paint-by-number morning sky [semi-open!]

[69problems]

Who| Signless and Tony, Signless and the D12 tributes, Signless and YOU!
What| Taking care of business, then taking care of pets.
Where| D12, then the lobby.
When| Now (after the arena, before the crowning).
Warnings/Notes| Nothing I can think of, will add if something comes up.

A. For Tony

Remembering the whirlwind of interviews and speculation and internal conflict he had to deal with after winning, the Signless has left Tony more or less alone since the end of the arena. There's only so long he can put off talking to Twelve's new victor, however, and he feels it's reasonable to want to be on the same page since they're going to be working together. It won't do their tributes any good if they're working hard but working at cross purposes.

With that in mind he stands outside of Tony's door and gives a brief, polite knock.

"Tony? I'd like to speak with you, if you don't mind."

B. For All D12 Tributes

Just as important as keeping on the same page as his co-mentor is keeping up to date with his tributes. In his opinion he'll be best-equipped to help them if he hears from them what it is that they most need. On top of that he wants to get to know all of them better. Twelve is many things and especially right now it's a mixed bag of very different people with very different skills who need very different marketing to make sure they get as much help in the arenas as it's possible for him to secure. Perhaps it's not the most efficient way of doing things but he wants to be sure everyone is being presented to sponsors in a way that they're, if not happy with, at least not vehemently opposed to.

Each of them will receive a brief, friendly note on their door asking to meet in the suite common room at an appointed time for a brief check-in. He parks himself on the couch with a notebook, a pen, and a decidedly non-alcoholic drink, and waits.

C. Open!

It hadn't been as much of a surprise as it might have been when after his crowning he was presented with the small crablike creature the Capitol had billed as a 'mutantblood lusus'. He remembers very well Maximus and his pet tiger. No, the problem with his new pet isn't so much that he hadn't been expecting it and more that it has absolutely no manners. He's discovered that with the exception of himself and Karkat it's distrustful of people at best and attempts to eat their ankles at worst. 'Worst' happens to be its default.

Naturally the solution is taking it down into the lobby of the tower (on a short leash, of course) and attempting to get it used to people. It skitters around his legs, clacking its claws and blinking its four white eyes suspiciously at anyone who gets too close. When it's not making agitated chirping sounds or screeching in alarm at a Capitolite's oh-so-scary shiny accessories it's emitting a low, constant and very uneasy hiss.

"Sorry," he says, nudging it with his foot away from the person it's most recently decided is its mortal enemy. "I'm trying to teach him to be a little more personable and it's not going well."

Comments

[ka_sera_sera]

"She sounds like a very wise woman. I'd like very much to meet her someday." His mind may be slowing, at in fact about the same rate at which he is sliding down the wall, leaning ever-so-gradually more heavily against Signless, but it's lively enough to follow the same path Signless' did - if seeing her means she is here, held just as tightly to the whim of these idiots as the rest of the tributes, then probably it's best he doesn't.

"Or at least, ah-" He takes a moment to blink, slowly, and collect his thoughts. "A couple stories. Did she teach herself to fight out there too? With her chain-saw?"

[69problems]

"I think she may have known that before. It's unusual for someone to live to adulthood on Alternia without knowing their way around a weapon."

The more Roland leans against him the more Signless leans back. Settling in here for the long-term feels like a good idea. He has nowhere else to be and a lot of missed cuddling to make up for. He turns his head and leans his cheek against Roland's shoulder, letting his eyes slip half-closed.

"I do have stories if you'd like them. So many I wouldn't know which to tell, to be honest. What kind do you want to hear?"

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland cranes his neck to try and get a better look at Signless' face, then settles himself, setting his own face against the top of Signless' head. "Tell me of your women. The ones who fought. In those latter days it would've been stranger to see anyone without a weapon than with one, but in in the day of Gilead... Hm. Would've been strange indeed, your mother fighting her daywalkers. But to be honest, Signless, I may be in little state to listen. Seems a long time since I last slept a night through." The way he trails off at the end, almost murmuring, may indicate what he means; not that he's too tired to focus on any of Signless' stories, but that he may shortly not be conscious enough to hear them.

[69problems]

"I'll tell one that you needn't pay too much attention to then," he says, his black lips settling into a small smile. Of course Roland is tired; post-arena exhaustion is a very real thing and something Signless is familiar with himself.

"I can tell one of the stories my mother used to tell me at dawn to help me sleep. There are plenty of fighting women in those." Not just because women on Alternia were not at all discouraged from fighting but also, he suspects, because his mother was just as much of a feminist as her Beforan self.

"You may want to take these off first," he adds as an afterthought, patting one of Roland's legs to indicate his jeans. "Or at the very least your shoes."

