mostly open

[ka_sera_sera]

Who| Roland Deschain and the Signless; Roland and you
What| nothing big, just roland waking up
Where| central commons, district twelve, district four
When| week five, a little bit after Roland's death
Warnings/Notes| no warnings that I know of. I hope the way I did the prompts is clear, but if not just have your character meet Roland anywhere.


The room Roland wakes up in is well familiar by now. The worry he wakes up in, though, that's new, and for a moment it shoves the more normal questions of where and when and what into the back of his mind. He wakes with Alain's name on his lips, already half-sitting up and looking around - but no. Alain isn't here, is he. That wolf is dead. Killed before it could do Alain any damage. This does not mean that Alain is safe.

He lets himself fall back, runs a hand over his jaw and stares at the ceiling. But there is nothing he can do for Alain, not anymore. His old friend will be interesting enough to bring back after this arena, or he won't. Roland steels himself to this, to the waiting, and then sits up, breathes. Heads out.

The lobby of this building is as busy as it usually is, newsmen and hangers-on and sponsors, people in all manner of outfit with all manner of things to say. It's strange after the isolation of the arena, life and movement all of a sudden everywhere, and for a moment Roland simply stands near the center of the room, not caring whose way he's standing in. (A)

After that he makes his way to the bar, spends some time leaning on the counter even after he's gotten his coffee. Just looks around, less focused on whether he accidentally makes eye contact with anyone (though that ought to be a real concern on this particular level of the tribute tower) and more concerned with stirring in a good amount of sugar. More than he'd usually use but, though his body is refreshed, Roland's mind is still certain it's spent the last few weeks sleeping badly, and it isn't as if this place doesn't have the sugar to spare. Witness Roland Deschain, indulging himself. (B)

Once he's got a better feel for this place he heads up. All the way up, almost, and doesn't bother to explain himself to any residents of district twelve who may see him wandering around there. He peers into the common room, the kitchen, then heads to the mentor suites and opens one of its doors with nothing more than a brief, brisk knock. This particular room is one he's been in many times, and the way in which the Signless has it decorated is intimately familiar. The most familiar part of that room, though, is missing, and Roland still does not bother to explain himself as he heads back out of it. Surely anyone living on this floor will be familiar enough with the sight of him. (C)

Finally, to the level for tributes of district four. Given all the floors are arranged the same and the avoxes quickly clean any identifying clutter, there's little reason for the familiarity that greets him here. But the fish in their little bowls all around the common room are familiar, the view outside is familiar. He spends a moment in just standing there and then snorts to himself, more focused on his thoughts on that familiarity than on explaining to anyone who may be around to hear. (D)

(closed to Signless):
The tea sitting in the kitchen cupboards too, thankfully, is familiar. There's more coffee up here, but he's made tea so often in this room that that is where his hands first head, and he lets them. That is, until the metal teapot slips out of a loose grip, bounces off the counter, and clatters onto the floor.

"Shit," he says, and the frustration in his voice is not at the noise nor at the spill, although he does watch the water spread for a second, lifting up his right hand and running his fingers under the small metal box sitting where his lack of fingers used to be. The skin there is red and inflamed, and the hand's two mechanical fingers don't curl as the other ones do, instead sticking out from the metal all still and stiff.

Comments

B

[revvinguptheharley]

"Wowzers, and here I had you pegged as one of those gruffy scruffy types who only took his coffee black."

Harley Quinn, currently wearing a professional looking suit...or what passed for one in the Capitol complete with glittery fake gemstones sewn into the fabric. She adjusted the pair of glasses she had perched on the tip of her nose and studied him curiously as though seeing him for the first time.

And with how much time had passed since they'd been imprisoned together, it might as well be the first time. Since Susannah had vanished into District 13 Harley hadn't felt a particular need to speak with the stiff man, but this might be an interesting test for her.

[ka_sera_sera]

It's been a while, yes, but he remembers this one. Remembers her very well. He remembers her as one of those who seeds destruction and chaos behind her wherever she steps, who embraces those forces Roland has spent his life in fighting, and an impression like that is not one which fades with time.

He also remembers 'Wheels on the Bus'. Hours of it. This is also not an impression which fades.

The only thing about having not seen Harley, at least up close, for so long, is that she also now reminds him of Susannah. But there's no point in being confrontational now anyway, is there?

