(OPEN) a vial of hope and a vial of pain

[crabmunicator]

Who| Karkat and OPEN
What| Karkat finally returns after the Binding plot.
Where| Around the tower.
When| Around when Sigma's announcement happens & afterward.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of police brutality and brainwashing.

It's a little after Karkat has stepped back into the Tower that the announcement comes up over some monitor or several, demanding attention. He should have expected this, but he's feeling disoriented enough that it takes him a moment to process what it is. Sigma is no one he's ever met, so that part doesn't matter, but the subject of rebels and anti-Capitol plot filters through and tethers his attention.

He can tell the Capitol slant in how it's worded and presented, and a part of him still hates them for it, but the sharpest part is what he already knew: the Initiate brought this all. As much as he wants Panem to change, as much as he wants freedom for his fellow Tributes, he's never going to forgive the Initiate for trying to turn it into something for him to take over.

He shudders at the end and turns to move forward.

A. The Lobby

It's a bit hard to miss Karkat on his return. Though washed and dressed in fresh, clean clothing, he walks with a noticeable limp and a slight wobble besides. For all his gunshots to his right thigh were finally tended in the end, you don't go three days with little more than scraps of your disguise to bind them without having a lot of soreness left over. It's only by virtue of being a troll that he didn't come out worse for it. But beyond that is a general soreness, left over from the roughness of the Peacekeepers during his imprisonment. His sleeves are long, his pants covering, and they hide the extent of the bruises he bears.

Still, a tired, limping, dizzy tribute is not a steady one, and if not spotted on his own - either during the broadcast, or after as he makes his way to the elevators - then he's bound to get attention when he bumps into people.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbles. He's not trying to hit anyone, but his legs just won't cooperate.

B. District Six

Eventually he makes it back to his district. He's been missing for three days, easily noticeable for the lack of grumping, shouting, and orange horns going around. And it's here for a while that he stays, aiming first to shuffle off to his room to lay the fuck down, if no one stops him first - but it's not like no one can knock on his door.

Sooner or later, though, once he's feeling less of the weird nausea that's bothered him since the end of his imprisonment, he heads back out into the kitchen and then the common area. Winces and swears come from the former as he digs through the fridge for an orange, and eventually he settles himself on a couch in the latter, picking off bits of peel and pith with a claw. Some inane talk show plays on the television, but he's not watching it. Not really.

C. First Floor Restaurant

It's later after his stomach has shown that it can keep the orange down that Karkat decides he wants a real meal. Three days of bread and water will do that to you, and so after another limping trip down, he brings himself in to the restaurant off from the lobby and sets to ordering something.

"Yes, just the soup--no, no bread--no crackers--no sandwich, just the soup, alright? If I'm still hungry I'll order something else," he huffs at a concerned-looking waitress, who had been trying to ply him with are you sure?s and you look awful hungry. Good intents, to be sure, but he doesn't want to touch bread for a week. He doesn't dare tell why.

D. The Roof

With being stuck on house tower arrest until the next arena, Karkat ends up spending a lot of his time on the roof. Furnishings inside may be comfortable enough, but it gets stuffy, and he's had enough of being stuck inside to last him for a good while. The roof at least has fresh air and a view of the sky, and he heads up day or night to sit, watch the city, and most often read.

Did you want that other chair? Too bad, because he's too busy tugging it over with his good foot so that he might prop his right one on the seat. It feels better for his leg, and the less soreness he has, the better he can enjoy the trashy romance novel he's currently stuck his nose in.

E. District 9 (Closed)

Between everything else, sometime after making it back to his floor, getting some food and drink in him, and laying on his actual bed for a while, Karkat gets back up to visit this District. He's still sore and tired, but those things are weighed out by the need to visit his important people and communicate the fact that he's not dead or Avoxed. Three days may not equal the week he was gone after last arena, but it's three days after the Initiate's plan went off and the broadcast from Sigma Klim can't have eased worries.

It takes him a while to get up - most of his time in jail was spent sitting around to keep from worsening his wounds, so he's not yet used to walking on his hurt leg - but get there he does. Elevators help, thank fuck; he doesn't want to think about stairs for another week. And from there it's not too far to one of the doors he intends to visit.

He knocks with the back of his hand, but doesn't call any greeting. There will be time enough to talk once he's inside and sat down.

