[open] and the stains coming from my blood tell me

[crabmunicator]

Who| Karkat and anyone currently around the Capitol
What| Died like a loser at the Cornucopia, now back in the Capitol. At least his leg's fixed?
Where| Tribute Tower + out in the city
When| Evening the day after the start of the arena + the following days.
Warnings/Notes| Mild wound reference/description, but nothing big planned.

God damnit, really?

It's been about a day since Karkat's untimely death post-Cornucopia, and he wastes no time lingering about the cold room he wakes up in after every death. He's whole and hale again, his leg free of so much as a scar to hint where he'd been shot, and it feels good to be able to walk around without hurting. Doesn't hurt after his death, either; whatever that was, it sure wasn't a comfortable way to go. Speaking of, how did he go? His memories are jumbled and vague, and he mostly remembers a bang and then being carried somewhere by Shepard. Where, he doesn't know; he doesn't think he made it that far.

A. Tower Lobby

He makes a stop in the lobby, not planned, but because he catches the answer to his question. There on one of the various screens playing this arena's games is his own body, rushing on up to the pyre that served as the Cornucopia. There's others around him, some familiar and some not, and is that the douchebag he ran into at last Crowning? He looks different without all the glitter and LEDs, but he's positive, and--

Holy shit, that is lightning. A commentator rattles in the background, explaining how the charge radiated outward, hitting not just Gary but a number of nearby tributes. He sees himself laying there, and--wow, yes, this is about him, huh? Because the footage sticks on him as Shepard comes up, telling him to hold on and how they're gonna move, and how he better not puke on her. To his credit he didn't, but man, he really couldn't move, could he? And he couldn't hear a word. But she walks, carrying him somewhere, and...

"Are you kidding me? I died just like that?" He gestures at the screen, as if whoever is blathering about the moment can hear him. "That is the lamest, most watery nooked excuse for a death I've ever been through! Even worse than that time with the fork! Didn't I do anything? There were sickles that time, come on--"

The camera zooms in as Shepard, having realized his death, now fishes for the necklace he wore as token. She grips it and gives a hard yank.

"She broke my fucking necklace!"

B. District 6

It's after he's vented his anger at his arena performance (and gotten away from whoever might have found him there) that Karkat finally hauls up to his district. He's grumpy still and not real keen to be back, but he wants to change, and he figures he'll need to talk to some people. Which is to say, his mentor and escort.

It's after he's switched into something comfortable and familiar that he heads out. If any other tributes have the misfortune to be here already, they might spot him, but otherwise he makes his way to bang on Stephen and Linden's doors.

"Guess who's dead!" he shouts through the barrier by way of greeting. He hopes they're around. He is not in the mood for an untamed honkfowl pursuit.

C. Training Center

It's in the later days that Karkat gets back to training. With his body fully healed again, he's able to actually work at it like he wants to, and make up for what he missed after his return from jail. Well, maybe not 'make up' properly with the way bodies reset around here, but it feels like it anyway, and he's glad to be able to work out again.

In a way, he feels like he owes it to Shepard to keep up with the regiment she put him on. So for all she's still in the arena, each morning bright and early he brings himself down to train. Running, practicing forms, and generally keeping at old habits is part of it, but another is honestly a good chunk of angry sickle training.

He's really mad he didn't get to use one in the arena. He's going to stay mad. His training dummy, innocent and sweet, takes the brunt of this anger.

D. The Capitol

The best thing by far (apart from the healed body sweet mother grub hell yes) is that with his return from the arena, Karkat is finally free of the tower arrest that kept him cooped up after the mess with the Initiate. Better yet, that second point means he can go out and walk to his heart's content. He downright refuses to stay in, and he goes everywhere, from parks to that favorite pastry shop he hasn't visited in a month to just random paths down the streets. In a rare sight, he can even be spotted talking animatedly to fans, bitching to them too about how unfair it is that he died in such a lame way. They are sympathetic to his plight, and a good few are eager to hear him boast about the sickle skills he could have shown off.

But whether his path takes him to restaurants or bookshops, gardens or city streets, it's not hard to find him somewhere.

