do this without attracting the attention of fans or reporters.

Probably impossible. Knitting helps. He's found a seat near the entrance of the bar - sitting in the commons itself would be like asking to be mobbed by toadying and stupid questions - and sat himself there, watching, nursing his drink, and absently knitting at a small, brown and orange mound of lumps and stray yarn. Currently, he's pretending to be more focused on that than on the Capitolite cutting her way across the room toward him. She isn't careful about it and barges in front of several others trying to cross the room, even tripping a couple of them up.

With luck, one of the enemies she makes that way will stop her before she becomes Roland's problem. That, or he'll finally spot Karkat and have a good excuse to get up and leave. He does have enough patience to deal with her, though. An interview so soon after the arena might even be good for his image. God help him.

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Looking for Roland is nothing Karkat has done. He's watched the arena, sure, and looked out for the ends of his friends, and frequently watching the games with his ancestor has meant seeing him a time or two on screen. There have been other distractions too, like the week it took Dave to come back (in which he barely watched the arena at all), then their talk that ensued, and the drama his mentor and escort have smeared all over his district's reputation. There's been times when he's gone down to the training floor to do nothing but take out his frustrations on dummies until his body got too tired to continue.

Today he's only looking to grab lunch, and he felt more like eating at the restaurant downstairs than grabbing something from his floor's kitchen.

Along the way he spots something: brown, orange, stringy and lumpy, and the bizarre look of it draws his eye before he recognizes the few-fingered hand clutching one of the needles. Dear god, is that supposed to be knitting? His gaze follows up, though, and the face confirms what the hands told him, which is when he remembers.

It had been easy after the first few times of studiously pretending a certain conversation didn't happen to just let the whole thing slip his mind. It was pleasant. Not thinking about it meant not thinking about things he never wanted to know about his ancestor, and not admitting other traits that certainly aren't remotely true about himself. It's not the latter that seeing Roland reminds him of.

Roland, for his part, should have little trouble spotting Karkat. Even as small as they are, the orange-on-dark-neutrals look is a bit eye-grabbing. (Humans are always more colorful and different-skinned.) But better yet, his face is a beacon, beckoning attention in the sheer animation of its features. It draws into what might be a caricature if it were on anyone else, but for him is right at hive: lips drawn and stretched, fangs bared by the grimace, eyes wide and horrified. His eyebrows twitch in their scrunch. Adding is the set of his hands, up and palm-out, warding off an unspoken threat. He holds it a good solid moment, then turns to make for the elevator.

If Roland wants to talk, he'll have to come catch him.

Edited 2015-03-21 11:57 (UTC)

Well.

He'd expected a little annoyance, maybe exasperation, some namecalling. That was - well, like much else he's seen about the boy so far that was dramatic, but it was definitely unexpected. Trouble, maybe. Not on his end, because he knows without checking his memory that it's nothing he's done. Trouble, nonetheless.

Not to mention, not particularly subtle. Heads are already turning, gossip fodder fresh on the ground for any Capitolite who still remembers last arena's more popular tributes. The turning heads try to trace Karkat's horror to whoever was on the receiving end, ready to swarm, but Roland's already moving. He gets by the one that'd been coming at him with the simple tactic of ignoring her, and keeps his steps slow and casual as he makes his way after the boy. His stride is long enough, he thinks, that he can catch up without making a spectacle.

To keep that up he'll have to stay behind Karkat, out of his line of sight, and slip into the elevator with him at the last instant. He goes for it, knitting needles shoved into one side of his waistband, yarn into the other. Now if Karkat misses seeing him for just long enough, they may avoid being at the center of Panem's ever present scandals. If not, he'll have to think up a good lie the next time the Capitol's newsmen catch up with him.

He didn't expect Roland to follow him. The man was sitting with his horrorterror of yarn by the bar, wasn't he? That seemed like something to be absorbed in, whatever its nefarious purpose. So Karkat doesn't hurry, exactly: he's just direct, weaving around people as necessary until he's at the elevators. Roland should have time enough when it takes two of Karkat's to fill the space of every one step of his.

There's also the pause of waiting for an elevator to arrive, but that doesn't take long. The doors open with a ding, Karkat steps in, and when he turns for the button panel he spots him. Tall, gravel-faced, bearing a threat of yarn like guns at his waist, and undeniably coming his way. His eyes shoot open wide, and he mashes the button for district 6.

He mashes the button again.