"I don't even know what gruffy scruffy means," he points out, and rubs a hand over his face. No matter how hale his body may think itself, his mind is tired. "Suppose you take yours with nothing but sugar, hm?"

[revvinguptheharley]

She relaxes visibly, as if she had been expecting him to...at best throw a punch or at worst storm off without speaking to her.

"Three shots of espresso, four sugars, with whipped cream, cinnamon and caramel on top. They call it an Espresso Kaboom." She chuckled. "And if I'm feeling really needy a shot of whisky or some other foul tasting alcohol that blends well with coffee."

Funny how that had become more frequent lately, she blamed the Capitol.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland has no idea what reaction she was expecting, but whatever it was was worse than the one she actually got. He notes this fact, that she's just relaxed as if she'd been afraid, yet she'd come over here anyway.

"Don't know what express-o is either," Roland says and shakes his head, unwilling to spend the effort puzzling out these nonsense words she keeps spitting at him. Not on purpose, those unfamiliar words are too rare and spoken too casually to be on purpose. This is only one of those consequences of living in a culture not your own, a consequence he'd been familiar with even before his extended stay in Panem.

"If that's why you came over here in spite of me, go ahead and order it." He waves his right hand toward the bar and hesitates a moment before putting that hand down, gets stuck staring at it. Hadn't been able to move that arm at all in the arena, and those two mechanical fingers had been covered in a glove. Waving his hand now, seeing the way the cogs and gears of those last two fingers shine even through their thin rubber covering, is almost like seeing them for the first time. His wandering mind realizes that he'd pretty well forgotten they were there.

Nevermind. He lowers his hand, makes the effort to focus. "I'm not going to get in your way."

[revvinguptheharley]

She actually laughs when she realizes what he thinks and does in fact move forward to place an order.

"I appreciate the permission, but that's not why I'm bugging you. I...actually wanna know how you're doing."

She doesn't give him long enough to react before adding "I know, it's like...why should I care right? Well I'm trying something new and that means trying not to irritate the hell out of people who lack a sense of humor who I would previously have gone out of my way to annoy."

So far she was not off to a great start.

"That and...well you're the only other friend of our dearly departed I know so I wanted to make sure you were holding up alright."

[ka_sera_sera]

As predicted, Roland finds this a little difficult to swallow. Foolish to swallow it as well, although that latter explanation is almost plausible, and her laughter just now had not sounded malicious. Perhaps it wasn't malicious; perhaps she hadn't felt malicious even when she'd tricked Susannah all that time ago into letting Detta free. Roland's world has a version of the Scorpion and the Frog story, too, and it's this that Roland thinks on for a moment.

Caution, of course. Caution, same as he's used since the day he'd got here and their dearly departed friend had told Roland just the kind of situation he'd been pulled into. "I'll do," he decides, "although I haven't been back in the Capitol long enough to know what I'm meant to be holding up in spite of. Has something happened that's prompted this new thing you're trying?"

[revvinguptheharley]

"Well..." She seems to consider for a moment where to start. "It might have been how I was on this blind date with a Capitolite and she stormed out on me because I made a joke about the Capitol that she thought sounded traitorous. Or it might have been when some horrible rebels almost got us all killed while you guys were in the arena, I tried to help fix that problem and got more then I bargained for there."

Her drink arrived and she took a sip trying to let the sweetness take the bad taste out of her mouth.

"Or it could be the fact that everyone I was close to last year is dead and gone and the only people left either hate me or just don't care. So since I can't change the world anymore...I figure I might as well try to change me."

One of the benefits of having psychological training is the ability to self diagnose with some reasonable amount of insight.

"I never thought I'd actually miss being in the arenas. At least there I could work out some of my frustrations."

[ka_sera_sera]

The mention of rebels gets some interest - at least, more than Roland'd shown at hearing about her ruined date. And more than he shows when she speaks of her dead friends, although to that he does at least pay attention. Then he takes a sip of his own drink, thinking.

The rebel attack, if that's what happened, is interesting but nothing he can't find out more about elsewhere. She seems more inclined to speak on herself than the rebels anyway, which is fine by him. 'Those horrible rebels,' she'd called them. Does she know her dear Susannah is one of them? Doesn't matter, he decides. One such as Harley will likely be more attracted to the chaos of the war, should that war finally reach them, than to any particular side.

