thecapitol | [OPEN]

Entry tags:

[OPEN]

Who| The Psiioniic, the other trolls, and YOU! It might lean heavily towards trolls, but anyone is welcome to join them!
What| Watching the final week of the Games.
Where| The Training Center common area.
When| Final week!
Warnings/Notes| Trolls everywhere. And also mentions of violence, death, and etc in passing.

It's probably not unusual for people to group together and watch the violence unfolding. The Psiioniic certainly doesn't see why it would be strange, and he looks remarkably unimpressed as a recap plays some especially gory scenes. He seems to be prepared for a crowd, with plates of food nicked from the District 2 suites scattered around him. He even prepared a sign for his little shindig:

Of course, most people won't be able to read the sign, and do you even know how long it took him to find a marker even close to the proper shade of yellow? Too long, that's what. But now he's prepared for the final cullwatch, and ready to spend time with members of his species. And people who might be curious as to what the hell he's scrawled on the sign.

(You would think something like "fiinal cullwatch" is pretty self-explanatory, but you could never be sure with aliens.)

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He can't be offended by being called a miscreant. He knows who the Initiate is, who he'll become, and he knows that he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be doing anything with the Initiate, but...

He's not known for doing anything good for him.

"Maybe you can find a new elickthir to give to your followerth here," he murmurs with a roll of his eyes that will go unnoticed.

"You could thtart a trend," he says while motioning at his face. "They'd go crathy about that, then." He picks up a piece of popgrub, pulling it apart as he glances at the screen. "It really ithn't that different from what Alternia wath like, ithn't it? It'th almotht comforting."

"Fuck off. COULDN'T FUCKING CARE YOU'RE A NON-BELIEVER. You think at you're the only troll what never took to the church? PUNISHMENT DON'T COME BUT FOR THOSE MORE BLASPHEMOUS THAN THAT," He snorts, assuming the Helmsman's comment to be a jab and visibly rolling his eyes. Is it a double standard? Fuck yeah it is, but he's going to be the Grand Highblood one day, by the Helmsman's words, so it's his decision-- and Her Imperial Condesce's-- when and to whom he holds the laws to. He lobs a popgrub at the Helmsman's head.

"Pephaps," he says. He's not sure if he likes the ideal of the alien's warping it to be a mere fashion statement, for all it could benefit.

"BRIGHTER. Choked the fuck off everything is. AND EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKER WANTS TO ACT LIKE THEY'RE FISH FOLK," He says, then smirks. "But, yes." Although comforting isn't exactly the word he'd use.

He leans back, the popgrub falling the side. He flicks some of the broken pieces at of popgrub at the Initiate, snickering as some land in his hair. It's much shorter then what he knows the Grand Highblood has, but he figures that after joining the subjugglators he just stopped having his hair cut. He finds it hard to believe that this troll could be the Grand Highblood, but stranger things have happened.

(He shouldn't be getting so close. He should stay far, far away because highbloods are dangerous. All they're good for is making sure you know where you stand, and where Psii stands is at the bottom. Further below then even the maroon and the mutants, because he's useless. Without his psychics and out of his posts he is worth less then nothing, not even counting as a troll at all.)

"For all intentth and purpotheth they could be the equivalent of theadwellerth. Thith ith one thity out of an entire planet, and what are the oddth we'd end up with the poor?" Slim to none, obviously.

Oh now you've done it, Helmsman. He grins deviously and shakes his hair out like a wet barkbeast, sending popgrub bits flying all over. His hands digs deep into the popgrub bowl and he launches chunks at a time at the Helmsman, in vengeance, until he can't do a thing but collapse to his side with honk-punctuated laughter.

(He is, of course, oblivious to the Helmsman's internal conflict.)

"SUPPOSE AT I CAN BUY THAT. Could up and get on agreement to that," he says.

Ah, crap. He raises his hands to cover his face, but the popgrubs aren't going that fast and just bounce off of him. They're doing more damage to the cleanliness of the place then to him.

He laughs at the very first honk, a breathy, wheezy noise and it sounds like it's been quite some time since he laughed genuinely.