He mashes the button five times extra, and when the door still doesn't close, smacks the side of his fist against the panel.

Maybe it's because the tower is busy and many people use the elevators. Maybe there's a sensor to see people coming near that holds the door until they can step in. Maybe it's the simple fact Karkat doesn't realize one of the funny symbol buttons at the bottom is the one he should be pressing. But for one reason or another, the doors hold open as long as needed for Roland to amble on in, if he likes.

Karkat for his part sinks back against one of the walls with a whine.

Roland takes advantage of Karkat's retreat to do just that, slipping in and without pause hitting the symbol Karkat had missed. Luckily no one was heading this way, at least no one who was very close, and the doors don't close in anyone's face, and they don't attract any attention.

He glances at the panel of buttons that take this place to their different floors, and decides not to stand in front of it. He stands at the corner opposite Karkat, instead. No need to block the boy in. Not for something like this. Roland eyes the small figure from as much of a distance as this tiny room will allow, arms crossed. Leave Roland's expression to its own devices and it will usually settle on 'grim', but he's making no effort to put it there. So far as he is concerned, he only looks confused.

"Care to tell me what that was about?" No, need to rephrase that. Too much of a - what's the word these people use? A looping hole? He shakes his head. Leans back and slouches, so as to loom a little bit less. "You're afraid of something. Nothing I've done, but something to do with me, nonetheless. Tell me, please." The please, while not an afterthought, is obviously only hooked on the end of that sentence for decoration. It is not a question so much as a statement of fact: Karkat is going to tell him. Roland only has to move past the formality of asking.

Damnit. There he comes on into the elevator, and Karkat frowns up at him from where he's slid down onto the floor. His legs are bent up in front of him, arms wrapped loosely around. He watches long enough for Roland to hit one of the unfamiliar buttons, and--Oh god damnit, it was that one? Karkat groans.

He would be content to just not say anything for the duration of the ride, but even as Roland (thankfully) takes his distance, he is not given the option. The question hits his ears with a flinch, but it's the clarification that makes him look up with a glare. His cheeks have gone red.

"You're a kinky, disgusting pervert and you don't use pails."

Edited (mixed up a word) 2015-03-22 12:28 (UTC)

His expression gives that statement all the shock and offense it deserves - that is, none. He only looks confused, and no little bit impressed. Again, not at all what Roland was expecting. Perhaps he should try to stop expecting anything when it comes to this boy.

He sinks down to Karkat's level, hunkering with his arms folded over his knees, because he doesn't have long before this ride ends at district six and if he wants to make his time count he needs to be as unthreatening as possible. "Sex? That's what's frightening you so?" He considers. "If you didn't want to know how I lay with your ancestor, you probably shouldn't have asked."

Why is he getting down? What is he doing? Somehow, that action is far more threatening than when he was standing up. Karkat scrambles to his feet, just in time to hear Roland's retort.

"RAAARARRAAUUUAAAAUUAGHGHGGHGGGGHHGH!"

That's the sound he makes as, tossing his head back, he flings his hands ceilingward.

"I didn't! Fucking! Ask him!"

He looks back down, steps over, and nudges - some might say kicks - at Roland's legs. "Go on, stand up you giant. Look at me. Look at me in my rumpled rage-ridden face. Not once in the convoluted battle of a conversation I had with my ancestor did I once ask about his respiteblock habits, in specific or in general. I only wanted to know what the most standard-flaunting hell is going on with your relationship. He's the one who dropped that part into the dialogue. Take it up with him!" He gestures up again, namely towards where district 12's floor must lie.

"Besides which, I'm not afraid of sex, and my attitudes and opinions regarding concupiscent activity are absolutely none of your business and hereby stricken from the list of acceptable conversation topics, which they weren't even on in the first place. You two are the ones who are gross, and if you'll recall I pointedly walked away from you and mashed this stupid, useless, imprecise button pad to try and make the doors close rather than take it up with you," he says, turning to indicate the buttons again.

He steps toward the doors as the light nears the indicator for district 6. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to--"

Which is when, with a worrying boooooop that might be a beep drawn out, the elevator slows to a stop. It is not at the 6. The doors do not open. Karkat looks up at the floor indicator, face already drawing with worry. "What?"

Roland showed no inclination to stand on Karkat's orders, and shows none now. In fact he slides down even more, planting his ass on the shining, expensive floor and crossing his legs. "It's time you did take it up with me," he says, after briefly following Karkat's gaze toward the light above the doors. It sits a little ways beyond the foreign symbol that is Panem's number five and, much like Roland, shows not the slightest inclination to move.

