thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| Signless, Gary, and anyone who needs a distraction!
What| Signless and Gary do what they do best: draw a crowd, so that nobody notices the actual important things going down.
Where| A Capitol park
When| Backdated to the day of the break-in
Warnings/Notes| Nothing in particular; will add if something comes up.

In one of the largest available Capitol parks a stage has been set up. It's festooned with colorful fabric, riddled with microphones and wires and lights, and surrounded on either side by stalls with food and drink (there are, of course, funnel cakes). Most of that was Gary's doing, but Signless deferred to him on the logic that Gary knew better how to do one of these things in public than he did. All of his experience was in keeping these things quiet and secret, which is the exact opposite of what they need to be doing.

Guests are invited to take a seat on the grass before the stage. First on the program is an 'authentic' troll sermon much like one of the ones the Signless would have given back on Alternia. It's billed as a way for those not familiar to participate in a piece of troll culture and history, though the subject is less radical rebellious philosophy (for very obvious reasons) and much more Capitol-appropriate and safe. He speaks for a good while, often inviting his listeners to contribute to the discussion, and after the sermon proper is finished there is a short question and answer session. True to his word it really does follow the same format one of his talks might have back on his native planet.

Of course not everyone is here to listen to a troll ramble in a park. For them there is the debut concert of Gary Epps which takes place after a short intermission so everyone can grab a funnel cake or a corn dog or two. The grass in front of the stage is now a makeshift dance floor and the guests are encouraged to let loose and enjoy the very, very loud and very, very upbeat music. It may be bubblegum for the ears but it's fun and the beat is good -- perfect for drowning out thoughts of why there are so very many parties all going on on this day in particular.

[This is going to be much like a crowning: a party-style post where you can put up top levels and tag around to others at any point during the festivities. Go ahead and mingle, and have some fun before everything crashes and burns! I'll be putting up a transcription of Signless's sermon shortly for characters to react to amongst themselves, and Gary will also of course be joining in!]

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"It's not healthy to, no," the Capitolite agreed with a laugh. "Hatesex during a one night stand might be oh so exciting, but it usually doesn't last."

Psii didn't hesitate now, afraid he'd lose his chance again. He whipped out the lighter, flicked it on, and held the tip of the flame to the extra crispy pile of hair. It was slower to catch, part of the hairspray fuel already used up, and for a brief moment Psii was scared he'd get caught holding his hand up for too long.

"That's what makes troll romance so fascinating—What's that smell—Oh! OH NO!"

They began flapping their hands, which of course only fanned the flames. Psii curled his fingers around the lighter to hide it as he stood, all (affected) concern, drink in hand. He wasn't sure if cider would douse the fire or fuel it, and he was curious to find out. For science.

Roland stands too, trying to catch the Psiionic's eyes - bit of a guessing game there, trying to catch the gaze of a man who's got no apparent pupils - and giving his head a small but definite shake. No. No pouring drinks on the fire. Letting off steam like this is stupid enough, the product of a couple of split second decisions and Roland's slow-growing store of frustration at sitting so uselessly in this place, but actually hurting the person under all that hair for no better reason than his own restless ire is another thing altogether. If Psiionic tries, Roland will reach out with as much speed as he thinks he needs to try and bat the drink away.

"Drop, s-s-sir," he says, now paying not enough attention to his mouth to cut the genderless sai of his own world out of his speech before it's translated into that. Roland barely notes it, though, instead putting his hand on the capitolite's shoulder and trying to guide them toward the ground. "Like last time. Some of your ah, your hair must still've been a-smoulder."

Time for Roland to make another try at the Psiionic's eyes, then to jerk his head toward the smouldering hair in question. If they want to get away with this, they have to help.

He heaved a sigh and set down his drink. Science would have to wait until another day.

Without waiting for the bartender's permission, he reached over the counter and grabbed the soda nozzle. He'd noted its position in case his experimenting really did yield tall flames. He had no intention of singeing someone's scalp.... Well, maybe just a little. Maybe. Safety first. Yanking it and the cord up, he mashed one of the buttons at random, and a healthy spray of brown carbonated beverage showered the Capitolite.

By the time the sparks were doused, several onlookers, snack sellers, and the hapless bartender were gathered around.

"Not to add inthult to injury, but I think you've had a wild enough night." He tried his best to hide the grin threatening to spread across his face as he dabbed at the Capitolite with a fistful of bar napkins.