"They thertainly act like fithh," he mutters, lopsided smile firmly in place. "Flashy and thelf-thentered."

The Initiate chuckles still. It has been... well not just a long time since he's had fun in this sense but... perhaps something he's never done before at all. A large part of him is as prepared to attack and retaliate as the Helmsman is to run. But he was comfortable, and he wasn't bored, so for now he could remain. His lips quirk at the Helmsman's horrible puff of a laugh.

"PERHAPS IF BROTHERS TWO LISTEN CLOSE THEY SHALL HEAR AT THE FINLESS ONE'S GLUBS," He says. "Glub, glub, glub, HONK."

Edited 2013-05-13 18:29 (UTC)

He brushes up a handful of the popgrub wannabes, pushing them into a small pile. It's neater, so slightly more acceptable. They can't be eaten now, and the Psiioniic can't help but feel a pang for wasting food. Really, he knows he's going to be wasting quite a lot of food, between how much he brought down and the fact that he hasn't been able to hold onto anything. He and the ablution block were becoming great friends.

He starts at the honk, and he has to force himself back to relaxing. "You might not want to tell them about glubbing. They'll want to do it all the time, and dealing with the real fithh making tho much noithe ith bad enough."

The Honk hadn't been intentional but he can't say he finds no amusement in the Helmsman's startling. And it's always good to know that fear, however untouchable it may be now, is there in reach. He barks another laugh but indeed ceases to glub.

"Almost got on about forgetting as to the SHE YOU SERVED. The fish witch," he says. "ONLY FISH WHAT'S MOTHERFUCKING WORTH SHIT OR SALT." Which isn't to say he likes her nor dislikes her, and it's evident in his tone. But she's got the power to back up her talk, unlike the rest, and for that at least he can consider her Empress.

"One good thing about them," He agrees, in regards to the human's lack of glubbing banter. "IF AT THAT IT CAN BE UP AND MOTHERFUCKING CALLED."

In regards to the popgrub fakes, The Initiate disagrees; of course they can still be eaten. Food doesn't stop being food once it hits the floor. He eats them right out of the Helmsman's newly formed pile.

The Psiioniic gives him a look, shaking his head with a sigh as the Initiate begins to eat from the pile. Highbloods didn't really understand how dirty the floor could be, did they?

"I wouldn't thay that about her," he grumbles. He doesn't seem to realize what he said, not yet, and how saying things like that in front of someone so high caste could be dangerous.

"They make tho many other weird noitheth, though. Have you notithed that? They're like herdth of cluckbeathtth." He snickers. The noises in the Capitol fascinate him more then they should.

Not highbloods so much as just him. And not a lack of understanding so much as not giving a damn. The Initiate gives him a look of his own right back, a very distinct look of 'what?'

He shrugs. "Would up and know better than I. WOULD FUCKING HOPE AT HER TO BE. Ain't got the patience for dealing with otherwise come day of high priesthood." Not that he'd have a choice what with her lusus at command.

"HAVE NOTICED," he chuckles. He pauses for a moment, then suddenly, reverts to good old fashioned Alternian chirrs and clicks, something the Psiioniic may recognize, "Would think at them to have squawk blister pulled out and rent apart BEFORE MOTHERFUCKING SHOVING IT BACK. Words written off too. NOT A SLIGHT OF ALTERNIAN WHAT TO BE FOUND."

Initiate that's gross. He's going to have to teach you about germs.

"Thhe'th eckthremely obnoxiouth. And loud, and not very..." he waves a hand, trying to come up with the right word. "Regal."

He's relieved to hear Alternian, especially through his ears. It's been so long since he's actually heard it instead of it being wired directly into his brain. "I know. I've had tho many people quethtion the thign I made. I thuppothe not everywhere ith within the reach of our Empire."

You'd have to be joking if you thought germs were a problem to him.

Not-regal he could work with. The others, he'd have to see about. He laughs a little at the Helmsman's indignant explanation regardless.

