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Who| Signless and Beck | Signless and OPEN
What| Signless has a chat with the new D12 stylist and does his best to stay occupied.
Where| Around the Tower
When| Arena Week 2
Warnings/Notes| None I can think of!

A. For Beck | D12 Stylist Area
Stylists are, admittedly, not Signless's favorite part of the Tower staff. He doesn't like being fussed over and prodded and put in outfits that are more impractical than they are comfortable. It's incredible how much he misses Cinna and Cinna's understated style, even if the stylists that have been looking after Twelve since Cinna left have been giving him increasingly more and more freedom in what he wears. There are some perks to seniority, he supposes.

It's therefore with only a little trepidation that he steps into the domain of Twelve's new stylist, an as-yet mostly unknown entity to him. When she introduced herself over the network he was still steadfastly ignoring his communicator and so he has no idea what to expect from her. These tattoos aren't going to update themselves, though, and she's the best place to start.

"Miss Scordato? May I come in, or are you busy?"

B. OPEN | Tower Commons
A new rack of Celebrus is always something to at the very least take a glance at. Most of the time Signless just hopes he and those he considers his have been overlooked, but it seems this time he hasn't escaped a mention. Frankly he's surprised there wasn't more of a focus on him given his connection with the Initiate, but he's grateful that connection wasn't mentioned or, god forbid, the focus of a whole tragic chunk of an article.

No, they chose to talk instead about the time he thought providing a mercy kill as someone who'd never killed before was a good idea. They chose instead to focus on a relationship with the Psiioniic he doesn't actually have (wrong quadrant, still very much up in the air) instead of the relationship he does have and has had for months. It's not really that bad but he knows his small but dedicated group of fans are going to have a field day about what they see as confirmation of their 'ship'. Panem humans are weird.

"At least cloaks are finally in fashion," he mumbles to himself, flipping idly through the pages.

C. OPEN | Around the Tower
If there's one thing Signless has noticed about Capitol fashion, it's that male humans seem to wear an awful lot of dresses. He may be somewhat biased by the large amount of drag queens on staff, but he still feels as though that might be something he should get in on. And why not? Leggings are 'feminine' clothes (apparently?) and those are perfectly serviceable and comfortable. The right dress should follow the same principle -- and, furthermore, should show the Capitol that he's making an effort to adapt to their norms and lifestyle.

Alright. So it's possibly a little flawed, as plans go, even if it comes from a good place. It doesn't stop him from talking with Beck, and it doesn't stop Beck from making the dress or setting him loose on the Tribute Tower with it on. As expected, the dress itself is quite comfortable -- he asked for one that wasn't restrictive and that showed off the floral tattoos on his arms, and that's exactly what he got. He doesn't even mind the makeup, simple black eyeliner and red lipstick; it's no worse than any of the other makeup he's been put in and for once it actually suits him. No, the real problem is the heels.

Signless doesn't like shoes at the best of times. He's worn heels all of once, a pair of low chunky blue things that were part of his disguise during the first jailbreak. These heels -- bright red, fairly tall, strappy -- are an entirely different beast. When he's not wobbling around like a baby giraffe he can be found sitting on the nearest flat surface giving his feet a break.

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"It's probably best we talk about it privately," he says, casting half a glance toward a milling group of Capitolites. A few of them have notebooks and cameras. He doesn't want to dredge this all up again and he wants even less to do it in a place where it might get news coverage. "We can go up to my block or we can stop at yours, since it's closer."

Either way he sets off toward the elevator. There's a certain closed-off feel to him that isn't usually there and a part of him feels bad for that when this is something Karkat has a right to know about. He just needs time to unpack all of it, put it in the proper order, come to terms with the idea of letting someone else see it.

He nods without fuss. Private makes sense enough, and despite his irritable mood he's not going to begrudge him that. He's dealt enough with the public as is.

He follows to the elevator and thumbs the button for District 6 once it's arrived. He has nothing to say on the ride there, and if his ancestor doesn't either, will simply lead him to his block afterward.

The entire ride up, Signless doesn't speak. It gives him the time he needs to prepare, and by the time they're safely in Karkat's block he's more or less ready. He sits down on the bed (he assumes he gets that much familiarity, at least, and there's no really anywhere else to sit), folding his hands in his lap.