[ka_sera_sera]

"Hm?" Roland makes an effort to straighten a little, blinking a few times to focus his eyes. "Oh, as you like," he murmurs, and starts tugging at the fastenings of his belt and waistband. A little tricky when his more dextrous hand is too far away to help, settled over Signless' waist as it is. "Though I surely won't be awake to hear your story afterward."

He hooks his thumb into the top of his underwear, trying to wiggle out of both it and his pants in one go. "May have to make it quick, don't know if I've more than a few minutes in me." His cheek has settled against Signless' head again, without consulting the rest of him. He lifts it to inspect his hand's progress; one hip bared, but that's not quite enough, is it? Pull at the front, then, instead of the side. Get far enough there, they should be able to make something work.

Was he muttering that aloud, just then? Probably not. Nevermind.

[69problems]

Somewhere along the line there was a grave miscommunication, and it takes Signless's brain a little bit of puzzling to realize exactly where. He places a hand over Roland's wrist with enough force to hopefully communicate 'stop that, you adorable idiot'.

"I meant that you might be more comfortable sleeping without your jeans on," he says, and while his voice is gentle there's definite laughter behind his eyes. "We can do that later, maybe, once you aren't half-asleep."

[ka_sera_sera]

"Hm?" He stares at that gray hand on his wrist a moment, a part of his mind which never slows down taking note of its grip and trying to figure the potential behind it, how much strength the troll could put into that gesture should he really decide to do it.

It is not often that he thinks of Signless in this way and the moment Roland looks up the thought is lost, abandoned as he turns his energies toward tracking down just where the conversation's run off to this time. He grunts, dismissive, once he finds it. "Comfortable enough. Long's you don't move." Leave the jeans, even with their half-undone belt. Not important. What might be important is the shoes, which Roland keeps trying to toe at and scrape against the frame of the bed in order to slide off his feet.

"Tell me," he says, because what is definitely important is what they had been getting at. He knows that much. "Tell me that story in the way your mother told it to you. I'd like to hear." Roland's attempts to keep his head from leaning against Signless' again are, for the moment, successful. That's important too. After all, you can't hear a story properly if you aren't watching the teller's face. Watching it very intently. It's important to pick up on clues.

[69problems]

Briefly Signless considers helping Roland get his shoes off and then decides that watching him ineffectually kick at them is funnier. He'll manage it eventually, he's competent enough even when he's tired.

Instead, Signless thinks back to a story. He sifts through a few in his mind before settling on one, one he remembers better because it was one he asked for a lot. He'll be able to replicate his mother's inflections better that way, though his voice is too deep to do it exactly. At least he has years of practice as an orator to help him emulate her smooth, measured tones. Much in the same way his voice changes when he's giving speeches or long explanations, it changes when he tells stories.

"Once there was a young brownblood who was renowned for her skill at spinning thread and weaving it into beautiful cloth. With this gift she bought her freedom from her master and won the flushed affections of a cerulean noble, which is a story in its own right and one best saved for another time.

"The two of them settled on the outskirts of the city that the noble oversaw, and the weaver continued to spin and dye her thread and create beautiful things, and for some time all was well. For the jade attendants she wove dresses with all the twelve hues of trollkind. For the indigo priests she wove intricate shawls inlaid with scripture. For the violet elite she wove shimmering capes translucent as water. For the Empress herself she wove a brilliant gown out of threads spun from pure gold, and so beautiful was her work that the Empress consented to wear it even though it had been created by the hands of a lowblood.

"But brownbloods only live so long, and the weaver soon grew old and her hands soon grew weak and unable to spin with the same artistry she had had as a young woman.

"'What will you do now that you cannot weave?' asked her noble, still young and new as she had been sweeps before -- for ceruleans live a lot longer than brownbloods.

"'I have woven for the attendants of the mother grub,' the weaver said in reply, 'and I have woven for the indigo priests and the violet elite and for the Empress herself, and for all of the colors across the castes after that. I am content.'

"Suddenly their hive grew very dark and the air grew very cold. Out of the shadows stepped the Demoness -- or maybe the shadows became her, for she and they were made of the same thing. Her great horns curled in jagged loops and her dark lips curled in a sneer for she, she had been woven nothing, and she was furious.

"'Where is my shawl,' she asked with a quiet, deadly precision. 'Where is my garment as black as a moonless night and terrible as the whisperings of the Empress's lusus? Where is my shawl woven of despair and inlaid with the souls of the trolls who have fallen to the fate I enforce?'

"'I am sorry,' said the weaver, so small beneath the gaze of the witch. 'I thought one such as yourself would have no need of my cloth, that it might be unworthy of you.'

"This did not impress the Demoness, for she recognized desperate flattery and especially desperate flattery in the face of death.

"'You will weave for me a garment,' she said. 'And well do I know the limitations of your caste. I can see the death around you. You will not finish -- and so you will leave that work to your descendent, and their descendent, and all those of your sign who come after until I am given what I am due.' And she stepped seemingly into nothingness and was gone.