"Should know Helmsman. ALL IS IN REACH OF THE EMPIRE. It is matter of motherfucking when." In a less somber tone, he huffs, "WOULD GIVE MOTHERFUCKING WALKPRONG FOR SOME WORD OR WRIT STILL."

Stop hating science.

"Unleth thith ith a completely different univerthe." He frowns at the laugh, and it's actually very close to a pout. Who wouldn't pout at being laughed at, though? "You can write your own thtorieth, you know."

Stop being stupid. They're in a culling game. They're Alternians. Germs are the least of their problems.

He rolls his eyes. 'A different universe'. No, he shall not stop hating science and everyone is just going to have to deal with it. Come back to him when you wish to talk about a paradise carnival.

"SEEMS A HELMSMAN IS MOST ENLIVENED, in act of discourtesy to a motherfucking captain," he laughs, in regards to the Helmsman's pout. "THINK IT FUNNY YOU STILL CALLED AT HIM SIR when motherfucking yet..." He gives a vague gesture, to represent the Helmsman's distaste for their queen.

"WRITE OF HIS OWN HE UP CAN COULD. Ain't the same still," he says. "AIN'T MOTHERFUCKING TANGIBLE." The idea is interesting, but he can't imagine any good coming from keeping a goddamn private journal.

Germs can be just as deadly as a knife!!

"There'th a differenthe between thomeone like you, and thomeone who kept you ath a pet," he grumbles, pout staying firmly in place.

He nudges the Initiate with his knee. "Ithn't telling thtorieth what you're thuppothed to do? You can write down the thtorieth of your Methiath." He pauses, thinking it over. "You could teach thomeone Alternian."

You can't have seen the blade end of many knives then, Helmsman.

"Is there?" he asks with a tilt of his head. He doesn't actually think of the Helmsman as a pet-- why the fuck would he even need a pet? But it's curious to hear a lowblooded troll say as much. "SURPRISED AT HIM IS ALL, THAT HE WOULDN'T UP AND FIGURE I AMONG WHAT HE CALLS HIS CAPTORS. Called him a Highblood, and her unfuckingpleasent. GOT TO WONDER AT WHY."

He allows the nudge, nudging back, and laughs, "Telling stories. PREACHING OF TRUTHS, HELMSMAN. And he's already got at them," He taps his skull with a finger, "in motherfucking pan. IF HE WERE TO RECALL IN ANY FUCKING CASE, a Helmsman's first words to him were that he doubted in finding faithful here, WAS IT NOT?" It's a tease. He stores the idea away despite it. It won't change the fact that he'll be left with nothing new to read still, but it's an interesting idea. As is the latter of what he said.

"There's a motherfucking thought." Whom he might teach he's not sure, but it could lend itself useful if he found the right person to teach it to. And there's no way they could speak it, he can tell already these humans don't have the right vocal bits, but in writing, maybe. "AND IN TEACHING OF LANGUAGE THE MESSIAHS' WORD IS ALSO TAUGHT." His grin grows wide. "Should've never been rigged, Helmsman, got far more motherfucking use out of a helm."

Edited 2013-05-24 07:01 (UTC)

Of course not, he has optiic bla2t2. Had them, at least.

"Yeth. There ith a huge, huge differenthe." He waves his hands, torn between wanting to scream and vent out every little hurt and frustration and emotion he had to keep inside, and his need to stay loyal stay quiet stay obedient. "You haven't tried to break me," he murmurs quietly, hands dropping to his knees.

Snort. "You can make thome faithful, then. Find thomeone and thchoolfeed them in how to be a troll, from language to the methiath."

His eyes widen, and he worries at his bottom lip. "I'm not...thure if that'th true, but. Thank you, Highblood."

Well then isn’t he in for a wild ride with these games.

Already, pretty motherfucking broken, looks like, he also doesn't say. He's not going to pry. He's not this motherfucker's moirail. "IN A GAME OF DEATH AND SURVIVAL, HELMSMAN, AS FUCKING BEFORE. Got higher motherfucking priority," he says instead, looking down as he sweeps a pile of popgrubs closer.