Comments

A - Tower Lobby

[talltaleteller]

"That's what you're angry about?" The comment just kind of... slipped out. Felicity had been at a nearby table, nursing an ice cream float while she waited on her uncle the mentor, but all her focus had gone to the troll when he strode on in. It was Karkat! Who had died. And now was very much not dead and probably seeing that footage up there for the first time.... welp. Can't take it back. Too late. So she pauses to take a very purposeful sip of her drink and continues.

"If that were me, I'd be more ticked off about the lightning."

I looked through her icons and oh my god her face is too cute help me

[crabmunicator]

Who the hell is this? Karkat turns, spotting to see this whoever-it-is sipping her drink like it all doesn't matter. He is 5'2" of grump and his expression hasn't changed.

"Do not," he intones, "mistake my singular yells as indicative of the whole. My rage is a burgeoning, frothing mass unable to be constrained by the mere bounds of language alone, especially when my tongue is tied and bound to the limited expression of the English language. Of course I'm mad about the lightning! It didn't even strike me, and yet I end up dead just because I was near that grubsmear?"

He glances back at the screen, frowning, but the commentary has moved on.

"I knew I was going to die early this arena, but I didn't expect it to be like that."

I love the ridiculous icons the most :D

[talltaleteller]

Were all trolls fascinating to talk to? There's almost a poetry to his anger. There was always a lot said about Karkat's beautiful fits of rage, but getting to see one first-hand... wow. She's so lucky! "Ohhhhhh...."

She twirls the straw around in her glass absently, then abruptly snaps out of her reverie. Gotta say something! "That's a pretty negative attitude. I mean, it did kind of not pan out, but it wasn't really your fault. And! Uh, and at least nothing worse is going to happen to you?" She doesn't exactly expect to cheer him up, but she's gotta at least try to be optimistic.

[crabmunicator]

What is this chick's deal? Karkat squints at her now, looking back at her ohhhhh to catch her straw-twirling.

Of course she's trying to be positive about stuff, but he's less appreciative to the effort when (he presumes) she must be a Capitolite.

"Are you kidding? That sucked sweaty taint. If I'm going to die a stupid death, I want it to at least be my own fault, or something unavoidable like that arena collapse in the one arena. This was stupid. I don't even know what he did to get struck, but I have to die just for standing near him? Wasn't it enough that the Cornucopia was set to go up in flame?" Once more he turns to the screen, a glower on his face, trying to gather anything useful.

"Besides, me being here means I can't help anyone else. I didn't expect to win, but I would have liked to make sure those assholes were surviving alright."

[talltaleteller]

This chick's deal is that she's nosy as hell and prone to stuffing her foot in her mouth, mostly.

She stifles an amused snort at the words 'sweaty taint', and needs a moment to fight a decent look back onto her face. "Sometimes this sort of stuff just happens. That's an arena for you. Always kind of been like that. It's not ever really about fair or enough or stuff. It's about what someone thinks the audience'll find fun." At least she is managing to look sympathetic as she says it.

"Aaah..." The latter bit is pretty understandable, too. She gives a slow nod before speaking again. "...technically, you kind of can. Talk up the right people and they'll totally send your friends all kinds of swag. I mean, there are totally people who think you're awesome and sympathetic and you can milk this!" She knows. She frequents all the proper fan forums and discussion groups. They do so love their shouty troll.

B

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's absolutely been watching the Hunger Games; that's part of his job as a Mentor and to neglect such a necessary duty would be highly unprofessional. Therefore, he saw Karkat's early death, and while such things can hardly be helped or planned with any real reliability, he's extremely unhappy with the outcome.

The deal they had was that he would send an unreasonable number of sponsor gifts to Karkat, and he would share with Nill, so as not to draw attention to the conspicuous attention 6's Mentor was giving a 9 Tribute. Obviously, that can't happen now, and Linden is scrambling to figure out another way to keep her alive as long as possible. He's been up all night over it, which is a major reason he is in no mood for Karkat's yelling today.

He wrenches the door open and gives Karkat a healthy glare. "I know, and what's more, I have a premonition for who's going to be," he says icily. "What the hell happened?"

The question he's asking isn't so much the one he means. That's more along the lines of why did you let it happen?

[crabmunicator]

Oh, fun. As much as Linden isn't in the mood for his attitude now, Karkat is pretty much never in the mood for the one he's getting presently.

"You tell me! You're the mentor, right? Seriously, what could I have done to avoid that? I only happened to be next to a douche when he got struck by lightning, and I'm soooo soooorry I couldn't just magic my sponge clots back to functioning or keep my organs from drastic failure," he snarls out. He's slipped easily into hostile and defensive, and his fangs snap off each word.