"When I say this is a long story, I mean it. It starts in my very first arena, almost a year before the culling they're talking about took place. It also involves a lot of me being incredibly stupid, which I'm sure doesn't surprise you."

He tips his head back, looking at the opposite wall but not really paying much attention to it.

"In my time, before I was brought here, the Psiioniic and I were moirails. He was brought in not long after I was, but as the person he would become after a thousand sweeps as Helmsman to the Empress. Instead of remembering me as his closest friend he saw me as a dangerous heretic who was the cause of all of the pain he had ever endured and he pushed me away as hard as he could. He grew close to the Initiate and, I admit, I was incredibly jealous."

Karkat pauses only to shut the door behind them once they're in, then crosses and takes a seat. There's no protest to his ancestor. He doesn't stop him at the warning either; for all he knows what 'long story' means from a Vantas, that's one quality he's seeking here. He doubts that he'll leave him wanting for detail on what happened.

He's silent as he listens, gaze similarly set someplace else. Some of it he knew already - that the Psiioniic had become a Helmsman, that he had been here before the present one - but other pieces fit in with surprise. He glances up.

"Go on," he says, tone neutral. He knows enough that he can't judge much yet, and despite where the story is leading, he's intrigued.

(There's romance involved, after all.)

It's not an immediate condemnation and that's bolstering. The first hurdle cleared, Signless sheds a bit of his unease and settles into retelling the story in earnest.

"I'm not proud of how selfishly I acted, but you have to understand that he was the only real connection to my old life on Alternia I had and losing that support was devastating. Now I'm more or less integrated into the Capitol, but back then I was scared and angry and the one person I should have been able to lean on wanted nothing to do with me so all of that fear and anger got tangled up with my feelings for him. I should have left him alone. It would have been better for his healing process and perhaps if I had he would have approached me on his own later."

There's no point in speculation now, though, and he doesn't dwell on it much.

"The point I'm getting at is that I wanted so badly to be a part of his life, to be something to him at all, that I was willing to set aside my vow of nonviolence to do it. He was horribly injured and in pain, and I offered to end that pain because I thought if I couldn't help him with the suffering he'd endured after my death I could at least stop him suffering in the here and now. He accepted my offer. What I did was wrong and I don't think I'll ever really be at peace with it, but it was done out of compassion."

He should tell Karkat the whole story, he knows. It's bound to come out sooner rather than later, and he doesn't want Karkat storming up to him demanding why he wasn't told everything, especially the things that are most relevant to him. He knows it will just reinforce Karkat's hatred of the Initiate but that can't be helped.

"The Initiate found out what I had done and he was furious that I had harmed his moirail. He captured the first Karkat -- the one I was pale for -- and engineered it such that he was hurt badly enough that I would have to cull him too. I won't defend him to you because I can't; I'm already aware that what he did was disgusting and unfair."

Karkat listens wordlessly through the whole thing. The story is long, and he has a sense that he's still missing the fine details, but they're distant enough that he probably doesn't need them. The Helmsman is gone, replaced by the Psiioniic. The Initiate is another matter, but he'll get there.

Here and now what strikes him in the jolt of sympathetic pain. A mercy kill, two of them, done against the people one cares about--it writes the feelings across his face in a half-open frown and the press of his eyebrows to the very look in his eyes. He didn't even know about the part with his past self, but it only adds.

"Holy shit," he breathes out. And if the look isn't enough, he reaches over for his ancestor's hand to take and hold between his own, if he'll let him. "I had to help Nill, but that was... That was all different. No one else was..."

His gaze drifts down, lips pressing together. Of course he wonders why after everything his ancestor would make a moirail out of the Initiate, but it's clear at the same time that someone of that nature would need one, if only he'd listen. It puts him in mind of Gamzee, of how after he killed two of his friends and led Terezi to Vriska that he still papped and shooshed and took him into that quadrant himself.

He exhales slowly through his nose.

"Makaras are so messed up," he says finally. Not judgement on Signless, not argument, but solidarity.

Karkat probably doesn't mean to make Signless laugh, but that's what happens. It's a tired laugh but a laugh nonetheless. How can he argue with tat? Makaras are so messed up. It's funny because it's true.

He places his free hand on the back of one of Karkat's so that their hands are comfortably clasped together. There's comfort to be had even in so simple a gesture -- for both of them, he hopes.