"No harm done, hmm?" Roland asks the Capitolite, hunkering in front of them. He's noting the Psiionic's use of that hose, too - if he doesn't know enough about this place's machines to make good use of them, he can at least remember when the people around him do. Might come in handy some day. That is, if he can convince this Capitolite to leave before they think too hard about where that fire came from. Pay attention first to the problems of the now.

"Though maybe if you get to a stylist soon enough, they can see about saving that, ah. That hair. Can one of you think of a stylist who could do the job?" He looks around at the crowd of onlookers, watches them all jump in to support their favorite stylist, then backs out from them, tilting his head at the Psiionic to suggest he slip away while he can.

"Did that satisfy?" he murmurs, so hopefully only the Psiionic will hear. "At least well enough that you'll not decide to do it again?"

"Oh get off your high hoofbeatht," Psii waved his hand dismissively as he lengthened his stride to match Roland's. "Weren't you the one who thtarted the firtht fire? Good job at genuinely wanting to help that Capitolite when I wathn't even thure my drink had enough rocket fuel to ignite anything. I didn't know you were tho wholethome!" He laughed, then lowered his voice for privacy. "In fact, I exthpected the oppothite. You.... you know.... have the look."

"The look" told Psii that Roland had seen some shit. It was a reservation, a keeping back of part of oneself, a subtle thing only noticeable because Psii saw it in the mirror. It was deeper than scars and darker than a simple mood. It was a quieter step and a shadow even on one's laughter. It showed even now, as Psii's smirk only lifted one corner of his mouth. He glanced at the crowd, and for a split second his eyes glittered with watchfulness rather than merriment. Trolls usually took on that look after their first few kills, and most trolls killed for one reason or another.

"Thometimeth you look more troll than human. Like thomething'th going to hunt you. Or you're going to hunt thomething."

Roland blinks when the Psiionic's voice lowers. His expression could by no stretch of the imagination be called merry, but all the same it sobers.

"Perhaps I do. And perhaps it isn't surprising that it's a thing you know the look of." He watches the Psiionic a second, and doesn't ask. He doesn't need to. Neither of them need to ask the details of that sort of look to understand what it is that's behind it. "The people of my world and those of yours might know one another far better than those of the Capitol could ever understand either. Believe me, I hold no more regard for them than you do."

He picks out a path around the edges of the crowd, moving with it enough that they won't stand out, but staying far enough away to keep this particular talk private. Focusing on that gives him a moment to think out his phrasing. "I'm called a gunslinger, don't think I ever mentioned that to you. Or I was, when anyone around me knew what it meant. It's a title I claim even now, and one I couldn't if I risked maiming a person - even one of whom I think so little - to no better purpose than my own amusement. There's a difference between being wholesome and avoiding needless cruelty."

"I'd've thought you knew the same," he adds, "traveling as far with Signless as you have. Even if you haven't taken his vow." There are matters on which Roland will judge a man and find him wanting. This is not one of them. The tone of his voice may make that clear, as - although he is not approving - he is about as far from disapproving as it is possible to be. This is the Signless' long trusted friend Roland's speaking to, and he's curious to better know him.

"He'd probably try to thtop my prank, that'th true. And give me a lecture," he added with a fond smirk. Dolorosa had raised him well, but his penchant for speeches was his very own distinctive feature.

"I didn't meth with that human becauthe they were a Capitolite. I did it becauthe they were getting handthy with SS'th quadrantmate, who wath clearly not enjoying the advantheth. Good job inviting that nookthniffer for a drink, by the way. I wath trying to get rid of them inthtead." By being his usual rude self and probably hurting his public appeal, but he didn't care too much about that sort of thing.

"If the drink increathed the flameth, I had planned to put it out the thame way I did with the carbonated beverage nozzle. No permanent damage. Burning hair ith one thing, but I'd rather not thmell burning flesh. Any other troll would probably laugh at me for being too thoft." His chuckle was slightly sad. Alternia could do with a little less killing for the sake of a joke. That was the clowns' very favorite thing.

Psii rubbed the scar on the back of his neck, partly hidden by the collar of his jacket. "....It really ith an awful thmell. I probably shouldn't have gotten that clothe to replicating it."

"It is," Roland says, his voice not quite heavy but certainly not light, either. Another experience which both of them share, in one way or another, and which neither of them need to bother to explain. It's in this spirit that Roland notes what might be a scar, once the Psiionic takes his hand off from his neck over it, and in this spirit that Roland would not ask, even if it were his business. Because Roland doesn't need to explain his own experiences either, doesn't need to explain why he agrees - not because the smell itself is wholly awful but because, to part of Roland's mind, it isn't.