"The weaver despaired, for she knew that a curse from the Demoness meant doom, and she also knew that the Demoness was right. There was no way such a masterwork would be possible in the time she had left. Still, knowing she had no other choice, she began to work.

"While she spun, her noble quietly slipped away. She had remained quiet during the Demoness's visit, for she had been formulating a plan. She walked out into the woods around the city, into the deep dark parts of the forest where no light from the moons could reach, where the shadows were deepest and most alive, and she said:

"'Witch, I would make with you a bargain. Give my beloved one day, but let that day last as long as she needs. I know that time is nothing to you. For this, I will give you anything.'

"'Will you give me your life?' asked the Demoness, and in the darkness her glowing form appeared as tall as the ocean was deep, and just as dangerous.

"'I will fight you, yes,' said the noble, who knew very well that she couldn't hope to best the witch. 'If that is how you want me to prove myself.'

"The witch laughed a laugh that in other times and places had shattered bones and said: 'You would not win, and that is not the way I meant at any rate. For your beloved, I will make the day last until her work is done. But I do not stop the entire world for something such as this. Outside of your hive time will keep moving, and you will move with it, asleep. It may take her more sweeps than you have left in you for her to complete my task, and even if she should succeed, you will be old. Weak.'

"'Then she and I will be well-matched,' said the noble. 'And we will die together free of your ire.'

"The Demoness, while cruel, was a troll of her word. Deep in the forest the noble slept, and in the hive on the outskirts of the city the weaver toiled for a day that seemed never to end. She spun thread so fine it could barely be seen, and with her wrinkled, shaking hands she she wove it together into a shawl that was like a patch of the night sky. It was her finest work, and its creation took her a day that lasted three hundred sweeps.

"Upon its completion the Demoness appeared, and she knelt so that the weaver might place the fabric upon her shoulders. She offered no thanks, but she did instruct the weaver to journey out into the forest to where the darkness was deepest.

"There she found her love still asleep upon the grass, now as old and frail as she. After three hundred sweeps of work with no sleep she thought perhaps she would rest -- just until the noble awoke. She lay down and fell asleep almost instantly.

"Not long after the noble opened her eyes for the first time in three hundred sweeps, but upon seeing her love so peaceful she decided perhaps she could sleep just a little longer. For the first time they both slept a dreamless sleep, and just as the noble had predicted the two of them died together with no doom to trouble them or their descendents or their descendents' descendents."

This may have worked a bit too well, because now he's feeling a bit tired.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland listens closely and intently to the story - or tries to. Every now and then his gaze slides off of Signless' face, and after a moment spent blinking into the unfocused distance Roland gives an annoyed huff, straightens himself, and spends a little time squinting at Signless before the process begins itself again. In that way he does make it awake to the story's end, although it takes him a silent moment to realize that end has arrived. In that moment he also realizes, distantly, that he has not yet successfully shed his shoes. One is gone onto the floor somewhere but the other still hangs, mostly slipped off his foot but not quite there.

He slides a little ways downward, pulling Signless closer and taking a deep breath. "That was lovely. Strange, to hear two women as lovers..." That was a thought wandering its way past his lips, though, rather than what he'd meant to say. What had it been? It takes another silent moment to find the path of his former thought, but Roland searches doggedly and does end up finding it.

"Could have learned much more if I'd been able to pay attention," is the thought, and it comes out a little bit sulkily because there really was a lot in that story, and somehow Roland had forgotten in his eagerness to hear it that he'd have to be sharp enough to find it all. "I'd like to hear it again, if you don't mind. Later."

His head dips down one more time, lifts automatically, then seems to decide to rest itself back on top of Signless'. This time Roland does not try to pick it back up. "I might have questions, I think, but-" Alas, Roland is interrupted by a yawn, during which he begins to pull his legs onto the bed notices that shoe as it bumps into the bedframe. How he was going to complete that other sentence, the world may ever know. "Mm. Kick this shoe off me, would you? Damn ridiculous things."

[69problems]

Signless obliges, his sharper troll toenails better-equipped to hook into the shoe than Roland's stubby human ones. It takes him a few kicks but eventually the shoe thumps to the floor and he makes a small, pleased noise of victory.

"I'll answer any questions you have after you've slept," he says, pressing an abbreviated kiss to Roland's jaw. Carefully he tries to tip them both sideways -- easier to sleep lying down properly, after all. "I can tell it as many times as you like, I know it well enough."

[ka_sera_sera]

"Mm," Roland says, and finds them both falling over. Well, they both seem to be keeping their hold on one another even so, so that's alright. "You'll, ah, you'll have to," he murmurs, flumping gently sideways onto the mattress and, once he gets there, pressing his face a little further into Signless' hair. And then it's done - with the soft bed underneath him, and that much missed and welcome presence in front, the arena is over. Roland pulls Signless closer, one last, most important movement. Then he sleeps.