"You think I'm happy about it? You think I like dying on someone's back after something that lame? I had things I wanted to do, people I wanted to help, and I couldn't even get my prongs on the sickle."

[dead_black_eyes]

Even if they're both bristly and on-edge, Linden's status as Mentor pretty much guarantees that if something has to give, what he says will be what goes. Just because that very status has been wavering on the edge of being in jeopardy doesn't mean that he isn't staff and a symbol of Panem in the same way that all the classic Panem Victors have always been, and one angry offworlder won't change that. And now that he's not in the Arena and cannot directly help Nill in ways that the Mentor can't, Linden has few qualms about saying exactly what's on his mind.

Still, it was bad luck, and blaming Karkat for his death beyond a certain level of justifiable annoyance is psychotically unfair. Linden privately recognizes it and makes the conscious decision to be a little more reasonable.

"I think it's a bad situation all around," he says stiffly. "Whether or not you could do anything to predict or affect that outcome, it's one we're stuck with now and unable to reverse. I had a generous allotment of sponsor gifts to send your way."

And Nill's goes unsaid, but is probably well understood.

"As for the people you wanted to help... you still can, just not directly. You'll have to do it the same way I do, with gifts sent to the Arena."

[crabmunicator]

Linden's slide into stiff but fair frustration cuts back at Karkat's own ire. He's still not happy, won't be for a while, but he can at least read into what has him so displeased.

A low rumble leaves him: his own frustration with things.

"I'm going to talk to Stephen about it," he says in the kind of tone that tells it's not the first he's thought of it. "I'm sure he knows how to deal with sponsors, so I'll learn what I can off him and then see about bargaining some gifts for people."

There was a young woman he ran into in the lobby earlier who mentioned the idea to him, and since then he's not let go of it. If he has a way to help, he's going to do it, even at detriment to his pride if that's what it takes.

a.

[beckstitch]

"You'll get it back." Beck is in what she thinks of as her Stylist costume; high Capitol fashion, revealing and dramatic, all in blacks and glowing reds for District 12. She's on duty, scoping for Sponsors as best she can, but Karkat catches her eye, and she can't resist someone in need. Her eight-inch heels whispering on the carpet, she crosses over to him, giving him an encouraging little smile. "I mean, it looks fixable. Even if you want it on the same chain, your Stylist ought to be able to replace the clasp."

It's hard to find something to say to someone who's just died, particularly when you know there's no way to understand exactly what you're going through. After a moment, Beck falls back on an old standby: "You don't want to stay here too long. You'll be mobbed. Do you want to come up to the suites? I'll make you something to drink."

[crabmunicator]

Karkat turns to glower at whoever-the-fuck-this-is, and finds no reason to change it once he spots her. Capitolite, definitely, and entirely too fancy. Maybe a stylist? They tend to show off, but then there's those who treat looking awful like a religious obligation. He'd have to ask to be certain, and frankly he doesn't care that much.

It's the concern that instead unbalances him. Mobbed? Sure, maybe; he's not expecting reporters to ignore him after this. But the offer is a strange one still.

"Who are you? And what kind of drink?" he asks. His glower settles down to wariness. "I generally don't drink anything more complicated that opening a bottle or pouring in a glass."

[beckstitch]

"I was thinking hot chocolate. Or coffee, if that's more your thing." Beck shrugs, holding her hand out (well... down, given the height of her heels) for him to shake. "Beck Scordato. I just took over as the District 12 Stylist? I dunno, I just thought... well, hey, it can't be easy dying. Thought you could use something to drink, kick back and bitch about it to someone for a while. And, no joke, I'm pretty sure if I have to hang around here for another five hours, my feet are going to fall off. These shoes? Not made for long-term wear. You can trust me on that, 'cause I made them."

[crabmunicator]

Just like that, this woman wins him over. As much as an unfamiliar Capitolite from another district can, anyway. His posture relaxes further, and while not as at ease as he would be with a real friend, it's better than she was getting at first.

He passes her shoes a glance. "Consider yourself to have won a preliminary chance. I won't have loss of Capitolite limb on my hands, no matter how dumb the cause."