Nevermind that. "Though all I can smell now is that hair." He notes it absently and moves on soon enough, because he's thinking on how to say something else.

"How many men like you've I known," he asks, but the question's clearly hypothetical as he doesn't pause at all for an answer, "who spend all their talk in jokes and digs at other people's patience. And still I forget that talk isn't all there is to you. I still underestimate. I didn't consider that you were doing it for me rather than yourself, or that you knew to stop before taking it too far. Psiionic, I didn't see you nearly so well as I should have and for that I cry your pardon." These words are heavy ones, not because they are difficult - they aren't difficult at all for Roland - but simply because of how deeply he means them.

"I'll do my best not to forget again," Roland tells him plainly, tone still heavy because he still very much means it.

Psii noted the understanding Roland's voice, but not his eyes on his scar. He was too busy looking at the sky or the distant crowd, trying to push aside the memory of burning off his slave brand. Roland inadvertently helped by joking about hair again.Psii ducked his head, instinctively trying (and failing) to hide his grin. God bless him, Roland had wanted to think well of him.

"Maybe you should have hung out and burned people'th hair with me thooner. SS thayth there'th not a lot of people who could put up with me for long, tho you don't have anything to apologize for. Even the people who do know me well call me an athhole." It was part of being a troll that he sounded oddly proud of that fact, tilting his chin up and grinning. "But they keep telling me they want me around, tho I thtay."

His voice lowered, half out of seriousness and half out of secrecy. Talking about his past always ran the danger of sounding rebellious.

"Thometimeth I wish I wath jutht athhole joketh and annoying people. I'd have a lot leth on my mind that way.... I thpent a lot of my life being forthed to keep my mouth shut, even when my vithionth would have warned people. I think I'm jutht making up for lotht time. You should count yourthelf lucky, though; I'm not alwayth thith bubbly," he warned wryly. Just because he knew he had downswings in mood didn't mean he could prevent them.

Roland watches, listens expressionlessly, notes the Psiionic's warning about his moods, if a warning it is. "If that's all there was to you I think you'd be dead now. A few times over, likely. Before that it'd've been easier, sure, but what good is easy?" Roland's tone there at the end is dismissive. He knows, academically, that there's some sort of draw to the idea, to the dream of a world in which a person has no values, no cares, no particular goals that aren't purely their own. He does not understand it, though, and does not care to.

"But I doubt even then that you'd play the same prank twice. Be surprised if I saw you with a flame near anyone's hair any time soon. Besides which, I haven't been one for mischief making for..." He pauses, looking faintly surprised. The whole exercise with the Capitolite has put him back, at least a little, in the mindset of those old times, and it's strange for a second to realize just how old those times actually are. "For a very long time. If your mischief needed a partner, the Signless may do a little better. I'm sure the two of you've plenty of practice making it together."

"I'm sure you've plenty of tales to tell about those times too," Roland adds, now eyeing the Psiionic in a curious, faintly eager sort of way. It's just occurred to him that the Psiionic does have quite a few stories about Signless' past. Not that Signless wouldn't share if asked, but if Roland hints at it now and the Psiionic decides to share a few himself somewhere down the line, well, Roland won't be complaining.

"SS ith a thtick up my ath. Motht likely he'th the object of my prankth, not the partner. 'Old' ith a mindthet, not an age, Dried Protein Face. Take it from a member of a thpethieth that can live more than a thouthand thweepth--thome of uth, anyway. Being old getth.... well, old."

He pounced on Roland's hint like Disciple hunting her game. His face brightened, eyes lighting up (figuratively).

"Thingth SS won't tell you? Juithy thtorieth he'th too embarrathed to share? I can provide. I'll have you know, SS ithn't nearly ath cool ath anyone thinkth," said Psii, the epitome of cool, in his eye-searing yellow and aura of nerd.

"Hith tattooth cover it now, but if you look clothely, you might thtill be able to thee a funny mark. Let me tell you about the time your boyfriend tried to give himthelf a tattoo and realized his pain toleranthe wath utterly crap. Now he jutht hath a shitty black mark on his forearm. He thtarted wearing armthockth long ago thpethifically to hide it."

"I remember it," Roland nods, but he doesn't look particularly like someone sharing in a juicy secret. He looks thoughtful. There are two facts there that are very interesting to him, one a little more immediate than the other. "He can't bear pain? I didn't know." Roland considers this, snorts. "Guess I wouldn't. Things done in arenas tend to be more than any one man can take, anyway."