He may show no surprise, but that is because this is not surprising. It could be the work of Quintus and his 'security' team, but he doubts it - if they were in the habit of doing this sort of thing for simple gossip, it'd happen much more often. More likely - well. That this convenient thing should happen at this convenient time is a thing that does not occur to Roland to question. Coincidence is one thing, but one certain thing happening at the one certain time it needs to is the entire foundation of Roland's world, his society, his belief system. ~~His username.~~

More complex than that, of course. But clearly, if this is happening now then they are meant to talk this over further, and there is no use questioning or yelling about that.

Only one of them, of course, is going to see this that way. Best at least try to shorten whatever denial that is surely coming; they may have time for it now, but that does not mean that Roland wants to hear it. "If you sit with me and set the limits of our palaver now, we'll speak of nothing you make forbidden. If you waste time, your feelings on concupiscent activity is where I'm going to start." He looks up at the troll, expectant. Time to make a choice, Karkat.

Edited (ka wasn't explained correctly) 2015-03-23 04:56 (UTC)

While Roland says his bit, Karkat is busy trying to get the elevator to cooperate via the unhelpful means of thumping his hand on the door and mashing more buttons. Because that's not what got them into this mess. Not at all. Nope.

It's useless, though, and checking the indicator proves it again: still no closer to district 6 than they were a moment ago. He wants to yell, but that's about when Roland's warning catches his ears.

"Oh my tainted sponge clots, no. We are not talking about your sex life, ever, or I will officially refuse to talk to you again." He's turned to face him, pointing out his index finger in counter-warning, then adjusting down when he notices Roland didn't stand up after all. He gives him a frown for that.

But okay, sit down and avoid mortification. He can do that. He finds his previous spot and slumps on down, this time with legs crossed and arms soon to follow.

"We're also not talking about any of my personal attractions or past relationships with anyone. This is about you and him only, understand? If not for you two being weird I literally would not be in this mess right now." And with a look around them it's clear he means the stuck elevator.

"The mess of running away every time you see me," Roland nods, deliberately misunderstanding. He's impressed, almost. He'd expected to have to actually start on the topic of pails and the lack thereof before Karkat even tried to settle. Maybe the warning was just a more dire one than he realized. "There are things about you we'll have to go into. About me, too. But you have my word I'll take it no further than we need. Your 'sex life' is your own business."

It's true and he believes it, but it's also tactical: sometimes a good negotiation has to start with some sort of concession. If Karkat knows Roland isn't trying to work against him, this might go a little easier.

"You ran from me because I'm a pervert." He is not interested in arguing this fact. Just getting it out there so their talk can work off of it. "Is that truly so unbearable? Have you been avoiding Signless in this way too?"

"Oh my god," Karkat groans to himself, and breaks the fold of his arms to sink his face into his hands. He doesn't even have a sex life, and that's not what he meant. Hell, he has no concupiscent partners at all.

His hands drag down reluctantly when the questions come. "I saw you and it flooded back into my mind like a tide of bile, and I didn't want to think about it. But no, I haven't been avoiding him." His hands drop back to his lap. "We had a stupid argument about you two when I came back, but we haven't talked about it since then. I've been watching the arena with him off and on, and the gross part just slipped my mind."

He motions at him, continuing, "The problem is that you two have smeared your quadrants together in a weird way and I still don't get it. You tell me: how do you feel about blending two alien forms of romance together?"

He can not entirely make sense of Karkat's first reaction but whatever it is Roland'd said wrongly the boy's still speaking to him and so he waits, patient, for him to finish.

"I'm not. This is..." He takes a breath, spreads his hands briefly in the universal what the hell do I know gesture. "It's possible what I have with Signless wouldn't have gone quite this way were we back in my old home. Or maybe it would have. There was a time I'd've told you there was nothing of romance in it at all, at least not in the way lovers - human lovers - have with one another."

He leans back. "I call it quadranted because that's what we are, but there's nothing alien in what's behind it. I can't speak for you, or even Signless, but there's nothing alien at all to me about love."

Edited 2015-03-23 14:45 (UTC)

To his credit, Karkat stays quiet and listens, even as his legs end up folded in front of him again. It's a defensive sort of posture, less open than the previous one even if it plainly broadcasts his discomfort.