Finally taking her hand, he gives it a shake. "Karkat Vantas, District 6, but I'm probably identifiable enough already." He lets go and makes a half-turn toward where the elevators lie. "Hot chocolate is fine. My floor?"

[capitolprivilege]

"You don't sound dead," Stephen quips, a little wearily. His voice also comes from behind Karkat; it is pure luck that he stopped back into the suite now. The beginnings of Arenas are always hectic: gifts are cheap, excitement runs high, and attending watch-parties and meeting sponsors is more than full-time work.

He's in the subdued, less-glittery clothing he's taken to wearing recently: classy, understated, sharp. It's a little less sharp and more wrinkled now, though, just thanks to hours and hours of wear.

[crabmunicator]

Karkat jolts; he wouldn't have knocked on the door if he expected to find Stephen behind him. When he turns, though, it's pretty clear why he's there. The man's been busy, and it shows in every wrinkle, including the one in his tone.

It's enough to ease him back from his poor mood, just a little.

"I was dead," he amends. "I take it you must have seen it, huh? What the fuck was that? Random lightning strikes now? And that one didn't even hit me directly, just some douche off to the side."

[capitolprivilege]

"This Arena is meant to put Tributes who have powers at a disadvantage," Stephen explains, sympathy in his tone. "You got caught in the crossfire. Wrong place, wrong time. Odds, favor." He waves a hand -- you know the line, it says.

[crabmunicator]

"So that's it? Jegus, I didn't even realize they gave back powers this arena." He rubs a hand over his face, a noise of frustration leaving through his nose. "The odds are crap."

His gaze turns up again. "Not surprising, though. After that clown got turned out for the traitor he is, it makes sense that they would want to discourage that kind of thing. You would think the Avoxing would be enough, but why leave room for any doubt, right?"

C

[69problems]

Since his own Victory the Signless has spent quite a bit less time in the training center. With no incentive to train and not much to teach his tributes that the survival stations can't handle on their own he's had almost no reason to. In the quiet of a tower almost entirely devoid of tributes the training center is different, strangely comforting in that it's a place he spent most of the past two years. Instead of bustling with activity it's more often than not completely empty and therefore a good place that isn't his own room to wander ghost-like and think.

Someone is here now, though, and he almost considers leaving and coming back later before he sees who it is. He hasn't been avoiding Karkat, not entirely, but they haven't talked since Karkat left him sitting on the roof weeks ago. Maybe now is the time to extend a hand and make up for that silence. He's in what could be called a better place by someone who was being particularly generous, and he's missed his descendant's company.

He knows what this is about, too. He remembers very well the last Karkat and how he was always bemoaning the lack of sickles. Missing out on the first arena that actually had them has to be at least part of why Karkat is making that dummy's life so miserable. He isn't going to begin sympathizing until he's sure his presence is welcome, however.

"Hello, Karkat. Do you mind if I watch you practice? I wouldn't want to distract you."

[crabmunicator]

Karkat's attentions are focused. While real training takes its own efforts, a lot of what he's doing now is plain relief of frustration. It's easy: beat up something inanimate, close off the rest of the world, and get it out of his system. There's no real risk in it so early in the game, either, when much of the time there's only one or two people here besides him, if anyone else at all.

Which is a long way of saying that when Signless of all people comes up and says hello, Karkat yelps, loses his grip on his sickle, and smacks forward into the dummy while the weapon clatters across the floor.

"Ow, what?"

He draws back, turns, and faces to see that this is exactly who it sounded like. His shoulders drop out of their startled tension.

"Don't sneak up on me, alright?" His tone is awkward; it's been a few weeks since their talk on the roof. Then stepping around the dummy, he bends to retrieve his dropped sickle. "Do what you want, I guess, though I don't know why you want to watch me now. Are you that bored?"

well this took a sad left turn

[69problems]

Signless winces in sympathy. Well. So much for not being a distraction.

"Well... yes, though it isn't just boredom. I was hoping now that we've both had some time to heal we might be able to start spending time together again. I don't expect all of your pain and anger to be gone -- mine certainly isn't -- but I'm ready to talk about it now if you need."

If he can lie to Karkat, he reasons, he can lie to anyone. It will mean saying things Karkat wants to hear, which means he won't lose the regard of one of the people he cares about most in Panem. Even more than that it will mean saying things he needs to say convincingly.

