Ψiioniic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
xanthous) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-08 01:43 am
xanthous) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-08 01:43 am
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.)
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.)
Wow, he's like a giant next to Psiioniic. R's almost 6'3''
Honestly, R started glazing out whenever his Escort got to the nitty-gritty details. He didn't get why she didn't just go into the Arena herself if she thought she could do it better.
R finally realizes he still has the troll's sign in his hand. Maybe he should give it back.
"Rr..." He gasps, tapping himself and then trying to be daring and shoving the sign back at the troll at the same time. It's a little smeared after being pawed at by a corpse. Sorry about that. "Here. You have...nice...writing...?"
cries. why is everyone so tall
He's done pretty well at avoiding anyone who looks like they're from the Capitol. They remind him far too much of seadwellers for him to be comfortable around them.
"Rrrr?" He doesn't get it. And ugh. The smearing is kind of gross, and his nose wrinkles in distaste. He's seen things that were far more unsavory, but actually being close to something? Not all that familiar. "Thank you? It'th not bad for thomeone who never had official thcoolfeeding, I gueth." Honestly, by troll standards his handwriting looks like that of a child's.
He is surrounded by a race of giants unfortunately
The more this troll talks, the more R starts to realize picking an eye to focus on is the least of his problems. Unlike Wyatt with his twang, this guy has a lisp - put that together with these words R thinks he's dropping (schoolfeeding?) and it's all he can do to keep up. He needs to concentrate on the words with both hands.
“Rr,” R agrees. He bobs his head in a nod, staring down at the troll. Next to him, R feels like a giant even with his terrible posture and permanent slouch. “You’re...lucky with your…Escort. Trade…you?”
R’s joking but not. He’d totally trade if they could. He sees the nose-wrinkle, the way the scrunch is obvious on a face that’s corpse-gray and topped off with horns, and he tries to tell himself it’s understandable. Zombie, it’s part of the territory. Zombies are gross. He’s still a little offended, the teeny-tiny part of R that didn’t turn when the rest of him did frowning.
at least the kids are shorter then he is.
The Psiioniic isn't really sure what R's trying to say, either. Even if there's somehow no language barrier, the pauses (and phrasing!) are throwing him for a loop. He feels like there's something his missing, some strange sort of reason why this human is so different from all of the other ones. He reminds him of some of the monsters you'd see on Alternia, with the smell of death surrounding him and the way he seems to shuffle about. He's clearly not a rainbow drinker - he doesn't glow like any of them, and he's not bursting into flame from the light so that cuts out a few more options.
Plus none of the other beasts are quite as coherent as he is.
"I haven't even thpoken to mine," he mutters. "Maybe I can offer you thome advithe for avoiding them." Its really not too hard, but the Psiioniic can fit into smaller places the R can.
That is true :|a
It does make him wonder how this troll died. Who he killed. How he did it.
"Hit...me with...it. Please."
R even remembers his please's and thank you's. It's easier to get them out when he isn't starving or getting sniped. Remembering to keep his elbows off the table's probably a no-go. R realizes after the initial frustration trying to understand this troll's lisp that he's actually starting to...enjoy it? Maybe "enjoy" is too strong a word for a zombie. But finding it challenging keeps him busy, makes R actually have to focus and concentrate and he does like that part. It's almost refreshing. Almost like they're on the same page, a troll and a dead boy walking.
no subject
The yellow blood might have been too offputting, though.
"Motht of them keep thcheduleth," he mutters, glancing away. He's noticed that they're always, always under watch. Which makes sense, he supposes, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. "If you can figure that out it getth eathy to predict where they'll be and when, or you can make an eckthcuthe about going to get eckthra training. My ethcort hathn't bothered me too badly if I said that."
Probably because they believe he needs all the help he can get. It's true, he's emaciated and weak and will no doubt do horribly in the upcoming arena, but he's never been a fighter. Not in the traditional sense. He never needed weapons to kill or injure someone, he never needed to be close, and quite frankly he doesn't want to fight. He just wants to give up and have it all be over, but that's not something he can just tell a stranger. Even if said stranger doesn't look they would be all that understanding.
no subject
It takes R a couple of seconds – make that long couple of seconds - before something clicks behind his face and he eventually gets what the troll is saying.