He looks thoughtful a moment more, then moves on. It's not good news, in a strategic sense, but there's not much that can be done about it. Nothing Roland will do, anyway, or that'll make enough of a difference. "As to your lifespans, I've heard of demons living so long, but anything with a true body -" He shakes his head. "Care to elaborate?"

Roland's calm reaction deflated Psii's enthusiasm. He had more fun ripping into Signless when he was actually there to receive the burns.

"Back then, anyway. He wath young. He'th toughened up by now. But you could alwayth give him a good pinch and find out for yourthelf.... Actually, let me do that. I will report my findingth." Once again he looked pleased with himself.

"Highbloodth live the longetht. A tyrian could go for thouthandth of your human yearth. Me, I've only got...." he frowned, doing more math, "thlightly longer than an average human. Of courthe, I'm only talking about natural deathth."

Early deaths were easier to talk about than about his own lifespan, considering back home he was fated to have his suffering extended to match the length of their tyrian empress. Talking about his best friend's impending mortality wasn't much better, but he felt that Signless wouldn't mind a bit of transparency about it:

"SS ith off the thpectrum, tho we've never really known how long he would live."

Roland nods, expression focused but not on anything in particular, almost visibly filing the information away. He does grasp the implication there, the fact that the Signless' blood color is not only off spectrum but below that spectrum, but this implication is not held onto very tightly. It's a difficult thing to worry too much about for Roland, a possibility so distant. Especially as he's never really expected to grow old, himself.

"Average human dies much sooner in some whens than others," he notes for completion's sake and then, perhaps purely because this topic may seem out of place enough to surprise the Psiionic into honesty, Roland quotes something the Psiionic'd said earlier, while they and the Capitolite had still been talking. "'Swapping spit on the floor'?" he asks, using a far-more-than-passable imitation of the Psiionic's tone and cadence before switching back to his own voice. "You and the Signless? Since when?"

"A human that liveth here. I wouldn't know about other planetth."

It took him a moment to realize why Roland was talking that way (rude!) and using those particular words. Psii colored almost instantly, cheeks and ears going a bright gold. This protein jerky bovine herder didn't miss a thing.

"He thtarted it!" he protested, like a kid caught fighting. "We were—We were arguing, he wath being way more contentiouth than uthual. Then he pushed, and I had to drag him down with me. Who wouldn't rethpond to that? I, uh, don't know how our lipth got involved, but when you hate thomeone, thometimeth you jutht want to attack their fathe with.... your fathe...."

The concept of a kismesis seemed so simple to him, but he knew humans didn't really go for it. He also knew that whatever was between himself and Signless, it was a bit more complicated than just textbook blackflirting. He hesitated to say anything definite, because he wasn't sure himself what was going on.

"I don't really know how to exthplain thith to a human. He wath being king of the athhole brigade that day, and it may have been kind of hot...."

Golden blush. Interesting. By now Roland knows, of course, that most trolls have oddly colored blood, but knowing and seeing are entirely different creatures. Roland watches the Psiionic's blush closely and watches his manner, too, as he talks. "He's explained your black quadrant. What was it, ah... Kismesis? I don't know it well, but I know a little. I know that when you say hate you mean something very unlike a human saying the same word. Anger has something to do with it, I think, but also a great deal of respect. And fucking, of course. Have I got that right?"

To look at Roland, you'd think he's just asked about the accuracy of some new pastry recipe. There's no inkling in him at all that this might be anything other than a reasonable, casual question. Why wouldn't it be?

"Yeah, fucking."

Psii wasn't so embarrassed about talking of pailing so much as the feelings associated with it. He was used to having to hide the squishiest parts of his center. He and Signless already had so much between them as friends, it was hard to pass this dalliance off as just a whim. He tried to think of what he thought kismesitude was supposed to be like.

"Thomeone'th jutht tho much of a pain, you want to pail them. They're great, and you admire them, but thome of their qualitieth make you want to punch them in the fathe. There'th altho rivalry involved, competition which helpth make both of you thtronger." Talking about it as a hypothetical example made it easier.

"Thometimeth he actth pale with me though." He abruptly stopped walking. He was aware that Signless and Roland were sometimes pale, and he didn't want to encroach on that, but it was a thing that seemed almost compulsive. Signless was overly concerned for Psii's mental health, and vice versa. Psii also wanted to protect him a little more than a kismesis should. These things were amorphous in his mind, hard to put into words, so he didn't.