"They are. The whole situation was. You can see why I've worked so hard to put it behind me."

Karkat doesn't laugh with him, not fully, but he does make a tired heh of his own. It's one of those things, and he gets it, no offense for once. He nods at the end.

"Yeah. Not hard to," he says.

But that's a pretty bleak subject, isn't it? There's not much more to ask or be said that he can see, so he draws it back.

"You and the Psiioniic, though--it said something in there about you two being involved?" His eyebrow rises, skeptical even as he questions. "Not that I trust that rag to know accuracy. They think I was dating Dave."

"We aren't," he confirms. There's a beat, and then he adds, "Not officially. It's..."

He withdraws a hand so he can give a vague wave, because saying complicated still isn't quite enough to describe the jumble of emotions that is his relationship with the Psiioniic.

"We're best friends. I could have been pale for him once. I could be black for him now. Involved is probably a better description than anything else, but I couldn't tell you how."

Karkat's look morphs again, until at the end of Signless's answer he has the demeanor of a man who's given up. It's a sufficient subject change, that's for sure. He takes his own hand back so he can cup the side of his face.

"Your quadrants are so messed up. Black and pale now?" He waves with his other hand, vague too, because he's not being exact here. Like his expression suggests, he really has given up trying to get a solid read. "The weirdest I ever dealt with was flushed and caliginous, and that at least has documented precedent."

Then motioning at him, he asks, "You need advice, or are you just going to flap ass backwards into whatever misshapen piece of geometry that ends up being?"

"Black and pale go better together than you'd think," he says, with the air of man who knows he's saying something akin to 'the sky is pink'. "A kismesis and a moirail both want you to be better than you are, want to help you with your problems and make you confront your flaws. The only difference is that a moirail is gentle and patient, while a kismesis knows the only way to get their message across is to shout it. With him, you have to do a little of both."

Sometimes the only way to get the Psiioniic to listen was to yell loud enough to get his attention. Sometimes he just couldn't be reached through soothing words and patient understanding. Sometimes he needed a good smack upside the head.

"In my experience my quadrants tend to work themselves out sooner or later. I'm sure this one will be the same, no matter how... ah... misshapen it ends up being. If I could manage all four with the Disciple I can manage anything."

He wants to argue that the kissing part is pretty different from papping, but that's not likely to go anywhere after Roland. Or, now that he mentions her, the Disciple.

"How the fuck did you manage?" he asks, and his head pulls up straight. "I heard of that, and I wondered about it, but here you are right in front of me to talk about it, so talk. Four at once, you living locomotive device crash. My pan nearly warped inside out and ate itself just trying to comprehend you and Roland, so seriously, tell me."

He should have asked a long time ago, now that he thinks about it. It would have explained a lot.

He considers saying that he didn't manage anything, a kneejerk response to Karkat's insistence on thinking of going outside the quadrants as some kind of impossible undertaking, but that isn't strictly true. It would be lying to say he and the Disciple never had to work for their love.

"It wasn't always easy. That we cared for each other was never in question, but there were a lot of times especially early on when we weren't on the same page or in the same quadrant. She'd gone from red to pale to pitch for me before I even allowed myself to return her affections, you know, and once I did we flipped near-constantly. We were young and inexperienced and both starved for affection in different ways, I think."

He allows himself just a moment of quiet to remember and to miss her because he hasn't stopped missing her since she disappeared.

"It was less a question of reconciling the different quadrants and more one of being able to read each other well enough that we didn't have to. It took time and it took patience, but eventually it was less like jerkily flipping between the quadrants and more like dancing around the grid, perfectly in step."

Karkat's prickly attitude fades off as he listens, because he is frankly always interested to learn about romance things. Something like this he won't learn from anyone else, not so long as the Disciple is absent. By the end he's invested, leaning forward, eyes focused.

Dancing around the grid, perfectly in step sounds a lot more appealing than it has any right to.

"So what about her? The whole time I thought of just you being the flagrant quadrant smearer, but she flipped that easily even before you were together?"

"Well." He has the good graces to look a little embarrassed. "She didn't cycle through those three quickly; it was more a response to me and how her opinion of me changed the longer she knew me and the more I rebuffed her affections. I couldn't speak to her past quadrants, if she had any. But I've told you I think it's something more trolls are capable of than they realize, if only they're with the right partner."