[crabmunicator]

Karkat rises, sickle in hand, and for a long moment just looks at him. It's an awkward way to approach things, and an awkward time for it too. Couldn't he have knocked on his door or something? Or sent a message on the communicator? Sure, he's down here at a regular time each day, but it seems like such a strange place to bring the subject.

"No." He turns, looking to the dummy now and the condition it's in. "We can spend time together, sure, but we're not talking about that. There are way too many sore spots to trip over and I am not going to be the douche who runs in with hooves pounding over all of them." His tone is solid, neither sharp nor defensive, and holds no sign of wanting argument.

A

[contrarianlibrarian]

China's watching the Arena and dutifully making notes, especially when District 11 Tributes are on the screen. Her eyes zero in on it when Gary shows up, a smile playing across her lips as he brings the destruction down like a lightning rod. What a good boy he is.

In a moment, though, Karkat's outburst is much more interesting than what's playing out on the screen and she shifts in her seat to watch him. "Oh my. Was it that important? I suppose it is a lovely piece of jewelry."

[ooc: I apologize for how late this is; I completely missed seeing this on the feed! I can delete if you'd prefer.]

no problem with late stuff! I'm happy for more CR

[crabmunicator]

Hearing whoever-it-is, Karkat's moment of rage is interrupted enough for him to look back from the screen. He's scowling, predictably so with the way he was speaking, but not all for the obvious cause.

"My outburst," he starts in a measured but still agitated tone, "concerns more than that singular piece of jewelry, and if I had not been interrupted then maybe I could have made that clear. Or, you know, if you listened to any of the stuff I said before it. Or maybe stopped to think that no one likes having their stuff needlessly damaged unless their mental faculties are particularly lacking."

His voice decidedly loses the measured part through the end, dropping off entirely as he moves on now.

"But no, you know what, the necklace was entirely that important. I am a broken wreck shattered on the rocks of fate. Not the finest craftsmen with the most diligent repairs can fix the broken chain to a state that would satisfy me, because my materialistic jealousy over a symbolic trinket exceeds the bounds of sense and logic with a fervor not yet witnessed by mortal gaze. The bubbling, frothing spew of my ire will shoot like a rocket toward the stars, drenching the singular moon of your weird-ass sky in my copious bile, thereby staining it an unmistakeable, furious red forever yet to come, immune to meteor or erosion by the grueling sands of time!"

At the end, he stands with arms splayed out wide after a series of grand gestures peppered throughout the speech. One of his lower eyelids is twitching.

He snaps, "You don't even know what that token was for, do you?"

Thanks so much!

[contrarianlibrarian]

China's surprised to see her comment draw such obvious anger, not because it didn't deserve it; she knew very well how inane and silly it was. But because only one Tribute so far has come close to daring to show anger to her, though this seems (for the moment) rather harmless.

All the same, it's strangely interesting to her.

When he finishes, she pauses for a moment, clapping her hands delicately together. "You should write poetry, dear, that was splendid."

She doesn't know many people--even those of her class--with the vocabulary or the stamina to spout something like that. ...Perhaps especially in her class.

She sits up straight, hands folded on her lap now. The picture of innocence and inquisitiveness. "I don't believe I do. Would you tell me, please?"

[crabmunicator]

In usual cases Karkat is more reserved, and he holds off the real anger from Capitolites whenever he can. This, though, is harmless, at least by his reckoning. What other restraint or nerves he might have shown has been set looser now, too, as if the act of dying unwinched a rope that had been drawn tight in him before. And it has elsewhere: he has something mundane to be upset about now, safe and easy, and his body is healed back up like the day he first got here. It's like a big sigh of relief after last month.

"I don't do poetry," he grumps back at her.

But her answer is calm and easy, and seems genuinely inquisitive enough that it doesn't put him off. Nor does it give him any kind of reaction that might push him to rant further, which even with the innocuous subject is probably for the better.

"It's a sign," he explains. "Every troll has their own sign they're given, and it's kind of a thing of personal identity. I can't always have it on my clothes with the costumes my stylist insists on sticking me in, so if I keep a metal pendant shaped like it on a necklace, then I can keep it on me wherever, since it feels like I'm missing something to go without it."

This is not remotely the main reason he wears it, but it's nonetheless all true. He would feel weird without his sign. He's not going to tell anyone about the symbolism packed behind it, though.