Comments

[shenunigans]

For whatever reason, Dave seems pleased with himself when Karkat eventually understands and accepts his metaphor as the One Truth. The rest of it is decidedly not worth responding to, since they're just talking in circles without being able to address the things they can't say out loud.

Then he feels pretty bad. Momentarily it's like he threw Terezi under the bus and he doesn't quite know what came over him. Paranoia is really getting to him, paranoia and probably something stupid and petty he doesn't want to think too much about.

So he nods along, picking at lint on his pants while Karkat talks. "So long as she's not hopped out of her gourd on sugar and big top mythos, she'll be alright. She has you, you're pretty good. Most of the time, anyway." He shrugs in an exaggerated manner, trying to push the topic away as quickly as he brought it up so he can move on. "How badly did they rough you up?"

[crabmunicator]

Karkat nods slowly back to him. He's not so confident that he can help Terezi with this, not when he's so naturally opposed to clowns. She's probably not going to want to hear it from him. And in the meanwhile, he has more than enough time to hate himself for the whole thing.

The topic slips by, and is taken up by Dave's question.

His lip curls. "Don't ask me that. The most I'm going to give you is it was rough and the fact I'm going to be limping a while, which will be plainly observable to all onlookers." Then more softly, he adds, "I'll be fine after the arena, alright? I'll probably die early, and then everything will be back to normal like it always is."

[shenunigans]

The answer is, of course, unsatisfactory. Dave was looking for a little more of a status report, just as Karkat might expect from him if he came back hopelessly injured and traumitised. He knows when he's not going to get it, though, so he just purses his lips in an all too Dave fashion and pulls away to flop back on the bed.

He has things to say, but for now he's going to silently pat the space beside him and wait for Karkat to fill it. Affection is pretty easy to dump on Karkat when he can play his indignant reactions off as pranking, but this is a more sincere offer for a friend who is going through some shit.

[crabmunicator]

Karkat would have told him if circumstances were different, but it's so hard to feel safe about any of it. The story is that the Capitol caught them before any harm could be done, stripped out the mind control, and set them back right as rain and pardoned for what wasn't their fault. He doesn't want to interrupt the image with tales of gunshots in his leg, a three day wait, and the casual cruelty he endured while he was there. The Capitol is squeaky clean, a smooth machine gleaming and brilliant, and such dirty truths are best left to the arenas.

So Dave gives him his look, and Karkat takes it.

But after there comes the offer. It's unspoken because there's no need to give it words when they've done this before, and while a part of him roils from the threatening soreness of his body, he can't stand the thought of just leaving back to his room. Slowly, carefully, painfully, he lays down on his left side beside him.

"Don't touch my leg," he warns, with the barest touch to his right one. He shifts it some to try to maximize his comfort; and while he's definitely better off now that it's been seen to by a medic, it's not going to stop hurting for a while. "And--and be careful. Everything's sore."

He thinks of bruises across his torso, of scrapes from being dragged, of being punched and yanked around and tased in the days before for trying to call out to his fellow prisoners or really whatever excuse they wanted. He thinks how they saw him as lesser, how not human meant subhuman, less-than, not a real person. His face crumples under the weight of all he can't tell, and the stupid, salting knowledge that it's not remotely the worst he could get. He could have been in the Initiate's spot: Avoxed, unperson in truest sense. He could have been culled like the stupid, upstart mutant he is, another fucking example for why--

He reaches for him, though it pains him, and tries to pull him in. He's crying. He knows he's crying, but he can't bring himself to stop, because for all his trying he's only here by the grace of a mistake and the fucked up, backhanded mercy of the regime he failed to injure.

[shenunigans]

Once the petulance subsides, it's a little easier to consider that Karkat isn't telling him because he doesn't want to but because he just plain can't. The problem is that, with how stubborn Karkat can be, it's sort of hard to tell. It's only now apparent how bad it all is, watching him shift so carefully on a surface as soft as a mattress is beyond disconcerting.

"Alright." He answers, but he's not exactly sure how to comfortably hug someone this sore. He's all angles and sharp edges and he knows it, he's not nearly as nice to lean against as Karkat is. He lets himself be pulled all the same, scooting up so he can press his cheek against the top of his head and following it by lightly draping his arm over him so he can rub his back.