If she's here, and apparently willing to talk about herself, he ought to listen. Anything he can learn about this potentially chaotic element might do him good, one day. "I thought you loved those arenas, even while you were in 'em. What is it you're trying to change? The way people look at you, or what it is they see when they do it?"

[revvinguptheharley]

Harley wasn't entirely sure Roland believed her. Heck she wasn't sure he even cared. But he wasn't trying to escape so that helped. She couldn't help but offer a rueful smile.

"Yeah I guess I did make it pretty clear how much fun I had. But I mean...I guess it's a matter of hindsight. Because on the one hand." She held up a hand as if she could indicate more clearly that way "You've got adventure, battle, sweat and tears and drama. Real human emotion. On the other hand, going pee outside and starving. Plus the inevitable dying thing which is only cool if it happens fast and flashy like when I saved Babs or took out Shepard after she clotheslined me. If it's slow and painful like...well both times that Susie Q put me out of my misery? Not so fun."

"Honestly? I don't even know. It's like...maybe I'm the one who needs to change right? But then if I do am I betraying everyone who died before me? Am I betraying myself by letting this place turn me into something different?"

Clearly she had too much time on her hands if she was thinking of things like this.

[ka_sera_sera]

"Starving and peeing outside is the real part," Roland mutters, and his tone's absent because he's thinking mostly on what she'd said after. Heavy thoughts for someone who's come back to life not an hour ago, who hasn't quite shaken off the part of his mind that insists it's back in that arena with the trees and the pain and the wolves. Heavy, but important. Roland may not have any sympathy to spare for this woman or for her grief, but those are questions that could apply to any one of them, to Roland or any of those Panem calls 'offworlders'.

"I'd be surprised if you could avoid it," he decides, moment of thought completed. "People change. Time changes them. When Cuthbert-" He pauses then, looking more surprised than he should to hear the name of that old dear friend aloud, considering he's the one who said it. Surprised that he's saying it to her. But the situation he's going to speak on does apply, it isn't as if he's saying it just to share. "We were boys together when I knew him best. He was a boy when I knew him here. And I wasn't. Foolish of me, to try and keep him close as I did expecting that nothing had changed."

Roland realizes he's looking more into the distance than at anything in the room and focuses, looking back over at her. "You've changed, even if in ways you don't know about. We all will, before our time here is done. Will it bother you so much, at the end of all this, if some of that change has been deliberate?"

[revvinguptheharley]

It was always of fascination to Harley how sometimes the truth can seem so obvious when someone else says it, but when you're alone it simply can be seen.

"You've got a point. I once knew a guy, he used to say the greatest power humanity had was it's ability to change." She smirked nostalgically. "Funny thing was this came from a guy who wore the same five polo shirts every week to class because it provided him with stability. I guess we all cope with stress different ways."

But back to the topic on hand.

"Someone asked me real early on in all of this to do what I did best back home. Turn things on their head. Be baffling and weird and annoying. Drive everyone around me as nuts as possible. Sounded easy at the time but the only people I've done that to are other tributes. So I guess I'm afraid if this place changes me I'll never go back to that girl who used to run circles around the best and brightest back home by being looney tunes."

"And lets face it, I dunno who I'm gonna be. And people are always afraid of what they don't know."

[ka_sera_sera]

He grunts, nods, and takes a drink of his coffee, then takes a moment to appreciate the taste before he replies. "That fear's doing you no favors, but it's no business of mine what you decide. Is that why you decided to speak to me? To see if you could without driving me as nuts as possible?

[revvinguptheharley]

She smiled once more and it spread into a full grin.

"How'm I doing so far? Should I throw in more serious gazes and self deprecation? Maybe an anecdote about how you remind me of a professor I had once or how Susie forgave me in the Mall arena?" Unless he'd already seen that on the recordings of course.

[69problems]

Signless, not wanting a repeat of last arena where he and Roland managed to miss each other for days after Roland made it out, has taken to checking periodically in District Four ever since he watched Roland's death unfold on the television. As arena deaths go it wasn't as traumatic as some; he doesn't think he'll need to run much damage control. His concern is more along the lines of wanting to be there to provide damage control should Roland decides he wants it.