To his surprise, what Roland says is actually interesting.

"Then what do you feel, exactly?" he asks at the end. "If it's not alien but it's between pale and flushed, and if it's not a normal human thing, then what is it for you? Obviously getting mixed up labels smashed over my head isn't helping."

Even less with his ancestor than with Roland, he's surprised to mentally note. They got too caught up in arguing about Alternia and why its systems were the way they were to actually get into the feelings of it, at least not the point that he listened or understood properly.

He nods. "That's reasonable." More than that, it's a good question. Whether or not he'd expected to this soon, they're actually making some progress here. "Don't think of it as pale or flushed. Not if you want to understand. I use those words but they're still foreign to me. Humans - at least the ones I've known - don't separate feelings that way."

Need to come at this differently, maybe. "Is it labels you want, Karkat? I've told you what I feel already - what parts of it do you need to know before you can stand to stay in the same room with me? It isn't going to match the labels you know, no matter what I tell you. If that's what you're looking for you're going to be out of luck."

Karkat shakes his head. "Forget the fucking labels for a minute. They're not helping, and if I think too hard on them I'm just going to get pissed off."

He's honest, at least. He likes order and structure and the neatness of the system too much to take a flagrant disregard to it easily.

"Just..." He motions emptily. "Tell me how you two wound up like this. What do you do for each other, emotionally? And I already told you, I left earlier because of incidental stuff, not the whole thing. I stayed with you in the arena for a while, didn't I?"

"Presumably you found out the real trouble after that. The argument you mentioned with Signless." But if the boy says it's incidental he isn't going to push. He'll wait and see. His clarification's vague anyway, distant, because he knows where this is going and that is the direction in which his thoughts are turned.

"You won't be satisfied until you know it all, will you?" He sighs, pushing the fingerless nubs of his right hand slowly over his jaw. He'd thought of saying it back in their conversation in that arena and it feels less off limits than it did then, without their audience of fools. A little.

Well. No point in trying to put it off any further. "This place... Believe it or not, this is an improvement on the place from which I was taken." His hand rises again, rubbing this time over his brow and briefly covering his eyes. Let his thoughts touch on that, then move on; that is one subject on which Roland does not care to linger.

"But being a tribute in Panem means a lot of things, none of them easy. Worst of all, it means any one of us might die for good or disappear at any moment. And where's the point in that, where's the point in any of it, if I remember that I used to love but forget that it mattered? He reminds me. That my heart oughtn't close again, because if it does I may as well go right back-"

Roland realizes he's leaning forward, expression fierce, that the hard smooth feeling under his fingers is the marbled red and white stone of Signless' token. Maybe it fell out from his shirt. Maybe he took it out. Its edges bite into his fingers.

He leans back. Eyes Karkat a moment. His thumb rubs along the edge of the necklace, repetitive movement. "Do you understand?" Roland's free hand wipes down over his face. His gaze moves down and settles into a clean, smooth corner where wall meets floor. "I may be able to clarify my part, but if you want to know the other you'll have to ask him. His part isn't mine to tell."

Karkat Vantas experienced the downright human moment of realizing your parents have had sex, together, with each other, in ways you never wanted to think about. The Signless might not be a parent, technically, and he's never had anything to raise him but a crab for his first six sweeps. And Roland--well, Roland is his ancestor's boyfriend, whatever that means. But the base sentiment is pretty similar, and being him he's wont to dramatics about the negative things in life.

He makes a quiet, exasperated warning growl at Roland, but says nothing of it. His next guess is right, anyway: he wants to hear everything.

It's perhaps not a story, lacking any real narrative to it, but it tells him plenty just to same. It's the feelings laid out clear and smooth, and parts of it he catches and identifies with, because he knows them in his own way. He's only got this place now, himself; to go back would be to get stuck in the dream bubbles with a myriad of other copies, waiting at best for the oblivion of Lord English's double death. Here he has a chance, but it's not easy--and that thought, of having someone to remind you there's more, that you ought to care...

"Shit." He presses his back against the elevator wall. If one didn't know better, his eyes would give the impression he's been threatened.

It's the whole of it facing him: not just Roland's words, but his presentation and even the pendant he clutches, one he doesn't know or recognize, and yet... The red seems significant, and if the Signless has framed it the way he has, then the white threading through might be for pale--but he realizes he's only assuming.

Rather than answer him, he asks, "Did he give you that?"