He gives a snort of his own. “AH. See at how it is. NOW a faithless finds fatih. NOW HE GETS IN HIS PUMPER HOLY BELIEF THAT A PREACHER MAY FIND THOSE IN TUNE WITH THE GREAT WORKINGS," he chuckles. "Fair motherfucking thought on that also. IF IMPUDENCE IS NOT OFFENDING, there may be some."

He looks up and stares a moment at that, then shoves more floor-popgrubs in his jaws. Finally he says, "Fraysong is motherfucking fine."

The wildest.

He picks at the knees of his pants, dropping his gaze. "What doeth one like yourthelf need to worry about? You will perform well in thethe gameth." Certainly better then the Psiioniic will.

"There are thertainly plenty of malleable youthth here," he murmurs, trying to force a casual smile. His mind wanders, and he desperately hopes the Highblood's mercy doesn't run thin soon. He knows the followers of the Messiahs can be just as volatile as he is, and he hopes that speaking of spreading the face won't end with him bled dry to make paint.

He glances up at him for a moment, before turning back to his knees. "Alright, thir."

"FLATTERING," He says, with a smirk. "But death comes for all. EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING ONE. To motherfucking deny is careless. AN INSULT TO DEATH. But in same thought, there is none what to worry of, for the carnival shall await the worthy. INTEND TO EARN IT, I DO." Not to say he won't enjoy himself, no, he imagines he full well will. But that wasn't what the Helmsman had commented upon.

"Plenty what would get in the motherfucking way too," he grumbles, more to himself, just briefly thinking of the Signless and some of the other slightly less infuriating ones here.

He narrows his eyes at the Helmsman, a frown playing on his lips. He reaches over then and roughly flicks the Helmsman's chin up with a finger. "JUST GAVE AT YOU PERMISSION TO BE LESS MOTHERFUCKING FORMAL and more is what you take to." Relax, he just manages not to say.

"You have probably one of the betht thhotth at winning." He flicks some popgrubs at him. "If anyone could cull all the retht it would be you."

He purses his lips, nodding. He has no doubts that Signless would disapprove of the Initiate taking up a mission to spread his beliefs, but - there's also no doubt that the Signless will try spreading his own.

He starts at the touch to his chin, eyes going wide. "I'm thorry." It's an instantaneous reaction, and his cheeks color just the slightest yellow.

"WOULD ALMOST THINK AT YOU MISLEADING, HELMSMAN. Not got no motherfucking cull hold of your own what you don't want to share?" He catches the flicked ones and eats them. He's not entirely joking; he's heard of trolls pretending to be harmless only to burn down hivestems. Never was his style, but it seemed an effective strategy if done right.

The rush of yellow is a little alarming. He's not quite sure what to make of it. He's starting to feel awkward himself, so he shakes it off as best he can before it can sink in any further. He looks back to the screen and says, "DO WHAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING WILL THEN. Call at him whichever title."

"Not here, no." He gives him a lopsided smile, not really wanting to talk about his time in the arena. "Though...before, there hath been a few."

He picks at the popgrubs, not hungry (not like his stomach has approved of eating much, either) but feeling like he needs to do something with them. "I'll pick one thoon, heh."

"DON'T EXPECT A HELMSMAN TO SHARE, but still wonder, what of an ambition unto his own motherfucking self to claim a supposed victory?" he mulls aloud. Obviously the Helmsman had culled before. Who hasn't culled before? Save these not-trolls. You don't survive without having culled and the Helmsman was clearly alive before him. He wonders briefly what would render said kills so boring so as to never have been mentioned when he'd asked for a tale before, but then, a troll can hardly remember every single cull that's done.

He smiles, crooked. "AS SPOKEN ON ALREADY; do what you will."

He picks at his sleeves, shaking his head. He's wearing clothes similar to what he wore at the training center - long, over-sized clothing that seems to swallow him and multiple layers. He wants to hide himself away from all of the attention he gets, and he's still ashamed of how he looks. "Then I thuppothe you'll keep wondering. Your imagination would probably be more entertaining than the truth."

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