"That'th like.... the oppothite of what he'th thuppothed to be doing, but he never really did what he wath 'thuppothed' to in hith life anyway, even if it meant hith thafety. We'd argue about that whether we were pale or caliginouth. We—well, I wath taught that quadrantth that vathillate back and forth were not good. He thayth they're more thimilar than I think, but then again, he managed to make it work with Disciple in all the quadrantth."

He hadn't expected the Psiionic to explain the concept of a black quadrant to him, but he's glad of it. Explanations from Signless are well and good, but you can only learn so much of a people from one source. Like many concepts Roland grew up with in his old home, this seems like one of those whose definition differs depending on who you ask. None of it disagrees with what Signless has told him, and he makes a note of all of it.

"He's told me of her," Roland nods his understanding and eyes the Psiionic, having stopped walking when his companion did. He's not qualified to give romantic advice, not to a man of a culture which does things so differently, but he's talked a few humans, at least, through this sort of thing before and slips into that frame of mind now with no hesitation. "But their relationship, I think, differed from his with anyone else. And you, Psiionic? Do you feel pale for the Signless?"

He asks it with no particular tone or expression, not reassuring the Psiionic at all that he isn't asking out of jealousy because it does not occur to him to do so. Roland is only thinking that this is a matter which needs to be gotten to the bottom of, at least so much as possible. The Capitol's gossip magazines, advice columns on its resident's love lives, those are frivolous things, but not because of the topic. Love and advice on the practice of it is very important, and there hasn't been a moment in Roland's life in which he has doubted this. It's that those gossip magazines and advice columns treat such an important matter so abysmally. Come sit down with grandpa Roland, Psiionic. Have a cup of tea, tell him all your problems.

Roland and Signless were a couple of peas in a botanical cocoon, probably sitting in his block painting their claws and talking about romance. Bluh. But Roland's plain, no-frills questioning lulled Psii into the calm realm of logic, and he found himself actually answering instead of clamming up.

"Should I?" he murmured. When he felt confused or vulnerable, he lapsed back into his habit of being concerned about what he should and shouldn't do. "Doethn't looking out for him tho much water down our contentiouth feelingth? Am I not rethpecting hith ability to drive me up the hive barrierth?"

He rubbed a hand over his face. This was getting to be too much. He should discuss this sort of thing with his moirail, except the subject of this conversation and the person who felt most pale for him were one and the same. How the hell did Signless manage this sort of multi-quadrant bullshit? Normal by-the-book troll relationships were hard enough, at least for Psii.

"No, I can't think about thith now. I have tho much to do, and I have to keep my head thtraight, at leatht for tonight."

It might sound like he was talking about Signless's stage event, but it was really the current rebel plot that had his attention. He would have to return to his computer station soon, as another pair of digital eyes.

Roland nods. "As you say. I'll give you my thanks for your earlier help, Psiionic, and let you to your business. But I've one bit of advice, if you'll hear it: I know very little about your quadrants, and less about what it takes to practice them. But I know that should tends to count for very little, especially in matters of the heart. Figure out what is, and work from there."

Roland considers the Psiionic's posture, the way he'd run his hand over his face, and decides to set a hand on the man's shoulder, which he'll let fall if the Psiionic moves away. He hopes, vaguely, that he isn't accidentally flirting, but cross-cultural trap doors or no, the Psiionic is a friend - more of one than he'd known before this conversation'd started - and some things ought to be said. "Focusing too much on should will only trip you up. Think on it, once you're able. Aye?"

Psii tensed as Roland announced his last bit of advice, afraid it would be some sort of parting jibe. It would serve him right for exposing his feelings like this. But his words were worse than that; they confirmed Psii's suspicion that he couldn't just take the easy way out. It was kind of hard to figure out what was the truth when he was right in the middle of the mire. Hell, he was a participant, a player who couldn't possibly be an impartial referee.

He allowed Roland's hand to rest on his shoulder for the duration of his words, then sidestepped away. Roland himself didn't make him uncomfortable, but his own unsettled state of mind did.

"....Eye. Or whatever. Yeah."

Roland nods, studies the Psiionic a moment. "Take care, Psiionic." From anyone else, that phrase might be meaningless. Here and now? From Roland? It's plain on Roland's face that he means it. He steps back toward the crowd, raises a hand, and turns away. They've all got their part to play, here. Best let the Psiionic get back to his.

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protein jerky bovine herder would make the best username

tmw troll slang turns two words into four

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and fade