He blinks, looks from the floor to Karkat and then down to inspect his hand. "Oh." Knowing the boy's mind and culture as little as he does, there's no way of knowing if that's going to be a problem. Except, of course, by telling him. "Aye. I gave him one too. Little different than this."

He's watching Karkat closely now, the conversation and the familiar solid feel of the stone under his hand working together to focus and ground him. He is in Panem, in the here and now. Where he was before is only a memory, long passed, and this conversation is important. His thumb rubs along the necklace's edge one more time and then he slips it under his shirt, focus sharp. Everything back where it should be. "Don't think there're any other troll rituals we've done. Not that I know of, anyway."

Symbols, gifts, some kind of quadrant token. Karkat chews at his lip in thought, watching as Roland carefully tucks the object away. He holds up a finger to bid him to wait as he considers the whole.

Both of them have described it as flushed and pale, but for Roland he's only adopting the terms of another culture, doubtlessly taken from Signless's own judgement. And while his ancestor would know enough of the labels, the issue of smearing their contents is complicated, and one that muddies his comprehension. He backs up.

When given alone, all categories and quadrants taken as something outside, Roland's feelings don't sound wrong. And for all the description was brief, it was nonetheless evocative. To have someone there to remind you that you can love--it's not a strictly pale thing, no. It's not a thing of fixing someone to be better, at least not in the broader sense of a moirail. But while having a matesprit could remind one that one has the ability to love, Roland's phrasing feels too specific for it to just be that. He specifically set it apart from regular human romance as well.

He brings his hand back to cover his mouth, his gaze dipping to the floor. If it were simple, would his ancestor have been so fervent in calling it both? He is a troll, if an unconventional one. And for all a kid first testing the romantic waters might easily confuse pale or flushed feelings for one another, the emphasis on both sticks hard.

He wishes he had his old movies with him.

"I'm not sure I get it completely." His hand has left his mouth, and his gaze draws up slowly. "But it doesn't sound as stupid as it first did."

And if there's one thing that does sit solid in his mind, it's that need for someone to anchor you here. It's hard enough to face even with people who care for you, and he finds himself still wishing he had a moirail for some of it. But that's another topic.

He scoots closer across the floor now, eyes intent and clear as he asks, "You really care about him, don't you?"

That's the second order the boy's given him since they started this discussion, but this time he follows it. It's clear Karkat's putting in some real effort to try and hear what's been said, and Roland can be patient for that.

What he gets in reward for that patience makes Roland raise his eyebrows, gives an almost amused little twist to his lips. One day Karkat may learn to actually say what he means, but it's pretty clear that today is not that day. Then Karkat moves closer and Roland sobers. Even once he hears the question he doesn't break the troll's gaze. "Yes. I really do," he says, voice full of quiet honesty, because regardless of the way Karkat only now seems to be realizing what to Roland is a very obvious fact, he has put real effort in to get there.

Although. "If I'd known that was in question," he says dryly, "I would have said it louder. Did you think I was going to all this effort to explain that your ancestor's a pretty good lay?"

So much for that. Before Karkat can think of what to say next, Roland has added that on, and he practically explodes up from the floor in his haste to stand and move away.

"Jegus! Can you not go ten minutes without mentioning that? Yes, you fucked my ancestor! Congratulations! Can we just stop bringing that up ever again?" He's glowering, cheeks burning redder by the moment. "If you could drag your head out of the bucket for just a minute then maybe you would realize I've been trying to talk about feelings and emotions this whole time, and the only reason anything sexual has come up at all was because the Signless dropped an unwanted side comment into our conversation, and then you just had to know why I was freaked out by seeing you."

He turns his gaze back to the floor numbers above. Still no progress. With a rough sigh, he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms.

"That, by the way, was wholly unrelated to my general trouble with comprehending your relationship. Quadrants generally don't mix in our society, let alone like that, so I've had trouble wrapping my head around it. That's why I argued with him, and that's why I've been asking so many questions. Not anything else. Do you understand now, or am I going to have to draw a diagram next time I've got access to paper?"

He thinks he might. He also thinks he may need to clarify something, so he starts on that rather than answering. "All your quadrants - at least, as Signless explained them - seem to have the same thing at their hearts. Being close to someone, wanting the best for them. In one way or another. Whether or not Signless and I function as any of your quadrants, we do at least have that. I'd thought that was clear from the beginning."