And, alright, there's a secondary motive. The strange illness that afflicted the tributes at the ball still weighs on his mind. In particular that hollow feeling it gave him has haunted him. It had disappeared with the rest of the symptoms but the memories it stirred up -- already at the forefront of his mind thanks to Celebrus and some very stressful conversations -- hadn't. He wants to talk about that with someone more removed from the situation and whose reactions to it won't be based on such an intimate investment in what happened. He knows Roland is the last person who will judge him for past crimes.

"Here," he says, stooping to pick up the teapot and set it back on the counter along with the oven mitt he was smart enough to wear. "Is your hand alright?"

He can't pretend to know the first thing about technology that delicate. He can't tell from a glance if anything is wrong, but Roland might be able to.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland grunts something vaguely affirmative, watching Signless pick the pot up. "Feels like new." With what Wyatt had told Roland all that time ago, Roland knows the Capitol has a way of producing new bodies when the old ones die. It makes sense that those mechanical fingers, then, would be new as well, their connections fresh and unpracticed. He just hadn't thought of it. Hadn't realized how used to them he'd gotten, expecting them to simply be there and work properly, until they no longer do.

He isn't thinking of that, not really. Doesn't want to think on it, and there's a much more pleasant thought right here in front of him anyway. If anyone'd told him he'd been in the arena not even five weeks he wouldn't disbelieve, but it felt like longer than that. Long enough to be getting on with, anyway.

Once Signless is done with the teapot Roland steps closer, neatly avoiding the puddle of water, to slide a hand into the hair at the side of Signless' head and bend down, fully expecting no obstacles to the kiss he's intending to plant onto those black lips.

[69problems]

There aren't any whatsoever. For someone used to kissing far more regularly, five weeks without is a long time. He shifts up onto his toes and meets Roland halfway, resting his hands on Roland's chest because there's not really anywhere else for them to go unless he lets them hang awkwardly at his sides. It's nothing so mindblowing as books and movies would have one believe but it's warm and intimate and nice. It's something purely sweet and comforting after weeks of watching his friends and his tributes suffer and die, weeks that have been marked by ups and downs on both sides of the arena wall.

"Missed you too. I didn't leave you waiting long, I hope?"

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland shakes his head, straightening. Not since the age of fourteen has Roland expected the actions of one lover to another to be mindblowing, a shock like to change a person's entire life, and he does not give a thought to the idea now. The corners of his lips are curled up, though, and his expression is warm. This arena had not been nearly so isolated as some others because Alain is, if not a talkative companion, certainly a steady and welcoming one, but there are some kinds of welcome which Alain has never given Roland. No matter what some of Panem's more passionate authors may think.

"Only arrived today," he says, and runs a fond thumb over the side of Signless' face. His thumb, at least, still works as it ought, and though that hand's first two fingers hold themselves stiff and away from the side of Signless' head the rest of Roland's hand is happy to stay there, keeping him close. "And you? Must've been waiting here. Nothing too urgent, I take it."

[69problems]

"Nothing urgent, no. I just didn't want to leave you alone for long." There's an unspoken I didn't want to be without you there, if one squints hard enough at the spaces between the words. Given the choice to be with Roland or be alone, he knows which he prefers. Unconsciously he lets himself lean into that hand, reaching up to cover it with his own.

"I had some things I wanted to talk about-- just some leftover worries. I thought having someone else to listen and stop me from thinking in circles might help."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland watches him closely a moment, matching Signless' expression and body language against his words. It's something important, he thinks. Important enough. Something happened here while he was gone, and finding out whatever context Signless is thinking of now will have to wait until he's settled down to speak on it.

Roland easily quiets his curiosity, makes a noise of agreement, and draws back, lifting his left hand to briefly squeeze Signless' shoulder as he pulls away his right. "Let me clean this up first-" But, on looking around, he stops. In a kitchen where avoxes are expected to attend to every resident's every little need, no one thinks to stock cleaning supplies. Not so much as a rag.

Roland sighs.

"There'll be a towel in the washroom. Come, you can talk while I get it. Ah- unless this is one of the times when you'd use one of your piles." He stops in the kitchen's doorway, looking over his shoulder. Foreign custom - even one he does not quite understand on the same, instinctive level that a troll would - is important, and Roland can wait to hear what Signless has to say until they've completed it.