He can't help feeling monumentally uncomfortable when he starts crying. He never knows how to deal with it, he never does it without getting shit for it from someone. Terezi, Bro, it's all an embarrassing exhibition of feelings. Karkat is entitled to feel the way he does, he shouldn't bottle it up like Dave tries to do. Really, it's admirable that he just goes off like he does, but what can he do? He is aware he isn't allowed to touch Karkat's face, so he pats his back gently instead. "There, there." He murmurs, then promptly feels like an asshole. "If you think I'm going to let some scrub pick you off early in the Arena, you have another thing coming." Fuck the face touching thing, he thinks. He balls his sleeve over his hand and reaches in to dab at the tears lightly.

[crabmunicator]

He doesn't know what he should be doing about this. It's not the kind of crying where there's words to say about it, and if he could says words then he might not be crying at all. It's all tied up with the intrinsic awfulness of this place, of his situation, and how pathetic he feels for being this messed up about it at all when others have been through so much worse. Brainiac 5, executed; the Initiate, Avoxed; countless others, dead so many more times than him.

He wants to protest when Dave promises not to let him die early, because why should he deserve that concern after Dave's been through so much? But the thing is, dying sucks. Even the ones that aren't emotionally wrenching are painful, terrifying, serving reminders each and every time of how weak he is, how much he couldn't do.

He's not a good troll. He talks like he knows and accepts it, but here like always it just comes back to gnaw at him. Never strong enough, too soft, too weak, and now crying on a human for comfort... He tenses up as Dave's sleeve-covered hand dabs his face. It's not a pap, but it makes him think of Nill anyway. He cried at her, too.

So what is this? It's not cheating, is it? It's not like he feels the same way about him. Nill is the banged up product of a life spread across too many worlds, the end result of caring too much about everyone and not enough about herself. He pities her for it and all she can't tell him, the way she tries to deny what aid she needs, how she needs someone to look after her and give her sense to see straight. Dave is...

He's Dave. He's the one he can always rely on for something immeasurably stupid but infuriating in the way easy to deal with. He was there for him when everyone else crawled tight into their own drama. He's the only one who died like him on LOFAF, doomed at the end, nowhere else to go. He gets him on some level that feels as easy as breathing sometimes, and the thought of having him gone that week when he almost didn't come back felt like waiting for a piece to be hollowed out of him. He's his friend, his very best friend out of everyone here, and he can bare to him his hurts and have them taken safely in.

He doesn't have a name for it now, and there's too much on his mind to sort it when he feels so miserable, but he decides it's something he needs. He hugs him a little nearer and doesn't push off his hand.

"I don't want either of us to die," he says into the region of his shirt, and he knows they can't yet have it.

[shenunigans]

Dave has been through so much, but he's long since accepted that it's a never-ending stream of so much. Maybe a few years ago he would have been chomping at the bit for an easy way out or an escape plan like victory. Nowadays, he can't really fathom leaving his friends behind in the thick of it while he kicks back alone. He knows he disappoints Bro with it. He can feel his frustration every time he squanders a chance at winning or makes a sacrifice. It only serves to encourage the niggling feeling that he's nothing like Bro, but the mere concept of it doesn't feel as unsatisfying as it once did to him. Whatever he is now isn't exactly bad, and that in itself is a leap of acceptance, but it's not really what he wants to be either.

Of course, he doesn't really understand what an ideal troll is. All of the ones he's met have been varying degrees of weird, all the ones that probably slot into the narrow concept of ideal are the ones he can't stand. If Karkat were anything like the troll ideal, he'd probably hate him. Just like Karkat would probably hate him if he emulated the ideal that Bro created. It's exhausting to be selfless and brave, sure, but it's much fucking worse to do all of that while being a raging jackass in a bad way.

Being aloof isn't for either of them, they're cuddling for fuck's sake. He just doesn't have the energy to pretend he doesn't want to be held when things suck and he doesn't have the heart to act like he has nothing helpful to say. His friends deserve that much from him, even if it's not much, it means something when it's the only thing you can give. Karkat of all people deserves that kind of treatment, considering Dave's tumultuous relationship with the idea of him being around.