He frowns up thoughtfully at Karkat, who of course could not bear to stay sitting for more than a minute. Roland has not bothered to get up with him. It isn't like he's got anywhere to go once he does, and unlike some occupants of this little room he's got nothing he's trying to run away from. "I'll answer any other questions you have so well as I can, but is that what you've needed to see all this time? Proof that we're -" He pauses, realizes this conversation's made no headway in giving him a specific word for it. "-what we are, for good reason?"

Edited (clarifying a sentence) 2015-03-25 00:45 (UTC)

Karkat frowns at him, because that's a gross simplification of his culture's romance, but he doesn't feel like starting up another argument after the one he had with the Signless. Besides, it's a bit off-topic.

Roland's question gets a hm, then a shake of his head. "I needed a way to contextualize things. I wasn't questioning that you felt something for each other, but I couldn't understand what it was. I've studied troll romance and human romance, but this thing--" He motions at him. "--doesn't fall neatly into a given category. I'm going to talk to Signless again about this, but I think I've gotten the bulk of what I wanted out of you."

On this subject, anyway. His eyebrow quirks up.

"So why did you come after me? Or do you always take someone making a face and leaving as cue to follow them without asking?"

Ah. The boy - still a boy, for all it's easy sometimes to forget amid all the cultural differences - does not yet understand that simply caring for someone is enough, that any categories that care happens to fall into afterward is just details. Although perhaps that's easier for Roland, an old man whose own true first love is long in the past. Hadn't love seemed wholly different when he and the others had been boys, muttering to each other in their quieter moments about what it might be like? He tries to remember. Cuthbert may probably have thought so.

Nevermind. Those are things every boy needs to discover for himself, and it sounds like Karkat knows where he wants to take his questions next. Unless he for some reason decides to take them to Roland again, from here on it isn't his place to say.

"Leaving. Karkat, most of those newsmen thought someone was chasing you." He lets his head lean back against the wall, the easier to keep looking upward. "How am I supposed to teach you if you flee like Old Man Splitfoot's on your ass trying to pull you into his fiery pit the moment you see me? Needed to make sure we're, ah-" There's a phrase Panem uses, isn't there? One that fits here. "Cool. Are you cooler toward me now, Karkat? Enough to stand my presence every now and then?"

Karkat pulls a face. "Never say 'cool' again; from your mouth it sounds like being hit in the ear with a hammer."

The expression eases, but not enough to lose its perpetual frown. Like many a mother has warned her child, it's probably stuck that way.

"Firstly, who the hell is Old Man Splitfoot? And who cares if the reporters thought someone was chasing me? They think all kinds of shit, and when I do say anything the interviewers twist it out of context into something I never meant." Like the incest comment. He is never going to live that down, and his species doesn't even care about it.

"Besides, teach me what?"

"Old Splitfoot's a figure of some worship in my world. For certain groups, anyway. Doesn't matter anymore." Because it isn't as if either of them will ever go back there and need to know. The fact hurts but it's an old hurt, one that even before Panem had long since passed from being a surprise to simply another part of him, and the words come out without any emotion in particular. "If you're interested in the religions of my world I can tell you a little, but I'd rather tell you something that'll do you some good. Haven't visited the training rooms recently, have you? Studied this world's more dangerous plants, and how to recognize them without walking right through one?"

Karkat snorts. "I am faithless and always have been, so no, I don't care to learn about your world's religions." He glares harder for the second part. "And for your information, I have been to the training area and frequently so. You think I'm going to build knife skills out of hopes and prayers?"

He practices regularly with his sickle, too. For all he's yet to come across one in the arena, he feels no need not to keep that knowledge in practice. Maybe someday he'll luck out.

"... But no, I haven't really looked at plants. For two out of three arenas I've been in they weren't even present." Nevermind the first was a themed mini-arena.

"And the next time they're present, you may suffer more than just a bad rash." He looks up at the boy a second, thoughtful. "You can study them once this machine is fixed, or we could get started on it now. The knowledge won't save your life - not here - but it may save you a great deal of unpleasantness some day. Come, sit a few minutes, if you can manage it. I know as much about what grows in my world as I ever did, and what I've seen in this one looks to be identical."

He shrugs. "Or we could stand around and stare at one another, if that's of more use to you."

"Ass," he spits for the snarkier remarks. But he sits as bidden, stepping back over to slump down next to him. His legs cross together. "As fascinating as your mistake of a face is, I do in fact appreciate learning helpful things. And when we get out of this, if you're any good at drawing then I want diagrams."

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