"You're a shameless social heathen, you know that?" he says, but it's soft and a sort of fond.

It's impossible not to think of Terezi when these things come up. For as long as it took him to sort out his own feelings, and with as much as a mess he made when he finally tried to act on them, it's hard not to wonder...

"Maybe I would have been less of a staggering slurry spill when it comes to quadrants if I had known you sooner." He leans forward, propping his chin into his hand. "Then again, past me is always more of a stubborn moron than present me. It probably would have been the same argument we had in your block when I came to you about Roland, only even more infuriating, and then I would have made an ass of myself anyway."

"You did," he points out. "I knew past you, and he was every bit as much of a recalcitrant wiggler about this as you'd think. It's hard to radically change one's world view, but some people are just more determined to make it a difficult process than others."

Compared to Past Karkat, this Karkat has been incredibly mature about the whole process.

"That fight was partially my fault anyway. I didn't explain as well as I could have."

This Karkat has also had a few years of reflecting on what a douche he can be to temper him.

"We were both a couple of bulging phlegmlobes to each other." Then sighing, he adds, "Maybe past me was just always doomed to be a romantic bulgeknot. With as many romcoms as I've seen and as many romance novels as I've read, you would think I would have a handle on applying it to my own life. But as soon as I swap from dealing with everyone else's drama to my own interests, it's like I've decided chopping off my hands is an intrinsic step to globe-fondling, so I'm left there looking like an idiot jabbing the stumps at my junk while everyone shows me the disgust my display is due."

Metaphorically, of course. He props his chin in a still very attached hand.

"At least things with Nill seem to be going alright, but she's some degree of stable compared to Gamzee, and I at least knew what I wanted when I set sail on that ship."

"Theory is often different than practice," Signless agrees while neatly side-stepping that very vivid metaphor. He's just going to pretend he didn't hear it. Not that it wasn't a masterful turn of phrase, but he'd like to get rid of the mental imagery it called up as soon as possible.

"If what you're worried about is growing apart or not knowing about urgent problems until they become too deep to solve, all I can really recommend is talking. Ask. Reaffirm. Don't be afraid to look as though you don't know what you're doing. A more stable groundwork to build off of is going to make for an easier relationship, but it's still better to be safe."

Karkat snorts, the sort of laugh one makes when something isn't actually that funny at all.

"See, there's the problem Gamzee and I had. That asshole was too busy scooting around the ventilation system and playing mysterious, pious douchelord to sit down and jam with me like we were fucking supposed to." He thinks back on it again, remembering how reclusive he'd been, how secretive about things with Terezi--not that the effort meant anything when Karkat was onto it from early in.

"If I start bitching again now, though, I'll never get to the end of it." He sighs. "You're right. I'll try to steer shit better this time around, and just hope it doesn't sink under me."

Straightening now, he nudges his elbow at his ancestor's side. "But hey. Treading back to that article I got started on before horrifically derailing everything into my whiny wriggler tantrum about my life, it said something about you reading romance novels, yourself. Did they make that part up?"

Trust Karkat to ask about the romance novels. Somehow Signless wasn't expecting it, and now that he thinks on it he has no idea why he didn't.

"Oh, no. I read plenty of them. It's a habit I got into back before our chips automatically translated written language for us. I thought it would serve me well to be able to read the native language, and romance novels were both simple and engaging enough that they were good for learning from. Then I just..." He gestures descriptively with a hand. "I just never stopped. Very few of them are good from a literary standpoint, but they make me happy. That's something I won't pass up here."

"They didn't always do that?" His eyebrows perk, but it's not really important. Not next to romance novels.

With a grand wave of his hands, he says, "Do not even come close to thinking I'm telling you to stop. Do you even know me? I have a collection. None of them are as good as proper Alternian romance literature, but beggars and choosers and sometimes the story is interesting enough to keep me going. Just don't talk to me about fanfiction; we don't tread on that subject."

He rises from where he was sitting and moves over to a shelf, glad once again that his early arena death at least made his leg whole again.

"Come on, I'll show you my collection. Tell me what kind of motifs you like and I'll lend you some."

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I think that was the issue that mention romance novels, anyway

it sure was now

FINALLY tags this. we can call it here or you can cap it off, whatever you prefer