"If you think I'm not used to it by now, boy do I have a surprise for you." Comfort doesn't mean he can't be callous, of course. "There's only one spot for victory and a handful of people I want it to go to. It's not going to be me next time or the time after that. Not if I can help it, anyway." Which is about as gently as he can imply that Karkat needs to get used to him dying.

[crabmunicator]

"I know," Karkat says, tired and sore in ways more than the physical. Then more softly, "I know. We're both going to die a lot of times for a lot of stupid reasons, or even the not-so-stupid ones, and there's nothing for it but to keep going and dying anyway."

It's not the point of what he said, and he doesn't even move away to make that argument. He just wants, stupidly and uselessly, and he has no better way to express it. The Capitol won't indulge him. He could petition out, but then what? Be stuck useless, unable to help the people still fighting? He can't do that; he can't bear it. And if he wants to win, it's only for the people of District 6, who could use the boons a Victor would bring.

Even that feels distant. Only rarely has he ever wanted to kill someone, and those times were reserved for the worst: those who threatened the people he cared about. The sole death he has granted was for mercy. Even that was painful, and as much as he knew it better than to let Nill die slowly, he still carried a guilt with him that it had to happen at all.

He's too soft for a game like this, yet not selfish enough to take any official way out.

"I get why you're like that," he goes on. "I'm the same as you."

[shenunigans]

This conversation, as expected, is going nowhere good fast. Dave knows they need to discuss their grievances from time to time, but the futility of it often leaves him feeling heavier and in more of a doldrums than he is when he aggressively buries himself in things far away from that line of thought.

"Of course you're like me." And he can be complimentary of himself when he thinks this. Karkat is a good person with understandable priorities, that's why they connect so well. They're different only in the polarizing ways they react to things.

"You're an idiot. Like me." He adds shortly after, because he can insult himself as well. He has the urge to shift around, but he refrains for Karkat's comfort. He's basically a very comfortable looking statue or stuffed animal in his moment.

"If for some reason you do die early, remember to do something memorable. Flip out or something. Go to parties. Date someone in another quadrant. Discover the fifth quadrant."

[crabmunicator]

Dave might be dumb, but he's good for redirecting the conversation sometimes, and it works now. Karkat breathes out slowly.

"You're the bigger idiot," he mumbles somewhere around his shoulder. "There is no fifth quadrant. That's the point of the word: quad, not quint. You're lucky I don't have more energy to put the sense into your failing thought organ."

God, he's tired. He lets his eyes slip shut, doubting Dave would make him move on a regular day without good reason and even more under the circumstances.

"I don't have any other romantic interests now, either, and I don't do stuff for the cameras."

[shenunigans]

"That's why it's a secret." He says in a voice that's practically dripping in duh tones. It's followed by a soft rumble of amusement at Karkat's continued but subdued annoyance at his shenanigans. He keeps his eyes open for his own reasons, pressing his lips together in a frown that Karkat can't see when he makes his comment.

He knows that Karkat probably doesn't hate him for what he does, he doesn't even think he'd judge him, but he feels wrong. It sucks, but he can't shake the niggling feeling that he's more and more fucked up and that everyone but him sees it. So, he just opts not to delve into that at all. Yep. Good idea.

"Maybe you'll find one. Maybe they'll bring in some powerfully attractive, charismatic and compelling person who cares about your feelings and your interests and looks amazing in black jeans." A pause. "I mean. Other than me."

[crabmunicator]

His expression changes, eyes still closed, mouth still a frown, but more inward. "I don't know. Maybe."

It is kind of lonely in its way. He does have a moirail now, but that's a different thing than having someone who sees him and pities him for his faults and loves him anyway. Someone he can relax around and not have to worry so much about being a good troll, and not just because they don't get the ingrained societal pressures on his species.

And Dave's good for that in his way, but he's his best bro, right? That's its own thing. His words are right.

Still...

"I don't want them bringing in someone just for my sake," he murmurs. "Let alone my romantic state, like I'm some chump who needs helped along, even if I probably am in fact that chump already because let's face it, I don't know the first thing of getting a matesprit in any practical way, and the one time I tried I couldn't keep my feelings straight and ended up trying to chart shit out with someone taken like an emotionally incontinent trunkbeast with no sense of every heavy, blundering step he took into his own mouth."

He might have some issues there.