[69problems]

He was expecting just to sit somewhere -- probably in Roland's room -- and talk over tea. A pile hadn't even occurred to him and yet now that the idea's been presented he's realizing exactly how much he needs one. There's something comforting about it that nothing else can really replicate.

"It is. It's not necessary," he adds, in case Roland needs an out. He knows some troll customs are still strange to him. If Roland is going to spend more time trying to puzzle out how to pile properly than he'll spend actually discussing things it might not be the best idea. "But it would help. I haven't had a pile since..."

Since the makeshift pile the Psiioniic made out of half of Roland's closet and that, in his opinion, is far too long -- and that wasn't even a proper pile.

[ka_sera_sera]

The silence stretches for a second and Roland lets it, then crosses back again to Signless and puts a hand on his back. "Then go on and start it. I'll be there in a minute." He tilts his head toward the doorway, as if Signless needed any more instruction, and then goes in search of a towel.

Then he stands in the kitchen doorway again, taking in the clean, dry floor and the teapot and tea leaves, now back on their proper places in the cabinet. If Panem trains their military anywhere near so well as they train their servants, it's no wonder they won their war.

Nevermind. He slips into his room, closes the door behind him, and holds the large, fluffy towel out for inspection. "Didn't need it."

There's no need to walk on eggshells with Signless and mention avoxes not at all, no matter that the Initiate is still near somewhere and that Signless still grieves. But there's no reason to mention them more often than he needs to, either. "How's that coming along? Need more of those clothes to thicken it a bit?" He may be looking over Signless' shoulder and studying the budding pile as if he'd like to strip it down to its component parts, figure out how it works, but he is going to let Signless take the lead on making it. This time, at least, he's capable of doing so, and the Signless knows what kind of setup he wants.

[69problems]

So far his setup consists mostly of all of the sheets off Roland's bed, which is now stripped down to just a bare mattress. He takes the towel and adds it into the pile, which is now starting to resemble a circular nest: high walls, a comfortable dip in the middle large enough for two. For three, really, because he's used to building a pile large enough to fit the Initiate and wants to be sure that this one will fit Roland's long legs.

"It's coming along well, I think. If you could get me any of your clothes that don't have too many sequins or buttons on them, I'll add them in and then it should be ready."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland obligingly flips through the things hanging in his closet, taking a few from their hangers with probably less care than the stylists who created them would like and handing them over. Then he returns to his place by Signless' shoulder and hunkers beside him, settling one hand against the back of Signless' neck. "Will you want some of this over you?" he asks, looking at the obvious seat in the pile's middle and thinking on the last of these he'd seen. That had clearly been an emergency, hurried, and he's interested to see the way it's set up now in circumstances a little more regular.

[69problems]

"Oh, no," he says, adding the shirts in with the same fussy delicacy of a mother bird arranging her nest. With the shape the pile is taking it's fairly apt. "That was an emergency -- piles are meant to be reclined in, but you couldn't have moved me then."

He's guessed -- correctly -- that so far Roland's only experience with piles has been the hastily-made one the Psiioniic threw together after his breakdown. It served its purpose well-enough but it was hardly exemplary of what a pile could or should be. This will be a chance to show him how piles usually go.

"Here. Climb in." He settles himself back in the dip in the center, leaving enough room next to him that Roland will (hopefully) be able to arrange his leggy self comfortably.

please use that icon always

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland makes a fair attempt to do so. The question of what to do with his legs does take him a moment, because they're sitting far too close for him to cross them and, after a brief try at curling them to one side, he decides just to keep them bent, knees up in front of him. And then he's settled. Well, there is a second when he wonders, given what he's sitting on, whether he should have taken off his shoes. Nevermind.

And another moment when he does the natural thing and curls his arm around Signless' shoulders, relaxing just a little more at the feeling of their sides pressed together. And yet - still not settled. He realizes his right arm, out of habit, has hung awkwardly down this whole time, still and unmoving. Not a habit he wants to keep. Nor one he needs to, for that matter, and Roland reminds himself of this by rolling his shoulder, feeling himself make an automatic grimace at the pain his body expects there, and placing the unused hand carefully in his lap.

Right. Now he can turn to Signless, ready, and he does, marveling at the sight of him, and so close. "Now," he says, and lets go of the shoulder under his hand to slide the backs of his fingers down over Signless' face. "What troubles thee? I'd hear, if the two of us are settled well enough for your piling."