“I…should…try that,” R sounds amazed, wishing he could ask for a cheat-sheet in case he forgets and knowing it wouldn’t matter even if he did have one. “You’re…a genius!”
Maybe that’s this guy’s deal. R looks at him and the troll seems like he can’t hold a gun or a swing a machete very well; in fact, he’s so stick-thin it looks like you could push him over just by looking at him wrong. Could be that’s why he’s so smart. It’s all he’s got going for him. R’s impressed all over again. Brains impress him more than brawn, anyway. He’s been shot at and eaten brawn – brawn’s boring, brawn’s predictable and been-there, done-that. A real mind, now. That’s special.
no subject
"It might help you more then you'd think." It's probably for the best he doesn't ask because hey, the Capitol voodoo science didn't extend to understanding the written word.
He squints at R, trying to figure out how someone like him could function in the games. He's slow, physically and mentally, and nothing about him really screams survivor. Maybe he's just here to be cannon fodder or something, the Psiioniic isn't sure.
no subject
R teethes away at the advice and decides he likes it. "I'll...t...try it. Thanks."
It takes him awhile to realize he's being squinted at like he's missing something. The troll's face is hard to read with the blue/red eyes, R guessing he's being looked at but he's not entirely sure, either. He didn't drop a body part on the troll's feet, did he? (R tries to be a ninja and check - nope, he's still good. Thank God). R decides maybe he better say something else. Clear the air. Do anything but awkwardly stare back at that red eye and the little fangs peeking out.
"Other...tips? What's...name?" R starts to work in a "please" there, but it gets stuck in his throat; the only thing that comes out is a strangled little grunt like he choked on it. Jesus, really?
no subject
"You're welcome. Try not to fuck it up."
That's encouraging, right?
His eyebrows are well on their way to his hairline, and he's not sure what, exactly, R is looking for when he looks at their feet. It's pretty much the most obvious thing ever, and the staring hasn't gotten any less unsettling.
"I haven't been around enough to have any." Sweet mother grub what is that noise. He almost wants to laugh at it. "You can call me the Helmthman."
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"Helms...man?" R sounds about as skeptical as the troll looks. "Funk...y name. Job?"
R means that in the nicest way though. First Karis with her "Karis Needleteeth" and now this guy. At least you can't forget a name like "the Helmsman" (is that "the" part of it? Can you drop it or is this troll picky?). R could see himself teething himself down to the gums on that kind of name. With a name like that plus the horns and the eyes, R doesn't think he'll be forgetting the Helmsman anytime soon.
no subject
"You could call it that, I think." You could also call it torture, punishment for crime, slavery, and a whole lot of other things. But he's not going to really get into all of that for R, now.
"And your title ith...?"
That grunting earlier totally couldn't be what he's called. Right?
no subject
"Just...Rr. My name," R says, aware of how pitifully short it sounds compared to The Helmsman. He'd been proud of even getting that much up until now.
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"Oh." He...didn't realize that grunting earlier was supposed to be a name. That's. Oops. He scratches the back of his neck, and his cheek take a decidedly yellow tinge. "Well, R, it'th..." Been nice? He is one of the few people he hasn't wound up butting heads with, but...Nice might be be a stretch.
no subject
The zombie could see Helmsman was searching for what to say as he trailed off. R struggled to think of anything else he could add to push the conversation forward. It's nowhere near this complicated with other zombies: a few grunts and maybe someone's jaw falls off and that's good enough to last weeks. With the Helmsman's crazy eyes and that lisp, R feels pressured to do better than that.
"See...you...around? Nice...meeting..." R pauses, swallows to stall and pick out the word he wants, "...you."
That's how it's supposed to go, right? Right.
no subject
He nods awkwardly. Most of his actions are awkward, but he just...doesn't know how to handle people on a good day. This whole conversation is just making this a weird and confusing day.
"Uh, yeah, thure. Nithe meeting you too, R..."
It's not going to be rude if he just...leaves, is it?